If Love Were Enough (22 page)

With a nod, the housekeeper turned toward the door. “I’ll just check on you later then. I’ll have dinner sent up when it’s ready.” She shooed Abigail away as she reached the door then turned and closed it quietly behind her.

“What in bloody hell happened?” Brandon asked when they were alone.

“Damon wanted to prove Robert was not the heir. But it did not work.” She still didn’t know what to make of it all but she was too exhausted to talk about it now.

“Well, we’ll talk about it later. Scoot over and let me lay with you in case he returns.”

Cilla gave him a questioning look.

“Not to worry, I’ll lay on
top
of the blankets.”

Well, he was clothed though he looked as if he had thrown them on in haste.

“Were you sleeping?” she asked quietly. “Who came to get you?”

“Furston came with Abigail behind him. And, yes, I was sleeping. I threw on the first things that came to hand and rushed over here. I would have gotten here quicker if Abigail had come straight to me, but I think it would not have occurred to her to do so.”

Brandon pulled the blanket up to her chin. He went over to the fire, added another log, then stoked it to renew its heat. When he returned to the bed, he toed off his boots revealing bare feet, obviously there had been no time for socks, then laid down on the bed next to her.

Robert had gone back to sleep in her arms so she rolled away from Brandon to curl around her sleeping son. When she felt Brandon’s heat and strength against her back, his arm coming around her waist, she sighed and drifted off to sleep in the safety of his embrace.

Her last thought had to do with the birthmark. Did Brandon have one she had never noticed? She could not remember ever seeing him naked from behind.

Serenity fell over the estate after Damon stole a horse from the estate stables and left after his tirade against Cilla and the new baby and heir, Robert. The groom, Tad, said the now deposed marquess was cursing like a sailor and making plans for London. Since it was Wildfire he had taken and no one had any desire to ride him anyhow, Cilla chose not to pursue the matter. Besides, no one was sorry to see the dissipated, self-absorbed, demon-seed go.

Cilla sent an urgent dispatch to the family solicitor in town explaining everything that had happened and that Damon should go on receiving his allowance as before. There would be no increases and he was not to have his excesses covered by estate funds. The allowance was more than generous. If Damon could not live within such means, especially considering he did nothing to earn them, he could pay the price of being held accountable for his own debts, be they honorable or not.

Weeks went by in peace.

With the threat of being accosted by Damon removed, Cilla moved back into her marchioness bedroom.

Every night Brandon slept with her there, the child in a cradle steps from their side.

The banns were read.

Brandon and Cilla had a quiet wedding in the formal parlor of the manor house. Mrs. Seeman and Furston served as witnesses and the remaining staff helped to celebrate the joyous occasion.

Cilla did not know what mischief Damon was up to but spent little time worrying about him. Instead, she spent her days with her new son and husband.

Almost daily, she and Brandon would spend mornings in the library working on estate business. Cilla met with her overseer and handled correspondence.

Brandon set up his messengers as he had planned. His sister, Marie, was serving as his surrogate, meeting with his overseer, reviewing his missives and insuring all actions were taken as he desired and directed. She was more than happy to do so since Brandon had given her leave to invite Estella to live with her. Marie was elated, as was Estella, with the new arrangement.

Lord knew what their staff thought, but they, too, would have to adjust.

As spring approached and the weather warmed, Cilla started taking a walk with Robert each day along the North Sea beach. Some days Brandon would join them. Others he would continue working in the library.

It was a particularly fine day. Robert, already five months old, and Cilla were out enjoying the weather and the breeze off the sea. Brandon was finishing up the current missive to his overseer when he heard hooves clattering out in the stable yard.

Not expecting visitors, Brandon went to the window to take in who had arrived.

Damon was leaning down from his rambunctious horse, Wildfire. The steed pulled hard at the reins while Damon held him in a cruel grasp, the bit cutting into the horse’s mouth. Words were being exchanged and Brandon saw the young groom, Tad, wave his hand toward the beach after Damon had smacked him hard across the face.

Panic and fear seized him as he knew who Damon was after.

In seconds, Brandon ran through the library door and down the hall. Mrs. Seeman drew back as he flew past her.

“My lord, what’s the matter?” she turned to follow after him.

“Damon’s back and he’s looking for Cilla at the beach,” Brandon threw back over his shoulder as he jerked the side garden door open and escaped through it high-tailing it toward the shore. Mrs. Seeman now hurrying after him with her skirts hiked up around her knees.

Damon had just pulled up his horse so hard the pained animal reared up on his hind legs.

Cilla was staring up at the wild-eyed beast in horror. She stepped back, protecting Robert by clutching him close and wrapping her arms around him.

Damon flung himself to the ground and stalked toward her.

Brandon was now running toward Cilla as fast as his legs could carry him. He ignored the pain in his side and the screams and shrieks coming from behind him.

A lower voice had joined Mrs. Seeman’s. Furston must be running hard to catch up. God help them if the aged butler’s heart failed in his haste.

Brandon, getting closer now but still too far away to do any good, heard Damon as he screamed at Cilla, waving his arms with what looked like a pistol in one of his hands. His violent words drifted back to him on the easy spring breeze as Damon strode over to her and grabbed her by the arm with his free hand.

“I’ve had enough, you selfish whore. That pittance for an allowance is nothing. I want it all. You deserve nothing for having this bastard child and fobbing it off as Robert’s heir.”

Cilla wrapped her arms tighter around the child and made to pull away.

Damon’s grip would not let her go. He was shaking her hard as she cradled the infant, pressing his small head against her chest.

Cilla was screaming, tugging against Damon’s violence, “Let me go. You deserve nothing. You have earned, done nothing. You were lucky Robert gave you anything all those years. All you gave him was hate, greed, jealousy and worse. No wonder he was desperate to have a son. He didn’t want you to inherit.”

Brandon was running hard, pushing himself, fighting for breath. He had to get to Cilla. He had to save her. Save the baby.

“You bitch,” Damon shouted. “I don’t need you or this bastard. With the two of you gone, it’ll all be mine.” He wrenched her hard, moved his hands to her throat.

Brandon was almost there. Almost there. . . .

“You’ll not take me or my baby,” Cilla screamed. She leaned toward Damon, the extra give throwing him off balance. She threw a foot out and tripped him.

Losing the grip on her throat while trying to save himself, Damon stumbled backward grasping the air in a futile effort to regain his footing. When he fell against Wildfire’s withers then to the ground, the horse went mad. Rearing up, his hooves came down violently once, twice and then a third time. Damon tried to protect himself by flinging his arms over his face and head but the horse’s agitation was too great.

Brandon arrived to wrap an arm around Cilla and Robert, pulling them back from the horse’s wild fit of temper.

Damon’s screams rent the air.

Then there was silence.

Wildfire whinnied, snorted and retreated. Damon lay still at the horse’s feet. His chest caved in, his face a bloody mess. There was no way he could have survived the onslaught.

Brandon, gasping for breath from his run to the beach, sat on the ground, pulling them onto his lap. Cilla, now sobbing, laid her head against his shoulder as she rubbed the wailing baby’s back to soothe him.

“He was going to kill me. He was going to kill me and our son. For the money. All that just for the money.”

Brandon held her close as one hand stroked her back.

“It’s okay now, Cilla. He’s gone. He won’t be back. You’re safe.” As his breathing calmed, he could feel Cilla trembling in his arms. Her tears kept coming as Mrs. Seeman and Furston came up beside them.

“Are you all right, my lady? Is the baby well?” Mrs. Seeman gasped as she bent over, her hands on her knees.

“Yes, we’re fine,” Brandon said as he looked up into two worried faces. “You both look as if you will pass out. Sit down here and catch your breath. It’s over now. Damon’s gone. Did you see?”

“We saw it all, my lord,” Furston gasped, his face as red as a beet. He was folded over at the middle leaning both hands on his knees. “The horse went mad. No wonder the way he rode the poor thing. There was no saving the blighter. It was best you saved yourselves.”

Brandon almost chuckled. He could not remember ever hearing that many words come out of the butler’s mouth. And the cockney accent, still strong after so many years in Rutherford service, must be why he said so little lest he give himself away.

They sat there many minutes, catching their breath, looking out over the sea to the blue sky beyond.

Wildfire had calmed down, his breathing slowed. His right hoof nudged the mangled body on the ground. Then he lowered his head to nuzzle it. When Damon didn’t respond, Wildfire raised his head and whinnied again, then moved off to graze as if nothing untoward had occurred.

Mrs. Seeman said, “Well, it looks like Wildfire has recovered.”

No one made a move to look after Damon.

Finally, Furston said, “I’ll go fetch a groom to go for the magistrate. Must I run?” He got to his feet but bent over a moment to continue gathering his strength and breath.

Cilla, sitting in Brandon’s lap gently rocking the now sleepy baby, stopped sobbing.

Brandon stroked her hair as he answered, “No need, Furston. Make it a stroll to the stable. Damon’s not going anywhere and we’ll be here when the magistrate arrives.”

Furston trundled off toward the stable yard.

Brandon rose to his feet lifting Cilla and the babe into his arms.

“Come, Mrs. Seeman. I think we all must be due for a cup of hot tea. I’ll take mine with brandy, I think.” Rubbing his cheek against Cilla’s forehead he continued, “We might even give her ladyship just a taste.”

“Lady Priscilla,” Mrs. Seeman said, after knocking and entering the drawing room. “Furston just gave me this missive. It was delivered moments ago and I believe it’s the one you and Lord Brandon are waiting for.” The housekeeper crossed the room to the bergère chair where she sat in the warm light from the windows. Cilla took the foolscap and turned it over not recognizing the seal of the noble house protecting its contents.

She paused to watch Brandon pick up his son and settle in the chair next to hers. Laying Robin, their new pet name for their son, up against his shoulder, he patted him on the back. “Go ahead, my love. Open it.”

Ms. Seeman turned to leave.

Cilla turned her head, alerted by the housekeeper’s movement. “Don’t go, Ethel. You have every right to hear this too. After all, you know all that has gone on this past year and have been kind enough to keep it to yourself.”

“But my lady, it’s none of my business.”

“Nonsense. You run this house, you take care of all of us, you keep our secrets. It is your business. If you don’t stay now, I’ll just have to find you and tell you later. Come, pull up a chair.”

After watching Ethel pull up a small side chair and settle into the alcove, Cilla, her back as stiff and straight as a poker, took a deep breath then broke the seal to reveal the contents. She began to read. . . .

My Dear Lady Brookfield,

Thank you for your inquiry concerning the rightful line of inheritance in the case of your late husband, The Eighth Marquess of Rutherford, Robert Allan Aloysius Reginald Brunell. I understand how this matter becomes even more critical with the tragic and untimely demise of the next in line for the title, Damon Sedgewick Brunell.

Due to the long line of prior succession and the lack of current direct heirs, our search took us back a number of generations. In point of fact, the next person in line for your late husband’s title comes through the line of The Fourth Marquess of Rutherford’s younger sister. Elizabeth Margaret Brunell married Albert Michael Jennings, Viscount Marfield. Their oldest son, Michael Randolph Jennings, married Jane Anne Markley. The oldest son of this union, David Roger Jennings, married Sarah Alice Englewood. This couple did not have a son but four daughters. The eldest daughter, Mary Margaret Englewood, married Angus Silas Bradley, Viscount Brookfield. This latest union resulted in the birth or one son, Silas Angus Robert Bradley, who married Dorothea Mary Jefferson, resulting in the issue of one son and one daughter, Brandon Silas Angus Bradley and Mary Elizabeth Bradley, respectively.

It is the Committee of Privileges understanding this son, Brandon Silas Angus Bradley, as stated above, is the current Viscount Brookfield and the only direct descendent who has legitimate claim to the Rutherford title if your late husband died without issue. If this latter fact is inaccurate, please advise us immediately.

If you should have any further inquiry or need additional clarifications, please contact this office.

Sincerely,

James Runion Sinclair, Earl of St. Cloud

Secretary, Committee of Privileges

House of Lords

. . . Cilla dropped back against her chair, speechless.

“My lady, it’s the viscount himself,” Mrs. Seeman said, as if in confirmation of the given information. “Well, that just seems right now doesn’t it? That means he’s the current marquess and our baby Robin here is the legitimate heir to him now, doesn’t it? Well, I’ll wager you two have a lot to discuss. I’ll just go make you both some tea.” The housekeeper rose from her chair, placed it back where it belonged and headed for the door. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

As the door latch clicked softly, Cilla looked over to Brandon. “We never discussed the birthmark. No wonder Robin has one. You have one too. I finally noticed. It took me weeks because I would always get distracted by other things.”

Robin, now asleep in his father’s arms, made a sucking sound as Brandon shifted him to take Cilla’s hand in his.

“I never thought about the birthmark, Cilla. I know my father had one but my sister didn’t. We never made a fuss over it of course. When you and I are alone and I take off my clothing. . . . Well . . .” He smiled as his eyes warmed on her face.

Cilla chuckled. “Yes, other things. You have a knack for distracting me with other things. But that’s why Damon thought he could prove the baby was not Robert’s. If the child was a boy and had no birthmark, particularly dolphin shaped, then he would be able to claim he was not the legitimate heir. Assuming Damon had the birthmark and could show it to the authorities he would call in, that would have legitimized his own claim and prove mine false.”

Their son woke up then and started fussing and carrying on.

“I think he’s hungry.” Cilla said. “I’d better feed him so he’ll settle down again.” As she prepared to nurse her son, Cilla continued. “It has to be a small miracle the one person in the entire world who would be able to provide my son with the necessary birthmark to legitimize his claim to Robert’s fortune would be the man I fall in love with.”

Brandon handed the baby to her and watched as he started to suckle. No sooner was the child done and dozing in his mother’s arms, then there was a tap on the door and Mrs. Seeman entered with the tea tray. She sat it up on the table before the settee as Betsy, the new nursemaid, came in to take Robin from his mother’s arms.

Cilla kissed the sleeping babe on his forehead before handing him off. Then she and Brandon resettled themselves on the settee to have tea. She hailed the housekeeper before she made to leave.

“Tell me, Ethel. I saw your lack of reaction as I read the letter. You were not in the least surprised when I read the letter from the Committee of Privileges, were you?”

After turning back, Mrs. Seeman answered, “Oh, no, my lady. I had no doubt of what the Committee would find when you wrote them.” Ethel stood before the two of them seemingly serene in her knowledge and responsibilities.

“Did you know about the birthmark, Mrs. Seeman?” Brandon asked, obviously curious about the housekeeper’s confidence on the matter.

“It may have been mentioned over the years, my lord, but I can’t say that I remembered it.”

“Then how,” Cilla asked, confused, “did you have any inkling of the outcome?”

Mrs. Seeman smiled with patience and affection at her mistress and master sitting on the little sofa.

“Why, from the portrait, of course, my lady. I know you’ve seen it. Up in the portrait gallery. Lord Robert took you up there long ago but I don’t remember you visiting it for a long time. Anyhow, there’s the portrait of himself right about the age Lord Brandon is now. If you remember his telling you, he was already married to Lady Amanda then. Well, the portrait is the living image of Lord Brandon. So, I just figured it had to be fate that you found his lordship here and he was the heir to Lord Robert. It all worked out very nicely, don’t you think?” Mrs. Seeman made a short curtsey. “I’ll be going about my business now, Lady Priscilla, unless you have something else you need me to do.”

Cilla, still trying to keep her mouth from gaping open, waved her away. “Thank you, Ethel. I expect Lord Brandon and I will be taking a walk up to the portrait gallery.”

“As you wish, my lady.” The door clicked closed behind her.

“Stand in the light, Brandon.” The late afternoon sun spilled warm rays on the walnut parquet floor as Cilla stared up at her late husband’s portrait. “You could be his twin,” she said in stunned amazement. “I knew when I first saw you, you resembled him greatly, but I had not been in this hall for years. After all, none of these people are my relatives and Robert’s portrait does not depict him as I will remember him.” She walked to Brandon and looked closer at his face and eyes. “Even his eye color, in his youth, was the same as yours.”

Brandon pulled her into his arms. “So maybe you fell in love with me because I looked like a younger version of your husband.” He bent to nuzzle her neck, place kisses along her chin.

“Brandon.” Cilla tried pulling away. “Not here.”

“Why not? No one is here to watch us. Besides, I think there are a few more ideas in that little book of yours I’d like to try out.” He tilted her head up and took her mouth with a ravenous kiss. “Well, we’ll just have to go back to our bedchamber. Who would think you would be so proper after all I have learned of you?”

A fire blazed in the bedchamber hearth trying to take the chill off the cloudy Northumberland night. Two candles were lit, one on each of the tables beside the huge Elizabethan bed whose tapestry draperies were now pulled back. Other than that, it was the fire’s glow that lit the room.

And made her radiant in its warm light. She had on a gold silk robe, floor length, with nothing on beneath it. Her small feet peeked out from the hem when she walked, as she did now, back and forth before the hearth. Her hair, which had fallen down during their recent lovemaking, was flowing in graceful waves to her waist. As she paced before the fire, she drew her brush through her long auburn tresses burnished by the light of the flames.

He wanted to touch her hair, revel in its softness as it was reddened by the fire’s glow.

He rose from the bed. When he reached her, he tugged her elbow so she stopped in front of him. He held out his hand. “The brush, may I have it please?”

She looked up at him, her perfectly arched brows raised in question.

“Let me, Cilla. Let me brush your hair.” He reached for the brush, turned her around and drew it through the shimmering mass, his free hand gliding down behind the bristles. Not a tangle in it. She must have been almost done with the task.

“Sit, here on the floor in front of the fire,” he said.

They settled on the carpet and he set to brushing again. “It’s untangled, Brandon. I’m finished with it.”

“I know. But I love the feel of it. It’s magnificent, you know. I sometimes think I could brush it forever, but there are other things . . .”

Brandon laid the brush down. He reached around her, grasped the edges of her robe and slid them down off her shoulders and back. His hand swept the tresses aside exposing her back, shoulders and the nape of her neck so he could place heated wet kisses wherever he wished.

“There are other things,” he crooned as he placed a kiss at her nape, rewarded with the sharp intake of her breath as his lips felt the warmth of her skin. “I want to tell you, Cilla, I know what you did and I understand why you did it.”

Her breathing was slow and lazy. “Mmm. What? What did I do, Brandon?”

“It was intentional, wasn’t it? Getting pregnant. Picking me to get you with child?”

Her back straightened as she pulled away and twisted to face him. “Intentional? Getting pregnant? Brandon, what are you talking about?”

He let her move away just a bit but took her hand in his own. “When you went to Asheville after Robert died. You knew you needed an heir to save the estates from Damon. I’m guessing you figured your brother might have a friend or two visiting from the area you might make use of.”

Cilla looked away. Even in the dim glow of the fire he could see the color rise to her face.

“I was never sure I could go through with it.” She turned back to face him. “I never expected the house party. And the people there were so distasteful. I was convinced fate was telling me it was no use. I had been watching from the top of the stairs as each couple arrived. I pretty much had given up hope. Then you arrived.” A single tear slid down her cheek, her eyes red-rimmed and welling with more tears to come. “I had been up to the portrait gallery once or twice and that early on in our marriage. I remembered just enough from Robert’s picture to recognize his youthful coloring, hair, eyes, skin. You were perfect. But later I saw that Anne had set her sights on you. And, I did not know if I could go through with it.”

“That’s why you seemed so confused?” Brandon squeezed her hand.

“Yes, it was difficult for me to decide to use someone like that and then to go through with it. . . . “

“You never expected to tell me about the child, did you?” He kept his voice gentle wanting to know it all. Wanting to start with no secrets between them.

“You were a rake. I didn’t expect you would care. But then we talked and got to know each other and the agony you were feeling over your father’s impending death. Then we made love.”

She looked down so he tilted her head back up to look into her eyes once again. “You felt more than you expected, didn’t you? As did I. I didn’t go to Asheville with thoughts of falling in love. I didn’t expect to change my entire life because of meeting and making love with a woman I had never known before. But when I returned to BrookLea, I couldn’t bring myself to marry Estella. It was not in me. And things there were not as they seemed.”

“Brandon, I thought you deserted me. What was I to think? I figured I had misunderstood and you felt nothing. So I ignored the hurt and nurtured the child I was carrying, protecting him from Damon’s evil intentions.”

He pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “Now you know, though, I did write, I did try to contact you. It was Anne’s revenge for my slighting her that she kept my communications from you.”

Cilla laid her head against his shoulder. “Yes, I know. But it doesn’t change the facts. Are you angry with me? Angry because I used you?”

She was not looking at him now, would not meet his eyes.

He tilted her face up once again and placed a kiss upon her lips. “It took a while for me to realize what happened and why. It was more complex than I imagined in so many ways. Even my sister and Estella were a surprise. But how could I fault you? I hadn’t expected our relationship to be lasting when we first met. I didn’t expect my missives to you to be stolen so you would think what had happened between us was nothing. If I put myself in your place, would I not have considered the same actions? A woman has little power in the path of her life, especially when her husband, her protector, dies and leaves her unguarded.

“No, Cilla, I’m not angry.”

He brushed her lips again.

“You said once if love were enough you would have had the son Robert needed. But if you had, I would never have met you. I would not be married to you now.”