If Love Were Enough (3 page)

Sitting at the other side and other end of the table, Brandon kept a close watch on his newest interest. She had one debauched lord at each elbow both of which endeavored to keep her entertained. They refilled her wine glass when she took the merest sip. Yet, she was not obliging them in getting herself past her limits, nor even close, as she seldom touched her wine.

He had not seen again the fleeting look of vulnerability that flitted across her face when she glanced out the French doors earlier. At that moment, she had not looked the Ice Queen, but the forlorn widow.

Had she loved her husband despite the disparity of their ages? Was her heart broken?

Feeling a hand on his sleeve, Brandon broke his abstraction. “Have you found someone of interest, my lord? I would be more than happy to make introductions should you not know her.” Now sitting next to him, Anne had made her grand entrance after all were seated at the table. Every gentleman in the room stood to acknowledge her arrival.

How could one miss it? Her gown was scarlet-hued and so low cut it looked like she would soon fall out of it.

Even now, Anne was leaning toward him. Seated to his right, she did everything in her power to flaunt her charms.

Brandon tried not to show his disaffection. He liked Asher, and preferred to refrain from intimate dealings with his wife. Putting her off without offending her might be more of a challenge than he was presently up to.

Who knew what the lady’s preferences and innuendos meant in reality? He hoped she had not set her sights on him. That would complicate matters far beyond his present preference.

“No, my lady. I merely observe the interactions of others this trip. My mind is much too preoccupied with my father’s impending passing for me to dally with opportunities presented here.

“Besides,” Brandon reached for his wine glass, then took a sip. Asher did have an excellent wine cellar. “I refrain from entanglements with women attached to my friends. I find it complicates a friendship too much. I would rather do without the liaison than lose an association I have cultivated for years.”

Would she take the hint? He set his wine glass back down.

“Nonsense, my lord. Most, if not all of these men have married for duty not love. What have they to lose if they or their wives find comfort and gratification with a respected acquaintance? In point of fact, it might bring that acquaintance even closer to the family knowing that such intimacies satisfy both partners.” He felt the smooth warmth of her palm when she laid her hand on the back of his.

No, she would not take his meaning. She may even be intentionally obtuse. He must be careful with this situation. It could get a great deal more complicated, and soon if he failed to pay attention to his actions.

Thank God Asher rose at the other end of the table. The men could have their port, and the women leave to discuss their fashions and gossip. The reprieve was none too soon. He stood and bowed to his hostess before she left the room.

Hours later, Brandon concealed his presence in a draped alcove near Lady Rutherford’s door. Such activity was unusual for him, but he was more than curious whether the new widow would look for comfort among the available, and all too willing, married rakes Asher invited.

Everyone retired early to their beds. He knew, however, that meant the clandestine assignations could start earlier in the night leaving more time for the intimate exertions everyone was expecting.

And the hallway was most busy. Each of the four gentlemen who spoke with the widow in the drawing room knocked upon her door to no avail. The door remained shut; Lady Rutherford had not even inquired who was knocking.

It seemed Asher’s sister would not be entertaining his guests.

Good for her. But his were a confusion of feelings.

He wanted to meet her, talk with her, get to know her. There was something about her that called to him. Not only physically, though his arousal earlier that evening attested to that desire. Maybe it was also that she had just suffered a similar torment to his. It was not easy losing a loved one. She must have cared to some degree for her spouse to be so distant when there was opportunity for distraction, sexually motivated or not.

After watching Dimsford, the last of the four gentleman, try his luck, Brandon decided the widow was not going to answer regardless of who it was.

Since he had not yet been properly introduced, he would take a different tack. Earlier, when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in the drawing room after port and cigars, she was not present.

He made no sound as he left his post in the alcove to take the servants’ back staircase to a door that led outside the manor house. Walking about twenty feet out onto the surrounding grounds, he followed the periphery of the building counting the windows and calculating which one would be hers. When he found it, he could see a glow, but not a true light, coming through the glass. The sash was ajar but not fully open.

Much to his pleasure, there was a trellis supporting, if not being supported by, an age-old wisteria. The spring blooms gave off a fragrance that enticed his senses, lured him further along his selected path.

He started the climb.

He must be quite mad to be taking this course. He had not climbed a trellis since childhood.

His foot slipped off a crossbar and he grabbed a limb to keep from falling.

What would they all think if someone found him?

He reached higher. Damn, his trousers caught on a broken limb. If he ripped his breeches his valet, Simpson, would lambaste him for days, maybe weeks.

He was getting closer.

Both feet slipped. He was hanging by the mere strength of his arms.

What must he look like from the ground?

Had anyone heard him? He was not a monkey, after all. He regained purchase and continued up the trellis.

Why was he bent on this fool’s errand? What did he hope to achieve? Was the widow even worth this much effort?

What would he say to her once he knocked on her window pane? For all he knew, she would push him over the balustrade to the ground.

That was not a pleasant thought. And, it would hurt.

Well, it had been a long time since he had an adventure. Had not his father suggested he go and relax and enjoy himself? This would be entertaining no matter the outcome.

Being thrown off the balcony was the worst possibility, and the ground was only two stories below. If he paid attention, the worst that should happen was a broken leg. He smiled sardonically.

But he might just get farther than any of the other gentlemen.

Did that make him as bad as they? He refused to think of that now.

He swung his long legs over the railing to land silently on the balcony. Just knowing he still had the ability to take such radical actions gave a jolt to his body and more energy to his quest.

He turned to the window but lost his breath before he could knock upon the pane.

Priscilla pulled out the last pin from her hair and relished the feel of it falling to her shoulders. Shaking her head while she ran her fingers through the thick, wavy mass, one shoulder of her rose silk robe slid off. Her tresses felt like silk cascading down her back.

She closed her eyes to savor the susurrant feel.

Despite leaving the gathering early, her time with her brother’s guests was almost more than she cared to handle. It was a blessing to return to her rooms, dismiss the maid and console herself with the silence.

If they would just leave her alone.

She had not encouraged one of the attending males to approach her, but that had not stopped them from banging upon her door.

What did a female have to do to reject intimations from such men?

She rose from the bench to move to the fire that made her room, her unscathed childhood sanctuary, warm and welcoming. Before the hearth, the heat blazed against her.

She shed the silk robe slowly, relishing the movement of its softness over her skin. When her arms and hands were free, she wrapped them around her.

She had forgotten her lotion. She turned back to her dressing table but paused for a brief moment.

Why did she have the sense she was being watched?

Her eyes scanned the chamber. She went first to the bedchamber door then to the dressing room door to insure that they were indeed locked. She had just closed and locked the window to the balcony. Shaking off the feeling, she took the lavender scented lotion from the dressing table and returned to the rug before the hearth.

After filling her palm, she placed the bottle on the mantle. The scent filled her head, easing her mental anguish. She started to rub her arms then her legs.

She turned away from the fire to warm her back.

Her nipples hardened as she plied her breasts. Her body heated even further than the blaze behind her would warrant. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Her head rolled, her hair slid over her shoulders and her back.

She lowered gracefully to her knees then raised her hair and spread it behind her as she lay down upon the carpet.

She sighed. How good it would be to hear Robert’s voice while she touched herself. To hear his gentle instructions, his gruff moans. To have him urging her on to her pleasure.

She slid her fingers between her thighs, breathing deeply, remembering the last time her husband shared caressing words with her.

“That’s it, love. Touch yourself there. You like that, darling. I know you do. I can hear your breath catch; see your skin flush. Faster now. Touch yourself harder; move your fingers faster. Don’t stop, Cilla. You’re almost there. Can you feel it, love? Can you feel the tension, the need?”

She pinched her nipple hard while her fingers massaged frantically. She arched her back up from the floor and gloried while the tension sprang loose and the wildness inside her soared.

When the rush was over, the tension depleted, she sank back to the rug gasping for air.

The silence once again overwhelmed her.

Once again she was alone and empty.

Brandon fell back against the balustrade, then grabbed on tight to prevent himself from falling over the railing. In desperation, he took deep breaths, his mind trying to take in all he just witnessed.

His body was hard. Everywhere. In fact, he ached. It had been months since he’d had such a raging need, and he did not believe he had ever been in such a painful, fevered state of arousal. He hardly noticed the kink in his neck from pressing his face against the glass when Priscilla had lain upon the rug.

Would that he was down there with her.

He had to calm down. He had to regain his control.

He threw his legs back over the rail. Once he gained purchase on the trellis and wisteria, he schooled his concentration to make it down. No sooner had his feet hit the ground than he headed down the slope toward the lake.

He could not rid himself of his clothes fast enough once he was standing on the edge of the rippling water. Naked, he dove in full force and stroked through the cold liquid out to the center, which was no mean distance.

Finally, treading water, he paused to catch his breath. Though his heart was still pounding, his lungs still gasping for air, the chill lake water eased his physical ardor.

And none too soon. It was a near thing. He came close to losing his control, standing on the balcony watching Lady Rutherford through the window, like an untutored school boy.

With one last deep breath, he headed back, strong arms pulling him through the water, strong legs pushing him back to shore. When his feet came to ground, he stood, sliding his hands down his arms and torso to rid his body of the wet. Standing next to his pile of clothes, he ran his hands over his body and limbs once more, sluicing the water from his chilled skin, before he reached for his pants.

They were gone.

“Looking for these, Brandon?” came a sultry voice he recognized all too quickly. His instincts were correct. Anne would choose not to credit his lack of interest.

She stepped out of the shadows the quarter moon created from a weeping willow. Before he could speak, she stepped closer, so close in fact he could feel her warm breath against the skin of his chest.

He reached for his trousers but she pulled them away.

“Anne, I think it best . . .”

“I do too, my lord. I think it best we are alone out here next to the lake where no one else will see us. Those other fools are missing the delights of such pleasant weather, are they not?” She kissed his nipple then had the audacity to take it into her mouth and bite it.

Brandon grabbed her arms and pushed her away. “Does tact not work on you, my lady? I tried to politely tell you I had no interest.”

“I saw you come down to the lake, Brandon.” Anne crooned in a low, gravelly undertone. “It was obvious enough to me you had some interest in something. Or, should I say, someone?”

She grabbed his sex in her hand and slid down its length.

Brandon tried not to groan. This was not the woman he wanted despite how good it felt to have someone touch him thus. His body responded without his consent.

“Look, my lord, you seem happy enough to have me touch you. I swear you are the largest man here. And I speak with intimate knowledge. Mmmmm . . . Do not my attentions feel good?” She slid her hand up and down his shaft, squeezing, inciting.

It became very clear to Brandon this was not going to be easy, neither for his body nor Anne’s self-esteem. He grabbed her hand with his then pried her fingers loose.

But she was not to be denied. She dropped his britches to the ground, her free hand finding his sex, and renewed her task.

“Anne, please.” He grabbed for her pleasure-giving hand, refusing to relinquish the hand he already held. He knew what she would do with it.

His sex was hard again with need when at last he released it from her grasp.