If Love Were Enough (9 page)

Priscilla gathered all the composure she could master and entered the drawing room. With head held high, she nodded at those who gave notice but escaped to the empty fauteuil next to the French doors and sat to settle her skirts. Gazing through the glass, she took a few deep breaths before returning her attention to the other guests.

It was obvious more than a few of the guests were choosing not to attend the more formal meals. The kitchens must be in an uproar with the number of requests for in-room service. And, those who were attending were either coupled and literally hanging all over each other, or staying as far away as possible from their last partner while scouting out a new conquest.

It was quite revolting.

Were it not for Lord Brookfield, she would have taken herself home by now and faced the consequences no matter how dire they might be.

But what waited her there? Robert was gone. And his nephew, Damon, would either be there or soon to arrive. She just did not want to be confronted with his advances, now or ever. If he had no scruples when Robert was alive, how would he behave now that his uncle was in his grave?

And, she had not completed her purpose.

No, returning to Northumberland was not her first choice though she knew the dowager house was being prepared even as she thought about it.

She heard a rustling in the room, and the shift in attention announced a new arrival. Coming out of her reveries, she saw Brandon had entered and was coming straight toward her without a glance to those who hailed him. His well-fitted buckskins, tailored chocolate brown jacket, gold and brown jacquard waistcoat and crisp white linens made him the best dressed, best looking man in the room, including her brother.

She could swear she heard the other ladies sigh.

“My lady.” He bowed low over her hand placing his warm lips against her cool skin. She had forgotten her gloves, not a wise move when he affected her so. A shiver ran up her spine as she turned her eyes up to meet his.

“My lord. I was not sure you would be joining us this evening.” When he released her hand, she felt the loss of his touch.

“I dare not miss a moment of company with you, my lady.” His gaze was heated but hidden from the others, whose focus seemed to be riveted upon the two of them.

“Luncheon is served.”

Thank God for the butler and his excellent timing. Brandon extended his arm. With grace, she rose to place her hand upon it, ignoring the explicit sexual energy that exploded within her every time she touched him.

They settled at the table with Priscilla on Brandon’s right side. Unfortunately, that put her next to Lord Dimsford. Of course, there was not a man in the room she could tolerate being near other than her brother, Thomas, and Brandon. But she would have to make do.

She noticed that Anne had placed Brandon to her right, the side she must perceive as her best profile, once again. She was sure the other guests noticed as well.

“Tell me, Lady Rutherford, how are you holding up after the demise of his lordship?”

With regret and dismay she turned her attention to Dimsford. He could not be thinking of making a play for her once again, could he? She was sure she had been most definitive on that first evening.

She assumed the polite attitude required before speaking. “He is a great loss to me. I am still filled with much grief.”

The lord looked passed her toward Brandon then sneered in a lecherous manner. “I am most assured that you are. But if I can be of any assistance easing your sorrow.”

She reached for her pendant. The man had the audacity to wink at her.

“Please feel free to call upon me," the lord continued. "It would be my most humble wish to help you forget your loss, if only temporarily.”

If the wink was not rude enough, the debauched man was looking down the décolletage of her gown. She felt the blood rush to her face, anger caught in her throat. She must not lose control. Dimsford was not worth it.

With a cold smile she retorted, “I thank you, my lord, but I doubt you would have any effect whatsoever upon my grief. I am sure your best interests lay elsewhere.”

Having given him the best cut direct she could manage under the circumstances, she turned her attention in Brandon’s direction.

“Really, my lord,” Anne crooned as her right hand traced the muscles of Brandon’s left hand leaning against the table. “I have not seen you in two whole days.” She stuck out a pouty lower lip. “Where have you been and why have you not come to my room? The door remains unlocked.”

Even with Brandon turned away from her, Priscilla could see the red flush climb up the back of his neck. Without seeing his face she could not tell if it was embarrassment or anger that made him blush.

If she had to guess, though, she would guess anger.

“I have been occupied, Lady Anne. You know my father is dying. I have no interest in participating in the house party goings-on under the circumstances.”

His voice was level but the tension beneath it was palpable.

“I know you seek solace from my sister-in-law, but I have lost both of my parents within the last two years. I am sure I could ease your concerns with what I have learned.”

Knowing Anne the way she did, Priscilla had to bite her tongue to keep from commenting on Anne’s way of showing grief.

Thomas had written to her. The allusions to London shopping sprees and a new lover had been plain in the letter. Anne had assuaged her sorrow by wallowing in even more self-indulgence.

Her brother and Brandon were right about Anne’s tenacity. She was like a bitch in heat and would not be swayed from her purpose until it was met.

If Priscilla failed to take action with Brandon soon, Anne might have him herself. Or, Anne may so alienate him, he could leave. In either case, she might lose any chance with him.

What other possibility might arise?

None, she expected.

Thomas rose at the head of the table. “My friends, I am most delighted to announce that Lady Sally Dimsford has offered to entertain us for a little while by playing the pianoforte. If we all retire to the music room, our dessert will be served there.”

Anne made a rude sound before muttering, “I hope she plays better than she-”

But Brandon stood and turned away from Anne and toward her, so Priscilla did not hear the remainder of the complaint.

“I will escort you, Lady Rutherford.”

With some relief, Priscilla, on Brandon’s arm, led the meandering crowd into the music room. The French doors had been thrown wide. The warm breeze off the veranda gave Priscilla a thought.

“Brandon, I find it so stuffy in here. Why not go outside and listen from the veranda? If we wish to talk, the other guests will not be annoyed.”

With a nod for agreement, Lord Brookfield escorted her through the doorway and down the two steps to the large terrace that looked over the vast, manicured lawns. They reached the balustrade just as Lady Dimsford began to play.

“Something tells me you wanted to talk and needed more privacy than would be offered inside.” Brandon’s voice was low, its resonance sending shivers through her entire body. He leaned a hand on the railing as he turned toward her.

“Brandon, I . . .” How was she going to say this? What would he think of her? “I have no clue where to start, my lord.”

“Priscilla, we have become friends. We have been honest with each other. There is nothing that cannot be said between us.” He took her hand in his and placed a soft kiss in her palm.

“I think, Brandon, you will be most surprised by what I want to say, need to say. And, I am not sure you will find it to your liking.”

“Then just get it out, Priscilla.”

“I want to know . . . That is, I want to ask you . . .”

“Pris, just say it.”

Priscilla jerked her hand from his grasp. “Please don’t call me that.”

“I beg your pardon, Lady Rutherford. I had no intention of displeasing you.”

“I’m sorry, Brandon. I know most everyone calls me Pris but it is not my favorite nickname. If you would, could you call me Cilla? That is what Robert called me all these years and I much prefer it.”

Brandon laid her hand back in his. “I would be most flattered to call you by a preferred nickname. I regret I have none to share with you.

“Now, you were going to ask me something. And, considering your discomfort, I imagine it is quite the question.” He squeezed her hand. “Tell me, Cilla, what can I do for you?”

“Bed me.” She blurted out almost without thought and then felt the rush of blood up her neck and over her face. She turned her face away. “I beg your pardon. That was not gracefully done.”

“Cilla,” Brandon placed his hand against her cheek and turned her face up to his, “I would be most honored and privileged to take you to bed.”

But Priscilla pulled away not hearing his response because of her embarrassment and continued on anyhow. “I know a rake like you would prefer a woman more experienced than I. And, I gather from other discussions, you have a lady of virtue waiting to marry you at home. From my little time in the
ton
it was clear to me men wanted their betrotheds pure and their mistresses wanton. But I have the most unusual circumstance. I cannot stay a virgin forever. None of these other men hold the least interest for me. And I am most afraid they would tell everybody of my ridiculous situation. I hoped, no I feel, you would be more understanding. And I . . . when you touch me, I feel . . . Brandon would it be asking too much?” She turned toward him again, her eyes searching his.

Brandon pulled her into the circle of his arms then tilted her chin up. Once, twice, three times he brushed his lips over hers, their gazes locked. “No, you are not asking too much. I would be lying if I told you you're not attractive and desirable. I have wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you. You have already experienced how much and how easily you arouse my need. I can think of nothing I would want more this very minute than to take you to bed and satisfy the both of us.”

Then his mouth took possession of hers. His lips pressed hard before his tongue teased and dared her to open to him. When she did, he slid his tongue into her mouth. It was warm and knowing as it caressed and heated her. She let out a soft sigh and was rewarded by a groan deep in Brandon’s throat as he pulled her even closer and deepened the kiss. She was pressed so close to his chest as he leaned her against the balustrade, she could feel his arousal through all the layers of clothes between them.

His hand slid down over her back to her derriere and pulled her even harder against his need.

When he broke for air she sighed, “Oh, Brandon. I never knew.”

“Cilla, I promise you, you will know as much as I do if we have the time. And, from our previous encounter, I expect you may have a thing or two to teach me.”

He took her mouth again.

Finally, he released her, setting her away from him. “I think we should continue this intimate interlude in more private surroundings. And for discretion’s sake, I suggest we leave separately.”

“Do you think anyone will believe we are keeping our relationship platonic?” Cilla asked with an arched brow.

“I give not a bloody damn what they believe. I just prefer, for your sake as well as my own, to keep them unenlightened as to what is going on between the two of us. More than likely their guesses will be inaccurate and they will have no information to verify their claims if any one of them chooses to go off spreading rumors. No one asked will be able to substantiate their story. This will keep your reputation intact.”

“I suppose it will also help you in your quest for Lady Estella’s hand,” Cilla observed without rancor.

“Estella has known me long enough to ask me if she has any doubts about my behavior. I would never lie to her, nor would I expect her to lie to me.”

“That is a most significant attribute to have in a wife.”

“I would wager you command that trait yourself. Obviously, you spent the ten years of your marriage, regardless of the difficulty, true to your husband and without falsehood between you.”

“Of course I did. I made a solemn vow.”

“Well, then, we will refrain from giving small minds the opportunity to cheapen the respect we have for each other. I wish to write a few lines to my father to see how he is faring. That will give you just enough time to reconsider your request. When I arrive at your door you can send me away if you have second thoughts. But for now we must consider your reputation and not have these hedonists banging at your door. Reprove me loudly. Slap me.”

Cilla felt the surprise flush her face. “I will do no such thing. Why would I? You have done nothing to warrant it.”

“That would not be the point, my love. Everyone in the music room knows we are out here and are guessing what we are about. If we leave together, or even separately, on good terms, the gossip will be discussed and spread within hours, if not minutes. You need to reject me. Soundly. Make a scene, a good show. That will put them all off the scent.”

Cilla shook her head in doubt. “Brandon, I am not comfortable with this. You have done nothing to deserve it.”

“I think I’m strong enough to take it, Cilla. Yes? Do you honestly think it will be the first time I have been slapped by a lady?” The twinkle in his eye caused her to flush again.

“I take it you are not the gentleman all the time, my lord. I am surprised I have been given such privilege.”

“We share special circumstances. Now, slap me or I will give you reason to do it.”

Cilla swallowed hard, then took a deep breath. “How dare you?” She struck her right hand on his left cheek with all her strength.

She must have done a decent job of it. Brandon’s look of astonishment was priceless.

“Are you all right, Brandon? Did I hit you too hard?”

He grimaced before turning serious then leaned over to buss her cheek. “You did a fine job. Remind me never to get you mad. If that is what you do when you're acting, God help me if you become truly angry.” He winked at her then turned and stalked off through the music room.