Emerald Garden (20 page)

“But you disagree.”

“I do.” One dark brow rose in question. “Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Brandi concurred. “Oh, I’m certain the Bow Street magistrate will cover every possible avenue. But ’tis up to us to explore the impossible.”

Quentin’s lips curved in a poignantly tender smile. “Your spirit alone is enough to sustain me.”

Brandi’s lashes lifted. “I’m glad.”

Another exquisitely painful silence.

Roughly, Quentin cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should be getting back to Colverton.”

“If you think it best.” Brandi hesitated, then broached the very real, very immediate future. “Tell me, my lord, do you intend to honor your promise?”

He blinked. “Promise?”

“Yes. You said we had only to wait until Desmond received word from Mr. Hendrick before we rode to Townsbourne to peruse Father’s papers. Well, we’ve received word and the results are nonexistent. Therefore, I’d like to go to Townsbourne tomorrow.”

After a brief pause, Quentin nodded. “Very well, Sunbeam. Tomorrow it is. I’ll collect you at nine o’clock, which will give us the better part of the day at your father’s manor. All right?”

“All right.” Brandi stood on tiptoe, brushed Quentin’s chin with her lips. “Thank you, Quentin.”

“For what?” His voice was husky.

“For not shutting me out. For not breaking a promise. For understanding me.”

“Sunbeam …” He framed her face between his palms.

A sharp knock sounded at the sitting room door.

“Yes?” Quentin called.

“Master Quentin, Miss Brandi.” Without preliminaries, Bentley entered the room, his lips drawn into a grim line. “Forgive me for intruding. But I need to see you right away, my lord.”

“What’s wrong, Bentley?” Quentin demanded, an unsettled feeling tightening his gut. “What’s happened?”

Bentley scanned the room. “Is Master Desmond here?”

“He was. He just left for Colverton. You must have passed each other on the road.”

“I see. Well, perhaps it’s just as well. My reason for being here at this late hour is pressing and, most probably, confidential.” The butler withdrew a folded envelope from his pocket. “This came for you, sir—it’s from the War Department.”

“The War Department?” Quentin’s brows arched in surprise. Swiftly, he reached for the letter.

“Yes, my lord. ’Twas delivered by a messenger from Whitehall who stressed the immediacy of its contents. He was most distressed to learn you were not at home, and equally reluctant, at first, to turn the missive over to me. However, after I’d convinced him of my long-standing service to your family, he amended his decision—with the stipulation that I transmit the message to you as soon as possible.”

Wordlessly, Quentin tore open the envelope, scanning the note’s contents. “It seems I’m being recalled. Effective immediately.”

“Recalled?” Brandi echoed, her pupils dilating with shock.

A terse nod. “Evidently, I’m needed in the colonies. Our troops are encountering unanticipated difficulty in deciphering enemy missives. I’m commanded to leave for America the morning after next, at the first light of day.” He raked an unsteady hand through his hair. “Bloody hell.”

“The day after tomorrow,” Brandi reiterated, folding her hands in an attempt to still their shaking.

“I was afraid of that,” Bentley murmured. “Little else could be so urgent.”

“I can’t go.” Quentin stuffed the missive in his pocket and began to pace. “Not now.”

“You must.” Brandi wondered if those words really came from her. “You’re an expert at deciphering coded messages, Quentin. Your skills are extraordinary—as is your allegiance. England needs you. You couldn’t live with yourself if you let her down.”

“You’re right—I couldn’t,” Quentin agreed, halting in the center of the room. “Nor could I live with myself if I abandoned the search for my parents’ murderer. No, Sunbeam, until that bastard is found and punished, I’m going nowhere.”

“It would seem, sir,” Bentley mused aloud, “knowing how highly the War Department regards you, that they aren’t aware of the recent developments regarding the carriage accident. If the War Minister knew your parents were murdered, he would have conferred with you in an unofficial capacity before formally summoning you back to war.”

Quentin’s head came up. “That’s true.” His mind began racing. “I’ll ride to London tomorrow and meet with the necessary officials. Surely they can delay my departure a week—a fortnight at most. By then, the killer will have been caught and punished, Ardsley and my parents can rest in peace, and I can resume my life.”

“Quentin, you needn’t delay your trip,” Brandi interjected, firmly squelching her personal anguish at the thought of Quentin’s departure. “I can continue the investigation on my own.”

“No, you can’t.” Quentin moved forward, seizing Brandi’s arms. “Or rather, you won’t. Brandi, I told you, trying to unmask a murderer is not an exciting challenge. It’s a serious and potentially dangerous business—not one I’ll allow you to undertake alone.” His eyes narrowed on her face. “I want your promise.”

She blinked. “Promise?”

“Yes. Our trip to Townsbourne—the one we planned to make in the morning—promise me you won’t go. Not tomorrow when you’ll be unaccompanied. Give me your word that you’ll wait.” He frowned at the ensuing silence which, knowing Brandi as he did, could mean but one thing. “I’m only asking for a day, Sunbeam. That’s all it will take for me to rectify things with the army. I’ll return to the Cotswolds by nightfall. We’ll ride to Townsbourne the following morning.” He gave her a. slight shake. “I want your vow that you won’t pursue this alone.”

“All right,” she agreed. “You have my word—I won’t go to Townsbourne alone. But, Quentin? Please make sure this is what you truly wish to do. I know how important your career is—not only to you, but to England. So please—be certain.”

“I’m very certain.” His forefinger traced the bridge of her nose. “Is this really the same young woman who begged me not to leave the Cotswolds? Who pleaded that I not abandon her to her first unbearable London Season?”

“That was four years ago, Quentin. I was little more than a child.”

“Which, somewhere between then and now, you ceased to be.”

“Until last week I would have refuted that statement. But now, since you’ve come home, I realize just how true it is.”

Nonchalantly, Bentley made his way to the door. “Master Desmond will be pondering my whereabouts,” he announced loudly. “So, having delivered my message, I’d best take my leave. Good night, Master Quentin, Miss Brandi.”

Quentin’s gaze flickered to the doorway. “Thank you, Bentley.”

“Not at all, sir.” The butler glanced down at his uniform, frowning in apparent annoyance. “Oh dear. It seems that in my haste to dismount I severed a button from my coat.” He cast an inquiring look at Brandi. “ ’Twas a brass button—one I’d hate to lose. If it’s acceptable, Miss Brandi, I’d like to return tomorrow morning to search for it. I’d do so now, but ’tis far too dark to locate so small an object. Further, as I’ve just stated, Master Desmond will be looking for me.”

“Certainly, Bentley.” A warm glow lit Brandi’s eyes. “By all means, return tomorrow to search for your button. In fact, come for breakfast. Mrs. Collins will be delighted. And Herbert will be thrilled to have another gentleman to listen to his complaints about the uncooperative geraniums beside the gazebo.”

“Thank you.” A half bow. “Then I’ll be on my way.”

He disappeared down the hallway.

“Bentley is a wonderful man,” Brandi pronounced. She smiled up at Quentin. “And so are you.”

“I?” Quentin was the picture of innocence.

“Yes, you,” Brandi returned with great conviction, giving him a grateful, knowing look. “I don’t expect—any more than you do—that Bentley will find his missing button in the cottage or anywhere on the grounds of Emerald Manor. In fact, I’d be willing to wager a thousand pounds that, if he chose to, Bentley could locate his button this very instant—right in his own pocket, of all places. Don’t you agree?” Tenderly, she caressed Quentin’s jaw. “I’m very lucky to have the two of you looking out for me. As Bentley obviously surmised, I wasn’t feeling terribly enthusiastic about spending tomorrow alone. And, bless his heart, he came to my rescue. But then, neither his kindness nor his insight should surprise me. After all, he’s enjoyed the same splendid companionship as I, provided by my wondrous instructor—the man who taught me to shoot, to fish … and to care.” Brandi stood on tiptoe, skimming Quentin’s lips in a whisper of a caress. “Thank you—for everything. Your devotion means the world to me.”

Silently, Quentin threaded his fingers through her hair.

“What are you thinking, Captain Steel?”

“I’m thinking that you’re as intelligent as you are beautiful.” His thumbs moved lazily along the sides of her neck. “And I’m thinking that if I don’t leave now, I’m going to cast all my noble intentions to the wind.”

“I hope so,” she whispered, her eyes deepening to a velvety brown.

“Brandi …”

“I know.” Her forefinger silenced him, pressing gently against his mouth. “Just kiss me good night.” A teasing grin. “After all, since you also instructed me so diligently in the fine art of kissing, I’d like to practice what I learned.”

His gaze darkened, falling to her lips. “Which type of kiss did you wish to practice—the type I told you to allow or the forbidden type?”

“The latter.” Tenderly, she stroked his nape. “Just so I’m sure I understand what never to permit.”

Quentin made a rough sound of surrender as he lowered his head, his mouth opening hungrily over hers. “God, Sunbeam, you shatter every damned resolution I make.”

“I’m glad.” Brandi leaned into him, deepening the kiss with all the skill he’d taught her. Her tongue traced his lips lightly, then glided into his mouth to meld with his.

A hard shudder racked Quentin’s body, his arms tightening reflexively, molding her against him. He half-lifted her from the Oriental rug, fitting their bodies together in a way that made Brandi throb with the same unknown yearning that gnawed inside her each time they came together.

“Quentin … stay,” she breathed as his lips left hers, hotly claiming her neck, her throat, the upper slope of her breasts that was unconcealed by her bodice. “Don’t leave me—not now. I can’t bear this ache.”

His groan vibrated against her skin. “Sunbeam, if you only knew how badly I want to stay.” His open mouth traced the curve of her shoulder. “But I can’t—I can’t.”

“Why?” She cradled his head between her hands, reveling in the blazing heat that emanated from every inch of her he’d branded as his.

“Because with us …” Quentin raised his head, battling for sanity—finding none. “Brandi, with us, it could never be half-measure. It has to be all—or nothing.”

“All,” she whispered, her drugged gaze meeting his.

“No, sweetheart, not all.” He kissed her again, slowly this time, tasting each corner of her mouth, nibbling first at her lower lip, then her upper, finally possessing her mouth with a consuming intensity that wrested her breath, captured her soul.

“Quentin …” She relinquished herself entirely, drowning in the bottomless hunger of his kiss, her entire body taut, straining, empty with a need only Quentin could fill.

Painfully aware that this was as far as things could progress—as far as he could ever allow them to progress—Quentin held nothing back, pouring his pain, his confusion, his desire into a kiss that took more, gave more, shared more than anything he’d ever experienced. He literally couldn’t get enough of her: her taste, her scent, the incredibly erotic feel of her in his arms. Again and again, his mouth slanted across hers, until every shred of his control had dissipated and he knew that in mere seconds he was going to carry her to the sofa and make love to her.

He tore his mouth away, every nerve ending in his body screaming a protest, the ache in his loins so acute he groaned aloud.

“Quentin?” Brandi’s breath emerged in short pants of uncertainty.

He pressed his forehead to hers. “We have to stop. Now.”

“Are you in pain?”

A trace of humor glinted in the inferno of his gaze. “Excruciating pain. The kind I’d like to immerse myself in until hell freezes over.”

She blinked, fathoming on some innate level that she was the cause—and the cure—for Quentin’s pain: a pain much like her own, born of pleasure, not anguish. And she wanted nothing more than to assuage it. “Then why must we stop?”

“You know why.”

“No—I don’t.” Brandi’s protest was a tantalizing whisper against his overheated skin. “I want to give you everything. Oh, Quentin, don’t you understand? I love you.”

His head jerked up, wild emotions raging in his eyes. “Christ, Brandi, don’t say that.”

“Why not? ’Tis the truth. I do love you.”

Sadness grazed the harsh lines of his face. “I know you do, Sunbeam. But not in the way you think.” Slowly, he lowered her feet to the floor, reaching up to gently disengage her arms from around his neck.

“What do you mean, not in the way I think?”

“Friendship breeds a very special kind of love. And passion? Passion is one of the most powerful forces in life, compelling people to act in ways they would never otherwise have considered.” Quentin’s lips swept across her palms: first one, then the other. “ ’Tis only natural, when circumstances deem that two such profound emotions merge, for you to brand it as love.”

Brandi’s pupils dilated in stupefied amazement. “And you’re telling me it’s not love?”

“I’m telling you we can’t allow it to be.”

“You’re a bloody fool.”

Quentin’s jaw dropped, her accusation a douse of cold water on his heated senses. “What?”

“You heard me.” Brandi stepped away from him, running a shaking hand through her disheveled tresses. “You’re so brilliant, yet so utterly blind. You have all the answers, yet the questions still evade you. Your reasoning is flawless, yet your conclusions can be naught but false, for they are founded in fact not feeling. In short, you’re a bloody fool. And your obtuseness is not something I can remedy. That task, my lord, must be yours and yours alone.” Her voice broke, tears glistening on her lashes. “No.” She squelched Quentin’s reply with a hard shake of her head. “Go back to Colverton. Ride to London and rectify things at Whitehall. But consider all I’ve said—not only about what’s best for England, but about what’s best for all you love. Good night, Captain Steel.”