Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) (3 page)

Brandy shuddered at the memory and looked up into the face she least
wanted to see.

“Wat
er not hot enough, love?”

It was that handsome gent, standing right at the edge of her tub, looking her over. From the expression on his face, it didn’t look like he liked what he saw, either.

Brandy shrank into the water, ignoring the scrape of wood against her
back. “The water...is fine.” She looked over his shoulder at the closed door and
added a silent curse to that Mrs. Wright. If she couldn’t stand the smell, she could
have kept it to herself, couldn’t she?

“Looks like you’re finished. Here. Allow me.”

Brandy couldn’t prevent the cry as he yanked her up by grasping
her shoulders and lifting her. His move caused a blizzard of dots to dance right before her eyes. She watched them in amazement.

“Oh…my God.”

He was shaking. That made it hard to capture the elusive
faintness. And she hadn’t any reservoir of strength. There was nothing for it. The dots dissipated as Brandy just hung limply while he examined her.

That’s when she faced it. There was no God.

Brandy had slaved, starved, cursed loud and loose and fast, and ignored her cleanliness, all for one thing - to
keep her safe and unmolested. And look. It had all been in vain. A man would finally take the only thing left
to her.

“Take...your pleasure...and go.”

She forced the words through lips that felt like they belonged to someone else, and all he did was stare.

“My God, Brandy.”  The words sounded choked or something. “How in hell—? How could anyone...?”

“I know. I’m
not...pretty, My Lord,” she managed to stammer.

The hands holding her tightened until she almost cried out
. He took a heavy sigh that lifted her and even that hurt.

“This is going to be difficult. I’ve never broken a bad knit.”

Bad knit?
she wondered. She’d been called many things, but that had to be the most original.

“Your compliments…turn my head.”

She smiled, but her stupid
mouth drooled, and she watched him glance at the blood that slid over her chin.

“Good God! Even there? Who hit you there?”

She supposed he was trying to be gentle, but his hands made it difficult to
think clearly. “Who didn’t...is easier...to answer. Can I go now, My Lord? You—
my shoulder....”

She saw his jaw tighten and then she knew. He wouldn’t let her go. And she wasn’t fighting him. After all the
years of sacrifice, she felt herself giving in to the pain? All the years of stifling every emotion, yet she was too weak to withstand the hurt that came from him
doing nothing more than holding her up.

That was ironic, she decided.

“Please, My Lord? I’ll…even go back to the Bingham’s…if you’ll just let me go.”

His mouth twisted, and she liked the movement. He had sensual lips, just
right for teaching a maid the wonders of a kiss....

Wonders? After what Sherry went through?
Why would she even think such a thing?

“I’m afraid you sold yourself too high, Brandy.”

She supposed the
expression on his face was a smile. It made him even more handsome if that were possible. It also made him look younger and a bit more
approachable.

“And I’m afraid I can’t afford ten pounds.”

He started walking with her, holding her shoulder tightly in place. The pain
settled to a dull throb. She was so grateful she could’ve kissed him. Her
mouth probably wouldn’t make that motion, but she told herself it was
the thought that mattered.

“Five?” she asked, hopefully, as he laid her on clean sheets. Brandy
assumed Mrs. Wright had already changed them to avoid getting vermin back on Brandy’s clean body.

“Too much.”

He looked a little white around the mouth, and Brandy longed to take away his horrid expression.

Am I really such an ugly trollop,
she wondered,
to make a man look at me
like that?

“Be quick, then.” She asked it as she lay back on such downy
softness that her back didn’t even complain.

“Granted.”

And without notice, he slammed a fist into her collarbone.

***

Ah! Heaven was full of lavender-scented sheets, soft feather pillows, and warm
broth. Sometimes, it was flavored by a male voice whispering about her welfare.
Brandy focused on that when the pain became unbearable. Those were the times she knew
she wasn’t in heaven. It was just a dream, but Lord, how she
wanted to stay in it!

Reality came late. At least, it looked late, because only one candle lit the
cavernous area in which she opened her eyes.

She wondered why anyone would redecorate the sanatorium in such a lavish fashion? Those stupid guards are always mumbling about how
the patrons don’t pay enough and which women they can use and sell to get the
most money. And then, look at this. When they do get money, they waste it by
papering the walls with flowered patterns while the rest is paneled in expensive
wood.

It was so like her old bedroom at Chateau Montriart that she buried her
face in a pillow and tried to stop breathing. Heaven had been nicer.

“That’s not a very reliable way to commit suicide, Brandy. Although, since it’s you, you’d probably succeed.”

She’d heard that voice before.

Brandy lifted her head to find him, and when
she did, her eyes widened and her breath caught.
I
really am in heaven.
She had to be. Where else would she find such a handsome man?

He rose from a chair beside a window and approached the bed. He was
tall. His head grazed the canopy. Brandy watched as he sat gingerly on the edge of her mattress
.

“I’m not coming closer.” 
    He smiled, and that got her squirming against the
straitjacket that held her.
Tears flooded her eyes at God’s latest cruel joke. They were harder to
send back than usual.

“That’s another very unusual talent you have,” he commented. “I wonder
how you do it. And why. It’s not such a shame to cry, you know.”

Oh Lord, it’s even harder to send tears back if this man the guards have sold me to talks in such gentle, dulcet tones!

“It’s almost like your eyes suck the moisture back in. I’ve never seen anything like that in my entire life.”

Back at Chateau Montriart she’d had a papa who talked in such tones to
her, along with several nursemaids and a governess who professed her love, but
not here. Not now.

“Go away,” she muttered.

“Brandy....”

He reached for her, and she gave her banshee cry, filling the
canopied area with the echo until the constriction from the straitjacket made her stop.

“You don’t need to do that. I won’t touch you. You have my word.”

He didn’t raise his fist, curse, or look at her like she was something spawned from the bowels of hell. He simply spoke matter-of-factly, while watching
her.

“What...do you want?” she finally whispered.

“You to get well.”

He smiled. Oh no.
She had to do something quickly, before she released a fit of sorrow that
would shame Mama and Papa in their graves. So, she did. She called him every name she knew, in every dialect of French, even the filthiest learned from the gutter, and all he did was look at her.

“I think that was very impressive,” he said, when she’d finished.

She’d turned her face from the blow he was sure to give her. When it didn’t come she had to turn back and see why.
He had brilliant, light-blue eyes, with brown lashes that were so thick they
shimmered in the candlelight.

She might as well
get it over with. Any man who had a woman trussed up and helpless in his bed had only one thing in mind. He was far fairer than any gent Sherry had to service. That helped a bit. But not much.

“I can’
t say for certain, since I must not speak French, but I hope some of it was directed at getting you well.”   

Well. She had no choice. Might as well call a spade a spade and get it over with.

“
I can’t get well unless you unfasten my straitjacket,” she informed him.

He chuckled, and his eyes glowed as if they were covered in a fine sheen of
tears, but that was ridiculous.

“You aren’t wearing a straitjacket, love.”

“Then why won’t my arms move?” She lifted her chin, daring him to lie more.

“Because we had to tape your arm into place for it to heal properly this
time. And don’t think we didn’t have a devil of a time doing it, what with you
screaming and hurling invectives at us through the process, either.”

Brandy felt the blush clear to her cheekbones; then pallor as it receded.
She hadn’t blushed like that since she was a child, and it was unfamiliar enough to make her shy, and why? It had to be because a god-like man sat on
the edge of her bed, chatting with her, and making her feel like a little girl with a
bad case of calf-mooning, love-sick fever.

What is the world coming to?
she wondered.

“I think I know why they call you Brandy, and not Helene.”

“Helene’s dead.”  She said it quietly. Without any inflection.

He looked at her nose for a moment before looking away. “It’s because
your eyes are the deepest shade of burgundy right now, it isn’t even a very
challenging mystery.”

“And you are a puling liar,” she hissed, looking away so she wouldn’t have to see the blow coming.

“Compliment not asked for, but taken.”

She turned back so rapidly, his image blurred, and then she
swallowed on the surprise. She insulted him, yet he did nothing?

“Are you hungry?”

He prepared to stand, but, for some strange reason,
she didn’t want him to go.
She wouldn’t admit to raving starvation if it made him
leave.

“Not especially.”

“You need to eat more. At eighty-some pounds, you’re smaller than most
girls your age.”

“What would you know of my age?”

“Guilty as charged once again. I don’t know much about girls at all. Tell me how old you are, and we’ll figure it out from there.”

“Too old.”  She sighed.

“Fifteen?”

She snorted.

“Sixteen? Surely not a day older.”

“I spent my sixteenth birthday wallowing in stable mud outside Calais. I
was waiting for my uncle, a great English lord, to arrive so he could take me away from my own
personal hell.”

“He didn’t come?” he asked softly.

Brandy snorted again. “Of course he did. How else could I have spent my eighteenth birthday resting in the sanatorium? The devil take it, but it’s difficult
to rest there. Do you think my uncle knows?”

She winked, and watched him flinch
before he replied.

“You’re eighteen, then? That makes things easier, I suppose.”

“Easier...on whom?”

He had lulled her with gentleness, and she’d been a fool! Brandy clenched the sheets in her fingers, cursing herself for every type of
idiot. She’d let down her guard. Hadn’t Sherry instructed her well enough?

“On everyone.”

He stood from the bed, looking down at her like Papa
used to. That sent tears to threaten before she sent them away.

He found out I’m old enough, there’s no guardian to worry over, and yet he’s still leaving me without expecting payment for anything? Not even for this comfortable bed?

“Who are you, anyway?” she asked.

He made a sound similar to someone choking.

“I’m your husband.”

Her lips twitched. “Oh, go away with you! I’m not that lucky.”

His laughter filled the room as he left, disappearing into the shadow-land beyond
her circle of light before shutting the door. The sound made her smile,
too.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Come along now, ducky. Let’s have a nice roll so we can get done with that back.”

“Done with that back.” 

Brandy chirped the words at the woman with the face of a thousand sufferings and hands that inflicted worse.

“We’re not going to be difficult this morn, are we, Mum?”

“Difficult? Of course not, love.”  Brandy used the woman’s voice and watched the wrinkled face frown. “But…let’s have a change, shall we? What say if you lie on your front while I have a go at you with the hot poker this morn, eh?”

Brandy cackled at the woman’s expression and then that handsome masculine god of a fellow had to go and spoil her fun.

“Now darling, have a care with your tongue. Nurse Gunther only needs to rub salve on your back. She’s never had to resort to hot pokers. Not to my knowledge that is.” 

He winked and she smiled glassily back.

“Nurse Gunther has the touch of the whip to her fingers then, My Lord,” Brandy replied.

She didn’t mimic either of them. His sigh of relief was barely audible over her outburst as she rolled over.

“Filthy baggage of a gutter whore! Rotten! Filthy! Damn it all, Woman! Leave off the worse spot, will you? Can’t you see I’m late for my privy?”

Such venom coming from such a small body was shocking. Gil listened passively while he wondered at the learning and the execution. He’d never heard a lady of quality having knowledge of and then using such language, but he’d never visited a sanatorium, either.

“Christ woman! Can’t ye give it a wee rest?”

The man she mimicked wouldn’t be flattered with that imitation, since it sounded uneducated and uncouth. Gil would have smiled if Nurse Gunther hadn’t dropped the jar on the carpeted floor, bringing him back to the reason for Brandy’s performance.

“Only another whore would do it so softly!”  Brandy snapped. “Where’s yer bloody sense of honor? Just put yer shoulders into it when you slap it on, and then have a heave-to. Wouldn’t ye agree, M’Lord?”

Blank eyes touched his for a moment before Brandy went ramrod stiff. Gil watched her pull tears back before she spoke again. He sucked in his cheeks in consideration.

“I…I can’t finish, Gilly,” Nurse Gunther said, standing back with tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Gil released his cheeks.

“Gilly?”  Brandy’s face contorted. “They call you Gilly, do they now?”

If she hadn’t been using the nurse’s voice, it would have had less impact. Nurse Gunther tossed the jar at him as she ran from the room, sobbing loudly.

“Stupid trollop. Crying at the sign of my lovers so,” Brandy continued. “I swear the woman’s more daft than me.”   She cackled, adding to her performance.

“She does lack the fine touch of a lover, I’m sure,” Gil replied smoothly. “But now that you’ve gone and frightened her off, you’re left with nothing but me.”

“With you? My very own dream man? Lordy, Gov, but you’re more insane than me. No woman would consider that a bad thing. Heat it nice and hot so it’ll feel better. That’s a love.”

Gil stopped, his hand hovering over a wicked-looking two-inch long slice someone had carved into her shoulder. Then, he placed his palm on it, feeling her stiffen for a second before she laughed loudly. Falsely.

“Ooh…my yes, dream-man. That’s exactly what Brandy’s been cravin’. That she has. Give Brandy a bit more of your favor. She likes that, she does. Ah…yes. That’s a dear.”

“I’m not doing this for my health.”  The words whistled through clenched teeth as the wound seeped a bit. “It’s for yours. The least you could do is give your tongue a rest while I do it.”

“Give me tongue a rest? What kind of nonsense is that? Why, I can holler all I like and thank my lucky stars the wondrous fella didn’t try carving out my whole name.”  This time her laugh was brittle sounding.

“This doesn’t resemble anything in your name, love.” 

He finished and draped Nurse Gunther’s muslin bandage over the spot before turning his attention to what appeared to be burn sores at Brandy’s lower back. Then he pulled at the edge of another bandage. That’s when she gave her horrid yell, the one she’d used on him in the carriage. She’d dissolving into barking interspersed with laughter as he peeled the bandage loose, careful not to disturb the scab.

“Well…he was no artist,” Brandy informed him. “I grant you that. But as I recollect he was carving out the word “whore”, and that does start with a “W”, now doesn’t it, my fine gent. Why…I’m deuced thankful he wasn’t trying for a “B”. Can ye imagine how that’d look?”

“I’d rather not.”  His lips tightened as he put a handful of salve on her burns.

“Yer touch…makes me swoon, lover man. That it does. I’ll be certain sure to recommend ye to me friends, I will. If I had some to tell, anyways.”

Gil shook his head slightly. “Such ability. Truly. I’ve no doubt if you wanted to walk the boards, you’d be a hit in no time.”

Brandy hooted in glee. “Brandy…take to the stage? You’re daft. She’d freeze up. Get booted. Fall on her…ooh. Harder! That’s it, me good man…harder!”

He froze. At the first touch, skin had come off in his hand. Then he understood, and he was surprised at the start of tears in his eyes. She was fighting pain with acting. He’d never seen the like…and from such a tiny thing, too.

  “Right there,” she cooed. “Ooh. Rub it in nice and good, so Brandy will be sure and remember yer touch later.”

“What? When you curse at me?”  Gil had to clear his throat before he got a light enough tone to trade quips with her.

“Curse you? Why ever would I curse me very own dream-man? Yer touch makes me skin tingle, it does.”

Gil’s hand hovered above her buttocks. He took a trembling breath before moving further. The little chit might make others treat her with pain, but not Gillian Tremayne. He was made of sterner stuff.

“Lovely. That’s just…lovely.”

“How’d you get burned, Brandy?”

“Service. That’s wot it was. Service. The finest in all of Bedlam. Brandy’s known for it.”

“There’s got
to be easier ways to provide service.”

She stiffened more, if that were possible.

“Service, me fine lord? Well. Brandy knows just what you’ll like, and she’ll do it, too. She likes serving the gents with the soft hands. That’s how she can tell. The softer the hands, the more willin’, ye know.”

“Willing?” 

He choked out the words the same time he saw the long welt crisscrossing her thighs. It wasn’t the sight of her pain that made him swallow, either. Even with no extra flesh on her, she had shapely legs. What had happened to her looked like sacrilege.

“Why, she knows just how sharp you like yer knife. There! Oh yes! Right there. Brandy likes that, she does.”

He’d reached her feet and what appeared to be bite marks on her heels and toes almost had him losing the breakfast he’d managed to eat. He vowed right then to see the sanatorium cleaned out, or closed.

“You’ve the best hands yet, Guv. That ye do. I bet ye wouldn’t make the same mistake ol’ Regis did, would ye?”

“What mistake would that be?” 

Gil was shuddering as he wrapped her feet. Sweat beaded his upper lip. It was ridiculous. He’d handled injuries before. He’d handled women before. But he’d never handled this type of abuse. Why, if anyone had told him he’d be spending his honeymoon coating his new bride with Nurse Gunther’s honey-herb salve, he would’ve had the person examined.

He needed servants with stronger stomachs so he could save himself from performing the chore. The entire staff either spent the day blubbering over the poor miss, or blushing at the words Brandy cursed them with.

“Why…he’d better learn just how far he can toss his hot oil. If he wants to hit crazy Brandy, that is. Stupid man! You’d think he’d never lifted anything heavier than his fist.” 

She was cackling with glee and Gil stiffened. Someone had thrown hot oil at her? Dear God. That explained the burns.

“Does this Regis…make a habit of tossing hot oil at you, love?”  He asked. “Surely you’d find a better way to service him than being his personal target?”

“You’ve such a way with words, dream-man! Of course he used Brandy fer other things. Like…dulling his knife. I was real good at that. I was.”

Despite his best effort, Gil plastered a hand to his mouth and ran for the door, her wild howl of laughter at his heels.

Brandy sent another prayer of thanks to God for Nurse Gunther and her spread. Then she hugged herself as far as her shoulder-cast would allow and waited for the blessed numbness the salve brought. It was taking a long time tonight, and she had to concentrate extra hard on her counting. It felt like that grand fellow, Gilly had taken a lash to every inch of her.

Damn him.

***

“I’ve a bit of a request, M’Lord,” Brandy said, breaking the silence.

Gil had been reaching for where her hand was lying on the coverlet then stopped. She’d probably give her banshee yell if she noticed his move.

“Can I get you to call me Gil, first?”  He smiled and watched her eyes skitter away.

“What a fine thing that would be,” she replied. “Ha. Calling one like you by name. Why…that’d be a mess. You’ll be the next sent to Bedlam, you will.” 

She looked back at him, wagged her finger, and then she batted her eyelashes over glassy-looking burgundy orbs.

“Would it really be such a hardship?” 

He lowered his voice to ask it. He watched her gulp as she seemed to catch her first response. And then her eyes went glassy-blank again.

“Aye. That it would. Ye see, there’s been so many of ye fine gents, I might forget, and then what would you do with poor little Brandy, eh? Send her more of your over-salted broth yer wenches serve?” 

She laughed and slapped at the bedcovers at his expression.

“Now, don’t go and look at Brandy that way. She only wishes ye’d get off yer duff and instruct the maids around here that broth tastes better without so many of their tears flavoring it. I’ve never seen such carrying on. Why, I’m beginning to think yer entire estate consists of one crying wench after the other.”

“I’ll have to agree with you there, I’m afraid.”

“Cor! Ye really are one of the quality, with that refined voice and all. ‘I agree with you there,’ said as perfect as you please.”

She interspersed her words with his own voice and Gil shook his head. Such an amazing talent should have gotten her out of any number of scrapes, including that sanatorium.

“I’ll be certain the maids receive your instructions. Will that suit?”

She turned expressionless eyes on him and he almost shivered at how lifeless they looked.

“Will that suit?” she mimicked.

“Stop using my voice on me!”

“Well…who else am I going to use it on, then? You tell me. There’s just you and that silly Nurse Gunther this eve. Could you tell the woman Brandy can instruct her later on how best to please a man?” 

She fluttered her eyelashes again and Gil flinched.

“Oh! And that reminds me. There’s that blubbery Mrs. Wright, too. She’s making your maids work extra hard on the laundry, that one is. What with blowing her nose into those hankies all day and sobbing’ away like the Archangel hisself has just come down for her. ‘Poor mite’, she says all the time. ‘Poor little mite.’  Yer entire household is daft, me fine dream man.”

She did Mrs. Wright’s voice so well Gil applauded, with slow, even-paced clapping. He watched her eyes clear for just a moment and then she carefully blanked them out again.

“You’re especially good at that, too. Aren’t you, Brandy-love?”

“I don’t have a clue to what ye mean, dream man. Good at what? Lying abed with no company besides you? None at all. I tell ye, even at my most recent residence they had spiders, rats, and assorted vermin to talk to.”

Gil winced as she captured his voice from the carriage ride. Then he smiled. For some reason his new expression made Brandy’s fists knot on the covers.

“You wound me to the quick. That you do. I’ve been sitting here day after day, visiting to your heart’s content, and what do I get for my trouble? Abuse heaped on my head.”

He shook his head sadly and she smirked.

“That’s because ye’ve got it wrong, Guv. You haven’t laid a finger on me yet. Not one. And I’ve been pining fer the touch of a man’s hands. Why…I believe I’d even sit still and let ye have a go at finishing my branding, I would. Have you a knife handy?”

She leered at him like an overly excited whore and Gil fought the urge to flinch away. She was trying to shock and anger him into abusing her, and for the life of him, he didn’t understand why. She was very good at it, though. He could see why she’d received such harsh punishment at the asylum.

“I do seem to have forgotten a knife, Brandy-love. Would the gentle touch of a kiss do, instead?”  He leaned toward her and breathed heavily, making certain she’d feel it on her cheek.

She blanched, turning so white he thought she might faint. And then she sucked in a breath and gave that horrid cry of hers. Even prepared for it, Gil jumped. She grinned up at him as the sound finished echoing. He knew how satisfied she was that her little act had worked at moving him away. Still, the glassy look had faded for the briefest moment, showing the hint of fear behind those eyes. Gil knew there wasn’t enough honey-herb salve to soothe that.