Eleanor smiled tightly. Her missing dinner was not Lydia's true concern, but what was? Was she concerned about Eleanor's reputation, or did she merely wish to keep Eleanor and Brahm from having time alone?
Whatever her reason, it didn't matter. Eleanor would have time alone with Brahm, and they would be back in time for dinner. Despite her rather impudent behavior where Brahm was concerned, she knew better than to push the bounds of propriety.
They left the house arm in arm, through the French doors in the drawing room. Their leaving together would be noted, but provided they were not gone very long, there would be little speculation. She was supposed to be shopping for a husband, after all.
Through the garden they strode in silence, the tension between them mounting. Or at least it seemed to Eleanor that it was mounting. Did Brahm even notice?
The orangery was located in the back south corner of the garden. Eleanor breathed deep as she pushed open the door. The humid air was heavy with the smell of oranges and lemons— sweet yet sharp and wonderfully delicious.
"It is lovely," Brahm commented as she led him deeper into the leafy growth, so that they were obscured from outside view. "But I do not recall asking to see it."
"You did not," she answered, knowing full well that he was already aware of the fact. "I made it up."
He gasped in mock astonishment. "Made it up? Why, Lady Eleanor, are you saying you deliberately schemed to be alone with me?"
She turned to him, grinning at the mischievous light in his russet eyes. "Yes."
He chuckled. "Tired of sharing me, were you?"
"Yes," she answered honestly, wanting to shock him out of that mock arrogance.
His smile faded, but not the warmth in his eyes. "You truly are possessive."
She nodded. Why argue the truth?
"There is only one cure for a jealous woman," he informed her, his voice dangerously low and smooth.
A shiver rushed down Eleanor's spine. "What is that?"
Brahm's arms came around her, the tip of his cane brushing the back of her calf. He hauled her close so that their bodies were flush against each other. She could feel his heart against her breast.
"To give her what she wants," he murmured, and covered her mouth with his.
Chapter 8
B
rahm didn't just kiss Eleanor, he feasted on her. His lips ravished hers; his tongue pillaged the hot, wet interior of her mouth. He held her tightly so she could not escape— not that she was trying. God help him, but she was matching the fervor of his kiss with an intensity of her own that was born purely of instinct. Eleanor might not have experience with men, but she knew exactly what to do to arouse him, simply because she was Eleanor.
What she wanted? Hell, he was giving her what
he
wanted. Her desire to have him to herself fueled his own. The more she yielded to him, the more pressure he applied to the small of her back. She was so soft, so pliant against him. Already he was hardening for her.
She should have fought him. If he were she, he would have. He was acting exactly as he claimed not to be— as a rake. But how could he not when she tempted him so? He'd kiss her in the middle of the drawing room with all the guests present if he thought that was her wish.
Her hands roamed his back and shoulders, their touch feather-light through his coat. They tangled in his hair, pulling and mussing as though she fought to hold him to her. If he was strong enough to break their kiss, he'd tell her she needn't fight. He wasn't going anywhere, but he didn't want to take his lips from hers, not even for a second.
She was so graceful in his arms, so supple and soft. Her eagerness for him was a heated flush, warming her perfumed skin and surrounding him with her scent. Sweet, wild strawberries. God, how he loved the smell of her, the taste of her, the feel of her.
Pliant breasts pressed against his chest. He moved one of his hands from her back to splay her side, then up, pushing between them until he claimed the prize. Firm, silk-covered flesh filled his palm. He stroked his thumb across the swell, groaning as he felt the hard poke of her erect nipple. Instinctively his thumb and forefinger closed around the small protrusion and gently squeezed.
Eleanor gasped against his mouth, her hips surging against his in reflex. Her reaction fired Brahm's blood. His hand slid over her breast, the neckline of her gown. Blessed be the man who designed these flimsy low bodices. One tug and the fabric would submit to his will, freeing the flesh he so dearly wanted to taste. And he wouldn't stop there. Once he had sated himself with her breasts, then he would move downward and bury his face between her pale thighs, where he would savor the succulence that was Eleanor. He would devour every inch of her if she would allow it.
And she would allow it, of that he was certain.
Of course, that would make them late for dinner.
Dinner. It would be ready soon. People would wonder where they were. There would be speculation, as everyone had seen them leave together.
God almighty. What was he doing? If he didn't stop now, he might very well ruin Eleanor. He wanted to woo her, not destroy her.
Reluctantly he eased himself away from her, lifting his mouth from hers. Her delicate eyelids fluttered. Confused, glazed blue eyes gazed up at him. Her lips were red and softly parted, inviting him to claim them once more.
He swore instead and released her. "Forgive me."
Eleanor smoothed her hands over the front of her gown. "Have you committed some offense?" Her tone was light, but he could hear the strain. Did she think he was rejecting her? One look at the front of his trousers should tell her just how badly he wanted her.
Raking his fingers through his hair in an effort to straighten it, Brahm drew breath. He was shaking. "It has been a long time since I have been with a woman. I was too exuberant."
Her expression was instantly shrewd. "How long?"
He chuckled. Were he thinking with the proper organ, he would have seen that question coming. Eleanor was different from anyone he had ever known, so good and pure, but she was still a woman, with all a woman's insecurities and odd behaviors.
And a woman's instinctive, inborn ability to seduce any man she set her sights on.
"More than a year," he replied honestly as he offered her his arm. "We should return to the house. They will be wondering where you are."
She nodded as her hand settled on his sleeve. "We would not want that."
Was it his imagination, or did she sound peeved? "No, we would not. I will not have anyone saying I took advantage of you."
Her gaze was earnest as it locked with his. "It would never occur to them to think I took advantage of you, would it?"
The very idea of it was so absurd, he laughed aloud. "You are a proper woman. Of course they would never entertain such a notion."
"A proper woman." She made a scoffing noise as they exited the orangery. "What good has propriety done me? I did my duty and helped raise my sisters, three of whom do not seem terribly happy with their lives."
"That has nothing to do with you. Your sisters made their own decisions, just as my brothers have made theirs." Devlin, North, and Wynthrope might sometimes do things that made Brahm want to shake them, but he supported them all the same.
"Perhaps if I had not been quite so proper, it would have been me in your bed that night and not Lydia."
What?
Not paying attention to where he was going, Brahm stumbled as the tip of his cane rolled on a pebble on the path. Luckily for him, Eleanor helped him right himself before he could fall on his arse. Not quite so lucky was the pain that shot up his leg.
"Perhaps," he replied, his teeth clenched and his heart pounding not just from pain but from the idea of Eleanor in his bed. "But it hardly matters now, does it?"
She glanced away. "I suppose not."
They walked on in silence, Brahm fighting a grimace with every limping step. They were halfway back to the house before Eleanor spoke again. "Was Cassie your mistress?"
She truly was obsessed with women he had bedded. If she wasn't so honest and open about it, he might find it disturbing, but her jealousy was amusing in the fact that it told him that she wanted him. All that was left to discover was if that wanting extended to wanting to be his wife.
His affairs were none of her business, and in Brahm's experience it was never a good idea telling the woman you were interested in about past lovers, but he had promised her honesty and he would give it to her. "Briefly."
"Did you love her?"
Ah, how to answer? Honesty was not always the best route in such cases. If he lied and said yes, she might think him a better man— or she might get jealous. If he was honest and said no, she might think him a cad.
He chose the safest route. "I might have come to, but our association did not last that long."
Her expression was more curious than suspicious. "What happened?"
"She died." Poor Cassie. She hadn't just died, she had been murdered by a man out to destroy his brother North. Brahm had initiated their relationship in an attempt to keep her safe. It hadn't worked.
Eleanor's distraught expression broke Brahm's heart. "I am so sorry."
So was he. He was sorry he hadn't been able to keep his promise to Cassie. "Thank you, but you needn't feel badly. I have mourned her loss." And avenged her as well. The man who killed Cassie was the same man Brahm had shot defending North. Harker would never hurt anyone else again.
It was time to change the subject before he ended up telling her about killing Harker. That story was going to take a lot more time than they had right now. And with the throbbing in his leg, he would not tell the story with the delicacy it required.
"How is your reading coming along?" he asked. The topic of drunkenness was preferable to murder, no matter how justifiable the killing was. "Do you still believe overindulging in spirits to be a disease?"
"Oh yes," she replied. "The more I read of Mr. Trotter's work, the more convinced I am of that very notion."
"So, Dr. Durbane," he asked teasingly, "what do you suggest as a cure?"
Her reply was quick. "Do not drink."
They chuckled together. If Brahm hadn't already resigned himself to the fact that he would have to fight his demons for the rest of his life, he might not have found her words so amusing.
"And you maintain your promise to nurse me if I ever suffer a relapse?"
"Absolutely."
He grinned. "That's almost reason to get foxed in itself."
Suddenly all the humor vanished from her face. She stopped on the path, just outside the doors leading into the drawing room, and turned to him. "I could not forgive myself if I knew I had driven you to find solace in a bottle."
Solace in a bottle. What a poetic way to describe what happened to him when he drank. There was very little solace involved.
She opened the doors and entered the house, leaving him to follow without responding to her proclamation. It was just as well, as he had no idea what to say.
"There you are!" Lord Burrough boomed when he spotted them. "Just in time."
No one seemed to pay particular attention to either of them, which was good as far as Brahm was concerned. No attention meant no one saw anything amiss with their appearance. It meant no one suspected that he had been about to shove his hand down Eleanor's bodice.
Unfortunately there was one person whose gaze lingered a tad bit longer than he was comfortable with, especially since that person was Lydia. As the guests and family paired off according to precedence to go in for dinner, Lydia raked him with a gaze so scathing, it could surely peel paint from walls. Her eyes narrowed as she turned her attention to her sister.
Could she see the faint pink shadow around Eleanor's mouth? Could she see wrinkles where his hand had crushed the front of Eleanor's gown? Had he left any telltale mark on Eleanor's beautiful pale skin? And if Lydia did see any such evidence, what would she do with it? Would she run to her father? The old earl might be pleased that Brahm and Eleanor were "friendly" once more— or he might toss Brahm out for taking liberties. Or perhaps Lydia would start malicious gossip, although Brahm couldn't see her doing something that would humiliate her sister in such a way.
What was he thinking? This was the woman who had climbed into his bed after he proposed to Eleanor. Even if she hadn't known about the proposal, she must have known Eleanor had set her cap for him. Lydia hadn't cared about hurting her sister then, and she might not care about that now. He would have to keep his eye on her. He wasn't going to allow her to destroy his chances with Eleanor this time. He would not give her the chance to prey upon his weaknesses.
He would have to be very careful then, because when it came to weaknesses, he had an abundance.
