Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) (8 page)

His breath touched her ear.
The sensation was almost identical to when the dots danced
before her eyes, but her entire body felt it, and she opened her
mouth to gain breath.

“Don’t be gentle, My Lord. Be quick and abrupt. Take what
you want and leave me nothing, understand? I don’t think I can do it
otherwise.”

He chuckled. “Couldn’t you now? Well…that’s not what your skin is telling me.”

“Fine. I can’t stop you. Go ahead. Take your pleasure.”

“So that’s the way of it? I do understand, love, but I’m
a different sort of lover than you’re used to. I never take a
woman quickly. It spoils my fun as well as hers. I’m one to take
my time, just as I’m doing now. Can’t you feel it?”

Lord, could she! Helene’s scalp tingled with his exploration
of her throat, his mouth running up against the ties of Bridget’s cloak. He ran his tongue along the string.

“You…don’t know what you do!”

He chuckled again. Since he was directly above the cloak’s
opening, his breath caressed skin that never felt the like. Despite her best efforts, Helene stirred against him, undulating her body
like she’d seen Sherry do. Only it wasn’t a filthy movement, it was an
inevitable one.

“I know exactly what I’m doing, darling. It’s you who’s
worried. Am I not a proficient enough lover? I admit I’m a tad
rusty, but I’ll do my best by you, and I guarantee I won’t mark you
afterward.”

“M...mark me?”  Shudders made the words tremble
.

He lifted his head and smiled. “Have you forgotten your last
lover’s tribute so soon? Really darling, I expected better.”

His tone changed, tightening just enough that she stiffened
again.

“Don’t fret so. I’ll be much gentler than he was,
more loving and willing to give pleasure. I promise.”

He moved to straddle her as he spoke, lulling her with his words. And then he started ripping at the shoulder of her cloak and then her gown. Helene struggled then, hammering
at his arms. He acted like it was
nothing.
When he finished yanking as much of her dress off as he
wished, cool air greeted her skin, but he wasn’t looking at his
handiwork. His eyes were affixed to hers.

“You can cease the dramatics, Madame. I’d
never take what isn’t freely given, unlike your usual experience.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She reached to
hold her clothing together, but he caught her hands and held them with one of his. She couldn’t
fight him — he’d already proven that — and now he was proving
what a barbarian he was, too.

“Your mark, Madame.”

He pointed to her shoulder. She
turned her head and looked.
An ugly wound scored her shoulder. She turned back to Gil, her eyes wide.

“I…d-don’t understand.
Is that…a W? Why would I have it
carved there?”

He sighed so heavily, his breath grazed her revealed skin. “
There’s nothing to understand, Helene. Forget I showed it to
you.”

“But Bridget said I suffered a fall, and that’s why I don’t
remember…things. That’s true, isn’t it?”

She didn’t think he’d heard from the expression on
his face. He pushed back from her and stood; his expression as if he’d straddled something dirty. Helene sat up immediately and clasped her arms around her legs, staring at tree roots with unseeing eyes.

“No, it’s not the truth.” She heard the rustle of fabric and then his jacket came into view.
“Cover yourself, Helene, and I’ll take you back.”

Her fingers wouldn’t cooperate, but she finally had her arms through the sleeves and two of the buttons fastened. She gave up on the rest, and looked up at him.

“Well. You look dressed enough. Prepare yourself, love. I’m going to carry you.” 

His voice matched the hard look about him. She lifted her chin.

“I can walk.”

“Don’t bother with another act. Fair? I’m only carrying you to my horse. He might enjoy your company, but I find myself
more in need of a stiff drink, a soft bed, and then some well-deserved sleep. In that order.”

CHAPTER THREE

“You were a complete Hun, Gil.”

“You overstate my abilities, Reg. I’ve been called many
things, but a Hun? Leave off.” Gil chuckled, and the horse under
him snorted in reply.

“
You call tossing the girl on your shoulder, naming her a
whore, chasing her down on horseback, and ripping the clothing
from her the mark of a civilized man? Not that I have any
measure, but a Hun is the closest I can come to what you did.
Admit it.”

“I admit nothing. And if you insist on staying to enjoy
my banishment from the social world, the least you can do is get
the story straight.”

Reg hooted and eased his hunter int
o a trot. “Well, besides
enjoying your stable, table, and, of course, your well-stocked
cellar, I’ve grown quite fond of her.”

“Helene? Oh, please. You must be joking.”

“She’s quite a catch, Gillian. Much more intriguing
than Helen would ever be.”

“Perhaps
you
should’ve proposed to Helen in my stead, then.”

“In retrospect, I probably should have.”

“The country air has affected your mind, Reg. That’s it.”

“If you’d just speak with her, you’d agree. And really. I
t’s the only solution.”

“Pass the entire disaster off as a love match? You insult my intelligence.” 

Gil
spurred his mount. It took Reg a moment to catch up.

“When you tire of acting the barbarian, clue me in, old
chap. You know it’s the only answer. And with Prinny already talking of shifting his court to Brighton, you have to make a decision soon. Think, Man!”

“I wish you’d stop trying to be my conscience, Reg. It would
make you a more entertaining companion.”

Reg sighed and touched his horse’s neck with his riding crop. Gillian had an impressive stable. The bay he rode was a prime example. Muscled and easy-tempered, it was getting more
exercise than the poor thing counted on. Their stay at the
hunting cottage was wearing thin, as was Reg’s patience.

“All right, Gillian. Have it your way. Hide here a
nd let Helen win.”

“What?”

Reg ignored the anger behind the question and adjusted his stirrup on the
side farthest from Gil.

“You know, Reginald, it’s a very good thing I like you.”

Gil was glaring at him before he
turned back toward the estate.

“You’ll think on it?”

“She won’t even look at me, Reg. How am I supposed to act
like a love-besotted fool?”

“Talk to her! I’ve seen how ladies act around you.
You’ve a glib tongue when you need it. Tell her that when the acting’s over, she can stay at Tremayne Hall without a care. You’ll be free to go
back to your old haunts and Simone. I, for one, shudder at
the thought of that man-eater, but there’s no accounting for
taste.”

“You’d have me believe you actually prefer Helene to Simone?
I’m beginning to doubt your eyesight, Reg. Have you seen a doctor about that?”

“Your wife’s a lovely woman, Gil. Stop me if I lie, but I’m
beset by dreams of that reddish-brown hair loose on her
shoulders. I wasn’t joshing when I said I’d be counting myself very lucky
, were I in your shoes. Why…I’d even take her off your hands if she
finds Tremayne Hall too tame later. We could tour the Continent together.”

Gil stared at him. Reg smiled.

“Are you certain you feel all right,
Reg? The sun hasn’t gotten to you?”

“You’re the one in need of an examination, Gil. If you’d set aside your dislike of the situation, you’d see the light. You have a
wife who’d never interfere, the chance to set the town on its heels, and you can make a mockery of Helen Bingham at the same time! For revenge
value alone, the plan is perfect for your needs.’

“She won’t do it, Reg. She doesn’t even look at me, damn it.”

“She would if you didn’t act a Hun.
”

“I am
not
acting like a Hun.” 

Gil’s voice showed his irritation. Reg’s smiled widened.

“Tell her she won’t have to put up with your odious presence
after the season is over. She might do it simply to get rid of
you. That might work.”

“And what if Brandy decides to make an appearance? Have you
considered that aspect of your little plan? She isn’t stable,
blast it!”

“Then…Helen wins, doesn’t she?”

Reg shrugged and turned forward
.

***

Helene looked over the selection of delicacies the cook, Mrs.
Hotchkins, baked specially for her, before deciding any of
them would stick in her throat.
Sunlight warmed the alcove of her sitting room. Helene
stretched in the new nightgown Mistress Vale had sewn for her. Her ankle injury throbbed, although it was almost healed. She ignored it, leaning forward to watch
Gil ride toward the house beside Reg. She knew why she wasn’t hungry,
but she shouldn’t admit it — she wasn’t that stupid.

The men rode closer, Gillian so much a part of his horse, he looked perfect. Masculine. Honorable. She had to turn away. It was more stupidity to watch him. It caused something sharp to twinge deep inside her. Such a thing wasn’t possible. She’d be a fool to feel anything for him. She didn’t need to add unrequited emotion to her life. It was hard enough already. Nightmares plagued her sleep,
blanks of time sometimes happened during the day, and overriding all that was the lie.

She was so very tired of living it.

Sometimes, in Paris, when
Sherry lay asleep after a night of customers, Helene had let down her
guard and spun a fairy tale; one, where a prince came to rescue her. Take her away. Save her. Defeat all her dragons. If she’d
seen him then, the prince probably would’ve looked a lot like Gil.

“Listen to you, Helene. Gillian Tremayne. A prince.
”

It was clear he didn’t want her. He hadn’t even looked at her since his attempted ravishment.
Her shoulders sagged and a tear slid from her eye.
She wiped it away briskly with the tear with the belt of
Mistress Vale’s finely stitched
peignoir
and looked at her hands. The salve Mrs. Wright had made did wonders for Helene’s hands
. It was a shame nothing could be done about her face. She hadn’t even seen it since the carriage ride. She didn’t dare look. The memory of the witch from the carriage window
was enough to make her shudder even now, over a month later.

Gil might think it strange, and the staff could, too, but there
wasn’t a mirror allowed near Lady Tremayne. On her orders.

Vanity was such a strange thing, though. No matter how one tried to
profess that beauty was only skin deep, Helene knew the truth. She’d wanted to look like a banshee. She’d succeeded. What a shame Lord Tremayne was stuck with her. He
deserved a goddess for a wife, not a demon in goddess’ clothing.

Helene adjusted her nightgown over her knees,
loving the feel of goddess clothing even if she wasn’t fit to wear it.
It was time to face the piper.

Damn
. She’d admitted it. That meant she had to do it. And the upcoming interview was what stole her appetite.

Gil wasn’t like the other men she’d known. And he deserved the truth.

She’d suspected his nobility when he smoothed salve over her
wounds without once taking out a temper on her. For that, he
deserved the best performance she could give. That meant he got Helene. But she wasn’t even
enough. The kiss in the woods terrified and mystified, and started a tingle of something deep within her. And that decided her. She may not
know who the real Helene Bingham was anymore, but she had to find out.

Because it was time to cease acting.

She’d begun by acting for Sherry, so she wouldn’t take the
blame for
Mademoiselle
Bingham’s downfall.  Sherry had saved Helene’s life,
and the woman hadn’t even wanted to. Who cared about the education
Helene received in Sherry’s room? She’d been warm, dry, and fed. The least she could do was act as if she’d lost her wits.
That way, Sherry wouldn’t berate herself for Helene’s fall from
grace.

Acting for Sir Bingham, his children, and then the guards at
the sanatorium came next. If Helene had any doubts, they
were instantly stilled when she saw what they did to females in that place -
trussed up. Silenced. Unable to fight. God forbid such a fate befell her, deep in the night with no one to even know or care. There was only Brandy. Brandy was there to protect
her from Paris, Gerard Bingham, the sanatorium guards, and then Lord
Gillian Tremayne.

It was a shame Gil was strapped with her. He deserved
better than the rotten hand fate dealt him. He deserved a reserved, aristocratic
wife like Helene…except he hadn’t liked her, either. He didn’t want
Helene, and he didn’t want her to run away.

What the blazes does he want?

Helene stared unseeing at the fabric before her with
unseeing eyes. She knew what he wanted — the truth. And, in all fairness, he’d earned it.

“Begging your pardon, My Lady, but Lord Tremayne would
like a word with you this morn.”  Mrs. Wright spoke from the door.

“Lord...Gillian?”

“Aye, Mum. I think he’s bending a bit, I do.” She bustled over and shoved the dresses aside to look through them. “In fact, he acted quite cheerful, he did.”

“Go on with you, Mrs. Wright. The day he’s in that state at
the prospect of seeing me is the day I’ll fly.”

“I’m of the opinion that might exceed even your talents, darling.”

Gil’s voice preceded him as he walked right
into Helene’s dressing room as if he belonged there.
Mrs. Wright blushed so much Helene didn’t need to.

“I don’t suppose you could find a moment to see me
now? I mean…I’ve been doing some deep thinking
this morning, and I believe what I have to say can’t wait.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wright. That’ll be all.” 

Helene waved the open-mouthed woman from the room, aware of
how Gil’s eye followed her movement. She wondered how she
could do anything different. She was completely aware of everything about him. He hadn’t changed from his riding apparel. He looked big. Fit. Masculine. She had to look away in order to make her mouth work.

“I’ve been doing some thinking too, My Lord,” she said.

“Can’t you call me Gil? I get tired of reminding you.”

The last thing she wanted was to upset him. “I’m sorry. I know you
want me to call you Gil. And I’m really trying, but you see…I don’t deserve to
. You see,
I...I have a confession to make, My Lord.”

“I have one, as well. I must apologize for the way I’ve been treating you. I sincerely hope you’ll forgive it?”

She was going to cry if he kept speaking
.
He was apologizing?
God had a better
sense of humor than she’d thought.

“You’re not making this...easy, My Lord.”

“How many times must I ask? My name is Gil. And, as my
wife, you really do have to use it. Come along. Be a good girl and say it.
Gil.  See? It’s easy.”

He was probably smiling. She knew it would be devastating. That was
all the excuse she needed not to look. “Gil,” she whispered.

“You see? I can be something besides a Hun, and you
can actually call me by name.”

“
A Hun? Why would you think that?”

“Come, Helene. I’ve been acting a brute and a boor, and I’m apologizing for it. What else do you want of me?”

“Want of you? I don’t understand, My Lord.”

“Gil.”

She lifted her head to look at him, and caught his glance quickly away. He
hadn’t been looking at her face, but at where her negligee hadn’t quite reached her ankles
.  She didn’t blame him.  Her ankle wasn’t
scarred like her face.

And he was frowning.

“I’m sorry.”  Tears started. She knew they’d put him off, but even that didn’t stop them.
Damn everything!
At least as Brandy, she hadn’t been so emotional!