Emerald Garden (42 page)

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Mrs. Collins escorted Brandi to her room, carefully unfastening the delicate clasps of the gown.

“Didn’t you?” Brandi chewed her lip. “I suppose I’m being silly. Still, I wonder what he and Bentley were discussing that so captured his interest.”

“I haven’t a clue.” Mrs. Collins helped Brandi step out of her gown and slippers. “I’ll run down and store these in my wardrobe. Then we can select another gown—”

“Why not just store them in my wardrobe?” Brandi interrupted.

“Because, my lady, yours is overly crowded, while mine is half-empty. I don’t want the lace I worked so hard on to catch and tear. Therefore, I’d prefer situating it in my room, at least temporarily.”

“As you wish.” Brandi strolled over to her wardrobe. “I’ll pull out another gown.”

Mrs. Collins headed toward the door, then paused, an odd look on her face. “I’m so proud of you, Miss Brandi. You and Lord Quentin, be happy.”

Brandi’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “Thank you, we shall. But why are you talking as if …”

She hadn’t a chance to finish her sentence. Mrs. Collins disappeared down the hallway.

With a shrug, Brandi resumed her search for an appropriate gown. Evidently, Mrs. Collins had just chosen that particular moment to become emotional. An odd moment, to be sure, but perhaps a memory had chosen that instant to flash through her mind.

In any case, Brandi would properly hug and thank her when she returned.

Frowning down at her chemise, Brandi admitted to herself that the last thing she wanted was to don another gown and resume the festivities. In truth, while she adored all those present, what she really wanted was to be alone with Quentin.

Who, judging from his rapt expression as he conversed with Bentley, didn’t share her eagerness.

Utterly resigned, she reached for her lilac day dress, just as the bedchamber door clicked shut.

“I suppose this one is as good as any, Mrs. Collins,” Brandi called over her shoulder. “I don’t really have a preference.”

“Ah, but I do.”

Dropping the dress, Brandi whirled about, her eyes widening as she saw Quentin leaning against the wall, watching her.

“Leave the gown on the floor,” he advised, his heated gaze absorbing every beautiful, bare inch of her. “You’re breathtaking just as you are.”

“Quentin?” Bewildered, Brandi glanced at the closed door. “Mrs. Collins will be back …”

“In three days, as per my instructions.” Loosening his cravat, he crossed the room, his eyes blatantly disrobing his bride. “At the same time that Herbert, Bentley, and the entire staff will return.” He paused, his heated gaze lingering on the dark shadows of Brandi’s nipples, straining against her chemise, hardening beneath his scrutiny. “I believe I’ve changed my mind. I think perhaps you’re still too overdressed.”

“Three days?” Brandi managed, trembling beneath Quentin’s openly carnal stare. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you?” Quentin loomed over her, reaching out to sift his fingers through her glorious hair. “Then let me explain. I want my wife. Alone. For three days … and three nights. To that end, I relieved the servants of their duties. Now, does that alleviate your confusion?”

“You ordered the staff away?”

“Um-hum.” Quentin’s thumb trailed down the side of her neck, absorbing her tiny shiver. “Don’t worry. They’re well provided for, comfortably situated at a local inn, where they will remain for three days. They’ve been forbidden to approach this cottage for any reason whatsoever—and that command includes Lancelot.” A slow smile. “Even your squirrel didn’t dare challenge my authority—not this time.”

Realization filtered through Brandi’s deepening sensual haze. “You arranged this.”

“From beginning to end.”

“How did you know …”

“How did I know what? That you’d eventually be racing through the woods, wedding day or not?” Quentin lowered his head, his lips grazing the fluttering pulse at Brandi’s throat. “Because I know you, little hoyden. Better, obviously, than you know me.” He laughed, a heated wisp of sensation. “Did you honestly think I’d opted to spend my wedding night chatting with Bentley while you cavorted with Lancelot?” He brushed her hair aside, trailing damp kisses up her neck, drawing the soft lobe of her ear into his mouth.

“Quentin.” Everything inside Brandi seemed to melt and slide down to her toes. Her knees gave way and reflexively she clutched the soft wool of Quentin’s coat.

He caught her in his arms, carrying her the few steps to the bed and lowering her to its waiting haven. “Have you any idea how beautiful you are?” he murmured, following her down. “Or how badly I want you?”

“How badly?” Brandi’s fingers had already completed the task of unknotting his cravat, casting it aside and moving to the buttons of his waistcoat.

“So badly I’m shaking with it.” Quentin covered her hands with his, letting her feel their unsteadiness.

“I want you, too.” Tugging her hands free, Brandi unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt. “Oh, Quentin, I’ve waited forever. I want you so much.”

“Sweetheart … God.” A hard shudder racked his body as her palms smoothed over his bare chest, gliding through the mat of dark hair, then lightly brushing his nipples. “What are you doing to me?”

“Discovering you.”

Quentin’s mouth crushed down on hers, kissing her with an unleashed urgency that told her more clearly than words that tonight there would be no limits, no restraints.

No stopping.

“Touch me,” he commanded, seizing her wrist, pressing her palm to the hard ridge that pulsed through his breeches. “Everywhere. In every way. Christ, I need your hands on me.”

With trembling fingers, Brandi explored Quentin’s length, feeling the heat emanating through the barrier of his clothes. With her customary impulsiveness, unhindered by fear or reticence, she worked the buttons free, sighing with wonder as his rigid manhood sprang free, filled her hand.

Quentin went deadly still.

“Stop,” he rasped, tearing himself away. He stared down at her, his eyes nearly black with desire, his forehead damp with sweat. “I don’t believe …” He broke off, shaking his head, dragging air into his lungs.

For the first time, Brandi hesitated. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Wrong?” He could barely speak. “Sunbeam, I’m not going to last.”

A brilliant smile illuminated Brandi’s face. “I’m glad,” she whispered, leaning up to kiss the straining tendons at his neck.

“You don’t understand.” He caught her arms, eased her away. “Christ, even
I
don’t understand. If you touch me like that again, I’ll never make it inside you.”

Brandi looked puzzled. “Why not?”

With a half-laugh, half-groan, Quentin braced himself on his forearms. “Because, little hoyden, it appears you have the power to do precisely what you wanted. You completely undo me, splinter my control into a thousand irreparable fragments.”

“Is that bad?” Brandi asked, searching his face with wide questioning eyes.

“It’s a miracle.” He caressed her face. “There will be times—many times, I’m beginning to realize—when I’ll gladly surrender every iota of control I possess to you.”

“But not this time?”

“No, not this time.” He bent to brush her lips with his. “This time should be slow, soft, tender.” He lowered one strap of her chemise, his tongue tracing her shoulder.

“Why?” Brandi managed.

“Because it’s your first time—our first time. Because I want to savor you, cherish you, awaken every inch of you to the passion you’re capable of feeling.” His mouth teased the edge of her bodice. “Because I won’t hurt you,” he added fiercely.

“You could never hurt me.”

“Sunbeam, the first time …”

“I don’t care. I won’t feel the pain. I’ll only feel you.” Brandi shivered as Quentin kissed the hollow between her breasts, the movement causing her chemise to slide down, baring one perfect breast to his gaze.

Abruptly, Quentin couldn’t breathe or think or look away. His lips sought their goal, closing around her nipple, tugging it into the warm cavern of his mouth, bathing its rigid sweetness with his tongue.

Brandi cried out, tangling her fingers in the damp strands of hair at Quentin’s nape. “Yes,” she gasped, all the remembered pleasures of the last time coursing through her body in a deluge of sensation. “Oh, Quentin, yes.”

Her chemise gave beneath his hands, and Brandi sighed at the blessed relief of cool air against her feverish skin. Forcibly, she opened her eyes, watching Quentin drink in her nudity, his greedy gaze raking her from head to toe, lingering on the very core of her femininity that, days before, had blossomed to his touch. Harsh desire tightened his features, desire softened by a wonder so vastly beautiful it made her weak.

“My God, you’re flawless,” he said thickly, cupping her breasts, moving to trace the curve of her waist and hips. “Beyond flawless. Beyond description.” He reached her thighs, caressing them from top to bottom and, at the same time, pushing her stockings down to her feet and off. “I want nothing on you when I make you mine,” he breathed, his gaze returning to the burnished cloud between her legs. “Nothing but me.” He stroked his way back up her legs, lifting them to kiss the inside of her calves, her knees, the sensitive softness of her inner thighs.

Brandi was drowning in sensation, hovering in a magical place where nothing existed but the anticipation of Quentin’s touch.

His fingers found her, opened her, trembled as they encountered her velvety wetness. Brandi whimpered, undulated against him, and something inside Quentin snapped.

In one motion, he raised her legs over his shoulders, opening her fully to him, and lowered his head, burying his mouth in her sweetness. Brandi cried out, shock and ecstasy converging, melding into a pulse point of escalating sensation that threatened to submerge her with its intensity.

“Quentin … Oh God, Quentin …” She wasn’t even aware she was urging him closer, begging him to continue. All she knew was the unbearable things he was doing to her—his tongue, his teeth, his lips—stoking a fire that was already out of control and threatening to burn her to ashes.

Recklessly, she struggled, needing in a way she’d never needed, so wild for fulfillment she would die if he denied her.

Denial was the last thing on Quentin’s mind.

Caught in the grip of a clawing hunger, he was drunk on the taste, the scent, the very essence of his wife. Blindly, he slid his hands beneath her, lifting her harder, more fully against his seeking mouth, possessing her with deep hungry strokes that drove both of them to the very brink of madness.

He sensed her climax a split second before it crashed over her, and his lips surrounded her, his fingers sliding inside to intensify the wrenching pleasure—and to share it. Closing his eyes, he absorbed her convulsive spasms, listened to her wild cries of completion, reveled in the miracle of her response.

And fought for the control that Brandi’s innocence couldn’t fathom as necessary, but Quentin’s experience warned him was, in order to minimize her pain.

Perhaps he’d have succeeded in capturing that elusive control if he hadn’t raised up, watched Brandi’s face, seen the look of wonder in her eyes as she whispered, “Oh, Quentin.” Even then, he might have managed to temper his drive for possession long enough to take her slowly, reining in his hunger to lessen the pain he was helpless to prevent.

But when her warm searching fingers groped inside the opening of his breeches, finding and clasping his erection, exploring it with butterfly strokes, he was lost.

“Brandi.” With that single word, he vaulted from the bed, shedding his clothing in a heartbeat, coming down over her with a primal need he’d never experienced and couldn’t escape. “I’ve got to have you. Now.”

“Yes.” Brandi wrapped her arms about his neck, urging him down to her. “At last. The ‘all’ of which you spoke.” For an instant, her gaze flickered over him, awed amazement reflected in her eyes as she worshipped the tangible evidence of his craving for her. “You’re magnificent.” One hand moved to stroke his rigid length, lingered at the tip to absorb the droplets of fluid he couldn’t withhold. “So magnificent.”

Quentin groaned, tremors of need shuddering through him. “Wrap your legs around me. I’ve got to bury myself inside you. Brandi, now.” His hips were moving even as he spoke.

“Now,” she echoed breathlessly, doing as he’d commanded, wrapping herself around him, body and soul.

In that last, feverish second, their eyes met and held.

“I love you,” Brandi whispered.

“God, I love you, Sunbeam. Forgive me.” In one uncurtailable thrust, he lunged forward, tearing her maidenhead and burying himself to the hilt inside her.

He felt her go rigid, heard her sharp intake of breath, and cursed himself for his weakness. “Brandi.” He tried to raise up on his elbows, and failed, excruciating pleasure halting his progress as her virginal passage gripped him with fingers of fire, surrounded him with a liquid warmth that pushed him one step closer to climax. He gritted his teeth, swearing to himself to remain still until he was sure her pain was gone. “Sunbeam, are you all right?”

When his only answer was silence, he panicked, forcing his head up so he could see her face.

Brandi gazed back, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

“Brandi …” he began, despising himself.

“Why did you stop?”

“What?” Quentin blinked.

“I’m sorry I’m so … narrow. Am I hurting you?”

This time he was speechless.

“My pain only lasted a moment.” She shifted, wrapping her legs higher around him, opening herself more completely to him. “Is that better?”

“It couldn’t be better,” Quentin rasped, giving in to his body’s instinctive motions. “It’s too damned perfect.”

Covering her mouth with his, he made her his wife, lifting her into him, teaching her the age-old rhythm, and thereby discovering that he never truly knew it himself. Their bodies made magic together, arching closer, more wholly into one another, their senses lost in an all-encompassing pleasure that blazed hotter and higher with each thrust.

“Quentin …” Brandi began sobbing his name, clutching at his sweat-slick back, drowning in that spiraling pulse beat that permeated her very core, screamed for fulfillment.