If Love Were Enough (4 page)

“Brandon, your body tells me more than your words ever can. You want my attentions. You want me.” Frustrated by her struggles to release herself from the strength of his grasp, she fell to her knees.

Brandon’s mental relief was fleeting. Anne’s mouth found his cock and took it deep, sucking hard and fast upon it.

He was losing what few shreds of control he retained. He was only a man after all, and it had been a long time since he had a woman. While his sex was tended by Anne’s wild ministrations, visions of Lady Rutherford pleasuring herself were taking him fast and furiously near the edge.

“No,” he shouted, regaining control and shoving Anne away. She fell to the earth, her startled eyes wide. “I said no. Can you not comprehend?”

Brandon grabbed his clothes and boots quickly, then stomped toward the manor still undressed.

“You will want me before you leave, Brandon. Just wait and see.”

Brandon entered the dining room early the following afternoon. Once asleep, he slept soundly, and his erotic dreams of Lady Rutherford generated no need, nor interest in rising early. He pushed the forced intimacies of his encounter with Anne to the back of his thoughts and spent his efforts on how he would introduce himself to Asher’s widowed sister.

He had no desire to be categorized with the other men who leered and hovered over her the previous evening.

He was relieved to find the room empty except for the attendance of a footman who moved to the sideboard to lift off the first lid of several chafing dishes. Brandon took a plate and selected his preferences when each container revealed its delights. Asher seemed to be sparing no expense.

After seating himself at the table, a cup and saucer appeared near his right hand and steaming coffee poured. Before he could request it, a sugar and cream service was placed within reach. Moments later his spoon was chiming against the porcelain, and he savored the first sip of the restorative brew.

His mind turned to more intriguing matters.

He felt his dilemma was to get Lady Rutherford alone but not somewhere where she would feel threatened. Although he could ask Asher, or even Anne if it came to it, for a formal introduction, he feared such a presentation would imply his intentions were just like Haddon, Blackston and the rest.

Though he was more than interested in an intimate acquaintance with her, especially after viewing her private self-gratifications the prior evening, he also wanted to speak with her on matters of grief. With his father’s death coming near to hand, he wanted to know how one accepted such a loss.

Had she loved her husband? How had she resolved her loss and gained the ability to move on? Had she started thinking of a future? Making plans? Had Rutherford given her some instructions as to what to do next? Should he request such from his father? Would he need instructions more intimate and personal than a will could ever hold?

As he completed his meal, many such questions drifted through his thoughts. With the last sip of his now lukewarm coffee, he rose from the table to head for the door.

It was Rogers who met him as he was leaving.

“Are you quite finished, my lord?” inquired the head butler.

“Why, yes, Rogers. I thought I would head outside. Do you know where most of the party is?”

The butler waved to the footman to start clearing the sideboard. Evidently Brandon was the last to dine, and the food kept waiting just for him.

He would have to thank his host.

“Yes, my lord. The gentlemen have been off hunting. I do not expect them back until three o’clock or so.”

“And the ladies, Rogers?”

“All, except Lady Rutherford, are on the south lawn playing battledore and shuttlecock. Lady Asherton has borrowed the equipment from her children.” The butler bowed, preparing to take his leave.

“And, Lady Rutherford, Rogers. Where might she be?”

“Hmm. Oh, yes. Lady Rutherford inquired about the maze. She said she wanted to take a walk and enjoy her solitude.”

“And, how can I find the maze, Rogers?” Was that a glint of approval in the butler’s eyes? Brandon visited Asheville Manor often enough the manservant could have formed an opinion of him. Was he aware of Lady Rutherford’s husband’s death and hopeful she would find another? At his estate, his staff were always current on the family goings-on and each and every one of his employees had personal opinions. He rarely heard them in detail, but he often saw a quick reaction to circumstances before a maid, butler, or his valet, Simpson, schooled their features.

“Down the hall and out through the French doors in the music room, my lord. Just follow the path.”

“Thank you, Rogers. You’re a prince.” Brandon turned toward the hall.

“Hardly, my lord. However, if I might trouble you further.”

“Yes?” Brandon said turning back.

“To make your way quicker and easier, I might suggest right, right, left, right, right, left, left.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The maze, my lord. You could be lost in there for hours unless you take my direction. Take those turns and you shall come to the middle straightaway. And to get out, just reverse them.” Rogers bowed again and left him to it.

“I am most gratified, Rogers.” Brandon called to his retreating back.

Priscilla had not remembered the exact way nor had she concentrated on Rogers’s instructions when she inquired about the condition of the maze. After all, she had often played games in it with her brother in her youth. Thank goodness she remembered most of the directions. Still, she spent an extra quarter hour finding her way to the center. Had there been changes to the path?

She was relieved to see, however, the private garden sheltered deep within the eight-foot hedge was little different from the last time she visited it, quiet and secluded.

A fountain surrounded by a reflecting pool was centered at the far end of the open space. A number of flower beds containing budding roses and burgeoning spring bulbs outlined a meandering path with garden sculptures and benches placed in strategic locations for repose and reflection. She wondered whether it was Thomas or Anne who instilled in their gardeners the proper upkeep of the space.

It had been a favorite of their mother’s.

When she reached the flowing waters, she sat down on a nearby bench to study the streams that leapt from the mouths of several ornamental swans. She leaned forward to place a hand in the pool, surprised at how cool the liquid remained despite the many warm spring days that had passed.

She shivered and withdrew her hand, reminded of Robert’s cold skin after his death. He had looked to be cast in wax, his kind face harsh without his twinkling green eyes gazing into hers. But other than his portrait as a younger man, she would see his face no longer. And, she expected, when she returned back to Northumberland, Robert’s nephew, Damon, the new marquess, would have taken up residence.

Priscilla did not look forward to the encounter. Robert had only received Damon twice during her ten years at the manor. Both times his nephew’s approaches to her had been inappropriate and unacceptable. God knew what the rogue would do now that Robert had passed on. Robert had left her a comfortable portion, and she had full rights to the dower house but she would not be able to remain at the manor if Damon thought he had any rights whatsoever to her.

If her plan did not work, where was she to go? She had Thomas, but she hated to impose herself upon him. She doubted Anne would be so welcoming if she came to stay for any length of time. Regardless of her ability to contribute to the family income, Anne seemed to like her entertainments too much to be inconvenienced by relatives of any sort.

Further, theirs was more a marriage of arrangement. Anne became a viscountess, while her brother gained an heiress to fill the family coffers their father had left so depleted.

She sighed.

Brandon entered the center of the maze to discover Lady Rutherford sitting on a bench at the far end. Her gold-hued gown was accessorized by a brown velvet spencer to defray the chill of the spring day. The brim of her brown velvet bonnet shielded her face from view and she seemed to study the water garden near the bench. Even without seeing her face, she was a beauty in her deep reverie with her spine straight and her hands clasped in her lap.

Lady Rutherford tilled her head so her profile appeared. She had not the youthful, passing beauty of their hostess, Anne, but the classical, elegant loveliness which would be stunning even as she aged. She had an enduring, endearing quality about her he had not seen in any other lady of his acquaintance.

Even Estella’s fine porcelain skin and jet black hair seemed lacking in comparison.

Lady Rutherford had yet to realize he was there watching her. Without intention, his mind drifted to the visions of her before a fire fondling and caring for herself the night before.

His body heated and hardened more than he wished to admit. What would it feel like to touch her skin? Kiss her rose-colored lips? Thread his fingers through her silken auburn hair? Suckle her ruched nipple in his mouth?

He tutored his thoughts to gain control of his body before he approached her.

Fearing he would startle her, he hesitated. He cleared his throat. Her face, framed by the rich brown velvet, tilted up. And he was rewarded by wide green eyes looking up to meet his.

Green, her irises were an astonishing emerald green. The wave of emotion that poured through him caught him unawares. It took every ounce of
ton
training not to display his reaction.

Where his body had recently eased, it hardened yet again.

“I beg your pardon. I am Lord Brookfield.” Brandon bowed but his quarry did not offer her hand. He still held her eyes. How to go on? What to say? What to ask?

“Yes, my brother told me who you are. Would you like to sit down?” Priscilla shuffled her amber-hued silk skirts then slid farther along the bench making more than enough room for him.

“Thank you. I know we have not been formally introduced. I thought to remedy that after dinner last night, but you were not in the drawing room when the gentlemen returned.” Brandon settled on the stone seat and turned toward her. He caught a whiff of scent that could only be hers, it stood out from the flowers he sensed when he walked down the path. Lavender was there, but he could not decipher further.

He ignored the sexual desire coursing through his veins and urging him to make advances that would be most inappropriate at this time, and to this particular lady. She was, after all, her host’s recently widowed sister.

“I have been through much of late. I sought to retire early.” Her eyes glazed before she looked away, the brim hiding her features once again, her hand worrying a pendant at her throat.

“My sincere condolences on the loss of your husband. I understand you were married over ten years. It must be difficult to be alone again.”

Lady Rutherford released the pendant to withdraw a lace-trimmed handkerchief from a pocket. “I have never been alone. Even after our parents died, Thomas was with me until I married. It is a forlorn and empty feeling.” She dabbed at her face, maybe her eyes.

“I would imagine so. I am heading toward similar circumstances.” Brandon stretched his long legs out before him, crossed his booted ankles, and placed his palms on the bench on either side of his hips.

“How so, my lord?” She canted her head back toward him, but the bonnet brim still guarded her face.

“My father is dying. I came here because he sent me away to rest from my vigil. And, so I sought you out. I thought . . . I hoped . . . maybe you had some experience from your loss you would be willing to share with me.”

Finally, Lady Rutherford turned her tear-filled green eyes back to meet his. His heart ached from their beauty and the uneased pain he found there.

He might ask too much of her.

“I am so very sorry. I did not intend to renew your anguish. I will take my leave and let you be.” Brandon made a move to stand, but her hand moved to lay over his.

Ungloved, pale and cold, her touch stayed him on the bench. Then she withdrew her hand to fold it back in her lap, further crumpling the handkerchief she held there.

Somehow, Brandon felt a loss. His heart shuddered. His sexual urges diminished as he sensed her profound grief. He wanted to reach for her, close his arms around her, console her with the heat and strength of his body. Protect her from further pain.

She dropped her gaze toward the handkerchief she continued to fret between her slender fingers. “Stay, my lord. The hurt is still new and I have no one to speak with. When I arrived, I had no knowledge of Thomas’s house party. Many of the guests are not interested in my poor circumstance. And I do not wish to burden them. I will tell you the little I know. Maybe it will help you when your father’s time comes.”

Brandon moved to place his large, warm hand over hers, hoping his warmth could help her some little bit, but she recoiled. Rather than force the issue, he withdrew.

“I’ll listen. And I thank you for sharing.”

She began, “Like many
ton
marriages, Thomas’s too, mine was not a love match. Robert was over two score years my senior. His first wife, Amanda, passed on some five years before, leaving him without an heir and living alone on the coast of the North Sea.

“He came to London, my first and only Season, to find a wife. He had no need of a dowry, his estates were, and still are, well maintained and fruitful. He did not require beauty or learning, just a woman young enough to bear children and with enough good sense to appreciate his kindness and stability.” Lady Rutherford touched the handkerchief to each eye in turn as if to keep tears from sliding down her cheeks.

“I met his requirements and I was in need of a protector because my parents recently died. My unattached brother had no resources, and we were without other relatives who could care for or shelter me.

“I liked him immediately. Once married, we returned to his home and I became chatelaine to his manor. Within the first year, I grew to respect him for his goodness, his kindness, his generosity. Other years passed, my feelings intensified further. It was easy to love someone who did so much for others yet asked so little for himself. But the children did not come and Robert’s health started to fail.”

“Had you wanted children also, Lady Rutherford? I understand not all women do.”

Brandon still wanted to touch her, console her, but he dare not make another advance to do so. He didn’t want to scare her off, losing her insight and the possibility of future encounters.

She looked past him into the garden. Her hand went to worry a ruby and pearl pendant along its chain at her throat. She seemed to study something far away. Then she answered, “Yes, very much so. And, if love were enough . . . but as you may know, we do not always get what we wish in this life.”

Brandon had no experience with this thought. In fact, he had always gotten what he wanted in his life. It was now, while his father lay near death, he realized some things in life were out of his control, determined by forces greater than his to command.