If Love Were Enough (5 page)

And here was a woman who lived a good part of her life without any control whatsoever. Yet she had loved. And, he would wager, she had been loved in return. Could love be enough even when one had no alternatives?

“Anyway,” she released the pendant to take up the handkerchief once again. “I did the best I could to make my husband’s last year's pleasant. There came a time we both knew he was near death, but still, it was a shock at the end. To have one’s company, kindness and protection for so many years, and then to lose it in seconds is just not an easy thing no matter how long one has to prepare for it.” She struggled to stifle a sob.

“Lady Rutherford, forgive me. I didn’t mean to pain you. Stop if you wish to do so.” Her tear-filled green eyes came up to his once again.

“No, my lord. It’s good for me to speak. Neither Thomas nor Anne has the time. I have spent close to a week alone, feeling cold and tired all of the time. I am trying to appreciate the gay moods of our companions. But at this time, I cannot partake in such revelries, if in fact I would ever be of a mind to.”

“I understand. With my father so ill, I have no interest in these proceedings either. But it has been good in some ways to be away from home. I know he is cared for since my sister, Marie, and Estella, a family friend, remain with him. But it’s I who will inherit the responsibilities amidst my grief.”

“Before he goes, my lord . . .”

But Brandon interrupted her. “Please, we speak in such personal terms on such private matters. Call me Brandon. I would be flattered if you would.”

“But we’ve just met.”

“True. But you are trusting me with such intimate feelings right now. I prefer not to be treated like a total stranger.”

“Very well, Brandon. And, my name is Priscilla.” She sighed then continued, “Before he goes, ask him what he would have you do once he is gone. Does he wish you to mourn? Does he have special wishes for your future? For your estates? Your sister? Has your mother already passed or do you need to do something special for her?”

“Mother has lived in London for many years. A country life has never been one she would have chosen. Their marriage, too, was arranged by circumstances. I suspect she will return home when father is truly at his end.”

“Well, there are more to one’s wishes than can be placed in a will or covered by entailments, Brandon. Ask him for those last words of instruction. They will help you in your future, particularly right after his passing.”

“Did Lord Rutherford share such words with you?”

The question brought a blush to her cheeks. The color did wonders to her beauty, renewed her youth, cleared her eyes.

“Yes, my lord. He asked me not to mourn, not to wear mourning colors. . . .”

“And?” asked Brandon, hoping for further insight. He saw a renewed blush flush her face, her lashes brushed her cheeks.

Then she said, “I do not know you well enough to share his further requests.”

Priscilla thought of her last moments with Robert, how he held her hand so weakly, his hand frail and dry clasping hers. He had looked into her eyes, but the twinkle had dulled in his. Still, his earnestness, his caring, had been apparent.

He counseled her to find another and to marry once again. But he begged her not to be dictated to by Society. She would have money from his estate. She should look for a man to love her not her fortune. Look for someone who could gratify her in all the ways his old, arthritic and impotent body failed to do. She should find someone who would teach her the full meaning of marriage and the conjugal relations that could be shared within its bounds. She should seek gratification that could be given by another.

Tears ran down her cheeks again, and she dabbed at them as she tried to regain her composure. She turned her face away again using the brim of her bonnet to hide the image of her grief.

She was afraid and intimidated by such thoughts. Of course, she knew what should happen in bed between a man and a woman. But that never happened with Robert because of his maladies. After waiting so long, she feared she would not be able to release herself to someone else’s care and tenderness, no less return the same intimacy with him.

Robert asked too much of her, considering he could never demonstrate what she should expect to give or have returned.

But she had smiled and reassured him amidst her tears. She agreed she would try. If it never occurred, it would not be her fault, nor would it be a promise broken since it was predicated on deep feelings that would never exist.

But she would have a man bed her in hopes of an heir. And, if she could manage it and get over this incessant crying, she would like to make it this handsome stranger who had some of Robert’s younger features and seemed so much kinder than she could have ever hoped.

Her companion shifted next to her. A shiver ascended her spine once again. She was sitting too close if she could sense him so easily.

And she could breathe the scent of him.

This man did not smell of ointments and age. He smelled of sandalwood, leather, and something indefinably male. She knew too little of the world in general and men in particular to be comfortable in his company.

But he did quirk her interest. And he could solve her problem. He could unknowingly gift her with a son.

Knowing what an old man felt like beneath her hands, what would this Corinthian, with his muscles and strength, feel like when her fingertips slid over his skin?

She felt heat pool in her belly as her thoughts meandered to the intimacies she could share with him.

And he, being a rake of the first water, would know what to do with a lady, to her, to deliver on the promises whispered between them before the mating.

Her reverie was broken when he spoke.

“Nor would I ask you to do so, my lady. But I am happy to know you had guidance from one who cared so much for you.”

What was she thinking for so many moments? She gained a most distant look before turning her head away. Her body seemed to radiate more heat, her scent, that wonderful womanly scent so particular to her, grew stronger.

Brandon fought to control desires instigated by her intensified scent and momentary reverie. She wore that look of vulnerability again. The look that aroused his protectiveness and his passion.

A cloud passed over the sun causing Brandon to look up and realize the time.

“I expect it must be approaching four. We must return to prepare for dinner and the evening. May I escort you back?”

“Thank you, my lord. I would be grateful.”

Brandon stood, but when Priscilla rose from the bench, she caught her heel in her skirts and lurched forward. Without a thought, he reached to drag her to safety within the circle of his arms. His body, pressed to the full length of hers, gave quick reaction as it hardened; blood ran from his head to his groin.

He heard her gasp with the recognition of his arousal. Saw her face flush again, this time in embarrassment. Then felt the blood ascend to his cheeks in response.

He set her away from him. “I do apologize, Lady Rutherford. I had no intention to insult or presume.”

Brandon watched her regain her composure. “You saved me from a nasty fall, my lord. I thank you for your quick response.”

Then she blushed again after realizing what she'd said. How endearing was her innocence. It didn’t seem as if she was a married lady of ten years, or the sultry female he watched the night before. He tactfully ignored her naive comment and offered his arm. She hesitated, like she had the night before with Dimsford, before placing her hand in its proper position on his sleeve. She seemed to avoid touch whenever she could. But he deferred that thought to a later time. “I would rescue you at any time, my lady. You need but ask.”

They strolled along the maze pathway. Priscilla tried to hide the fact she was appalled at her clumsiness in both action and words. Was it not bad enough she tripped? Did she have to select words that told him she felt his sexual response?

Then she realized if she was to play the seductress, she should have planned such a folly. He gallantly caught her with the honed reflexes of one who rode spirited stallions and boxed against the young bucks of London, and he gave her the thrill of being nearer to him. She confirmed he was attracted to her too. Though it embarrassed her a great deal, she was more secure in the possibility of bringing him to her bed and begetting the heir she desperately needed. She had little time to hesitate, and she had seen little if any hesitation in the other party attendees who were jumping into bed with one another at an alarming rate.

She best gather her courage and take further steps quickly.

Brandon waited in the drawing room, his elbow propped upon the mantle. Dinner would be served at any moment, but still Lady Rutherford, Priscilla, had not presented herself. He grew tired of the banter carried on by the other guests. Subtle and not so subtle hints and gestures between the ladies and gentlemen made his stomach turn in disgust.

Then, to make matters worse, Anne approached him.

Her face powdered, her lips pouty and the décolletage of her ruby red gown so low her rouged nipples peeked from its edge, she sidled up to him so closely her breasts rubbed against his coat sleeve.

“I do swear, my lord, you have been avoiding me all day. I know you did not go hunting with the other gentlemen. And you did not join the ladies at their games. Where did you take yourself off to?”

Brandon took great pains to control his repulsion of his hostess. His frustration with her lack of sensibility to his lack of interest knew no bounds. He looked over her blonde head to see his host, her husband, Asher, watching them. Once their gazes met, Asher nodded, then returned his attention to Lady Dimsford.

Sally Dimsford seemed to stay as far away as she could from her husband at all times. To this end, she was taking great pains to ingratiate herself to Asher.

Brandon shifted to tug at the shirt sleeve at each cuff in turn. It was the only way he could think of to gracefully gain some distance from Anne’s attentions, without insulting her outright in front of all her guests.

Anne chuckled low in her throat and placed a hand on a corrected sleeve. “You need not be discreet, my lord. There is no one here who will begrudge your interest in me. Truly, no one.” She squeezed his arm then rubbed her bosom against it again.

Would the minx never leave off?

“Tonight, Brandon, I shall leave my door unlocked for you. I am sure you know the location? Right next to Asher’s rooms? He has his own interests to pursue. We shall not be interrupted tonight.”

All looked up when the door opened. Though expectation was for Rogers, the butler, announcing dinner, it was Lady Rutherford who entered. Silence, awareness and respect fell over the crowd when Priscilla, statuesque for all of her five feet of height, hesitated at the door and perused the room’s occupants. Dressed in a pale pink gown with long, tapered lace sleeves and matching lace drawn to ruffle at her throat, she was demure, graceful and elegant.

All things the other ladies of the evening were not.

Brandon’s heart lurched.

“Excuse me, Anne. I wish to greet a new friend.” He pried her grasping fingers from his sleeve, executed a restrained bow, then strode over to Asher’s sister.

Priscilla girded her loins before entering the drawing room, but it still did not prepare her for the onslaught to her senses of the men and women vying for each others' attention, despite the momentary pause when she entered.

Even her brother was surreptitiously fondling the brunette, Sally, Lady Dimsford, who was not his wife.

How great her relief when her eyes fixed on the heated jade green gaze of Lord Brookfield as he strode in her direction.

A small shiver tickled her spine and she straightened it. Her accidental spill that afternoon replayed in her mind. The thought of him being aroused by her excited her further. If she continued thinking of the interlude, she would blush again and be the subject of dinner conversation.

“My lady,” Brookfield bowed over her hand, “you are the loveliest female in attendance this evening.” He brushed his lips across her satin-clad fingers, his eyes never leaving hers. Priscilla could not help but tense when he touched and kissed her hand, even through her glove. “Would you honor me with your presence at dinner?”

As if Brandon’s words brought him forth, the butler entered to announce the meal served.

Not waiting for her response, Brandon tucked her hand in the crook of his arm to escort her to the dining room. Her reins tightened further.

How was she going to seduce him when his touch alone made her whole body heat and hum? This was just too unfamiliar and uncomfortable by half. She never before felt such intimacy with a man. Robert had been able to look his fill, but the pain and disfigurement of his arthritic hands kept his touching to the barest minimum.

She was thankful they turned toward the dining room and left the others behind them. She could not stop the heat that flushed her breasts and cheeks. She could not still the shiver up her spine. She was relieved when Anne went by on Blackston’s arm followed by Thomas escorting Sally. Neither couple took a moment to glance her way and notice her discomfort.

What was it about this gentleman that tied her tongue and made her hope he would woo her or let her woo him? What made her wonder about the feel of his hands, his touch upon her skin and blush at the mere thought? Would not a human touch ease her loneliness and despair? Would not this man, this particular rake, know all of the answers to all of her questions? Would he be ready and able to have her experience all of it with him at his whim? At hers?

How was she to channel this urge to touch him, mate with him? She never felt such primitive urges before. Why should she feel them with him? Was that what all these other women were about as they flung themselves at the males in attendance?

Dinner was a quiet affair considering how the guests were already making their partnerships less than discreet. Brandon rued the misfortune of being placed between Priscilla and their hostess, Anne.

He tried his best to ignore Anne, but she would have none of it.

“Tell me, my lord,” his hostess said, “will your father leave his estates in good order? Or will you be forced to hunt an heiress to renew the family coffers?”

Brandon leaned his right wrist against the table edge but realized his error when Anne’s left hand moved over his, her fingers stroking.

He cleared his throat and picked up his fork. “Ours is not a large holding, but father has run it well and increased its revenues over his tenure. I am not required to wed for funds.”

“But I was sure Asher said you had an heiress neighbor that everyone expected you to wed. Will you do so before your father passes?”

Brandon felt his face redden. He would prefer Priscilla not know of his other personal circumstances, but he guessed she was listening to Anne’s inquisition with rapt attention. “Estella is, in fact, a long time family friend and an heiress. Both her father and mine agreed on our betrothal when we were children, but there has been no official announcement. It’s not required that I marry before father passes on. Estella or any other woman. I have not finalized a choice.”

Beneath the table upon which the elegant feast was presented, Anne’s leg rubbed against his. When she removed her slipper and slid her foot up his calf, he thought he would jump up from the table to escape. But he retained his composure, shifted in his chair and turned to Priscilla to discover she was indeed closely observing the interplay between himself and their hostess.

He best redirect the activities.

“Pardon me, Lady Rutherford. Have you spent much time here with your brother and his wife?”

She shook her head and looked toward her sister-in-law with a cool eye. “No, my lord. It seems our tastes in friends and activities do not much concur. I desire to be surrounded by few but the closest of friends. Anne and Thomas seem to require hordes to keep them entertained.”

“Just so, Priscilla,” returned the hostess with hauteur. “If one must exile oneself to the country, one must provide oneself with pleasures. Do you not agree, my lord?”

Brandon did not turn his gaze back to Anne. Instead, he directed his answer to Priscilla, “I have always found the solitude of the country and its simpler amusements more than enough to stimulate and relax my humble self.”

Brandon’s reward was a shy look from beneath lowered lids with lush lashes.

“Hurumph!” came from their disconcerted hostess, who seemed determined to terminate the conversation and his lack of interest in her by rising and having the ladies retire to the drawing room for tea.

Brandon rose and bowed to both Anne and Priscilla. But it was the susurrating pink silk skirts he watched retreat to the door before reseating himself.

His brow furrowed with thought, he accepted a glass of amber liquid from Rogers.

“Brandon, move your arse down to this end of the table and share with this esteemed group what you have learned of my sister.” Asher waved his brandy snifter to encompass the other men. “It seems you are the singular rake who has been given the time of day by Pris. Which comes as no surprise considering you are the most handsome of the lot.” The other men jeered at their host. “What say you to her well-being and state of mind?”

Brandon moved to take the chair the butler pulled out next to their host.

“As one would expect, Asher, your sister is bereft.” Brandon took a sip while he stretched his long legs before him.

“I’m not surprised. Despite the arranged marriage, Pris seemed to grow to like the old curmudgeon.”

Asher nodded to his cronies. He pulled the flat, silver container from his breast pocket then extracted a cheroot from it. No sooner had he brought it to his lips than a footman placed a flaming twig to its end. Asher puffed in satisfaction then offered the case around for others to share. An alternate footman was also presenting cigars for approval and selection.

Blackston took a sip of his drink before he turned a beady eye on Brandon and said, “Is there any chance she will be in financial straits and need a benefactor?”

Evidently, all of them were of like mind. After selecting a cigar and lighting it, Dimsford said, “I’d set her up in a nonce!”

“Gentlemen, you are speaking of my sister,” Asher reprimanded.

“But she’ll be needing someone to ease her ache now the old man is gone,” put in Squire Tilden, taking out a large handkerchief and swabbing his sweating brow. “Maybe she’ll let one of us take on the task.”

Asher shook his head, but could not speak again before Brandon tried to temper his own disapproval. Such a heartless group of rakehells. Of course, how could he expect more considering the type of house party they were attending. It was, by far, the worst of its kind. No limits were put on its events or the liaisons that could be made. If the gentlemen were not throwing themselves at the ladies, then the ladies were throwing themselves at the gentlemen.

It was abhorrent.

He was not in the right place for a man in his state of mind. But he would not abandon Priscilla. She would have no protection should he leave now to return to his father.

“Well, Asher, to answer your question. What I have discerned from your sister is her sincere feelings for her husband, in spite of the fact hers was not a love match. He must have been good enough, kind enough, to have instilled in her a certain amount of respect and regard. I would hope for each of you, and myself no less, such sentiments from our spouses should we leave this earthly plane before them.”

Sitting his brandy snifter on the pure white damask table linens with an air of finality, Brandon rose from his chair, his face a scowl of disappointment and disapproval. “I think I am done here. I shall go to rejoin the ladies.”

With mumblings and grumblings from the group, chairs were shuffled, and the others made to follow him out.

Brandon didn’t care one whit how grossly improper it was of him to leave the dining room before his host. He’d had quite enough of the callous and atrocious behavior of his peers.

And he looked forward to seeing Priscilla again.

But upon returning to the drawing room, and after perusing the chatting ladies ensconced in the plush upholstered chairs, the pale pink gown and its mistress were not to be seen.

She retired early again leaving him to the unwanted, ill-timed and indecent advances of Anne, if he failed to make a hasty retreat.