Wolfsgate (28 page)

He led his animal over to her, his jaw firm. The smell of horse and of a very masculine, sweaty Brandon filled the space between them. She focused her full attention on the horse. “Hello, Knight.” Her hand brushed over the stallion as she offered him apple and carrot pieces which he eagerly munched. Brandon stood there watching them in silence, his hands on his hips. He grinned letting out a sigh as he turned and refilled the troughs with fresh water for both horses to drink from.

“I was out at the eastern end today with Davidson,” he said. “The new gates look good.” Brandon rested his gaze on her, then leaned over and took the last pieces of apple and fed them to his horse. “You’re probably more familiar with the way it used to be than I am. You should come see the work that’s been done.”

“I will,” she said, glancing up at him. “After all that exercise, I hope you’re famished. Molly showed Taggart how to make your favorite stew. They’re both looking forward to the grand presentation.”

He let out a chuckle. “I wouldn’t miss it.” He leaned over to grab the brush that was hanging on the wall next to her, but he misstepped and lost his balance. His other arm shot out and went around her shoulders. His weight fell on her. Justine grabbed onto his torso, and he righted himself quickly, his eyes flashing over her.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Are you dizzy?”

“No, it’s not that. Quick moves are a bad decision with this knee, especially after a lot of exertion. I keep forgetting. It’s getting better, but still not right.” His hands slid down to her waist and curled into the fabric of her dress. His gaze found hers then fell to her mouth. They stood there in silence, holding each other, the horses’ huffing and wheezing filling their ears.

He averted his gaze, releasing her suddenly, and reached for the brush again. Her fingers dug into the folds of her skirts crushing the material as he removed the saddle from Knight. His hands rubbed over the animal’s hide in long, firm strokes as he brushed him.

Justine’s brain ratcheted back years ago to when she had first entered this stable. Her first real encounter with a horse had been with Brandon. Richard had insisted she learn to ride properly, but she had been terrified of the great big animals he and William had in their possession. Brandon had been the one to take the time to introduce her to his own horse, her hand in his.

“Don’t be afraid of the horse, Justine. You must at least pretend you aren’t, because if he feels that you’re afraid of him, he’ll be afraid of you.

“Afraid of me?”

“Animals can sense things much better than we humans, and they can tell a good person from a bad one. They know, Justine. He’ll see the good in you, just as the rest of us do. You show him you’re his friend, and he will be. It’s quite simple. Come now, try.”

“Justine?”

She blinked up at Brandon. “I was thinking of Midnight, your old horse.

“Ah, Midnight. How he loved to run.”

“You loved it too,” Justine said.

“I did, it was a fine escape.”

“You had taken me riding on him several times. He seemed so tall to me. I felt as if I towered over all of Wolfsgate on Midnight, that nothing could touch me.”

A smile lit his lips. “I felt that way myself.” His soft grey-green eyes slid to hers, and her heart skipped a beat. “Another first time with me, eh?”

Her face heated, and she averted her gaze, busying herself with rolling up the small feed bag. “I was so afraid of riding then. It was kind of you to have taken the time to get me started…riding…to get me used to the horse. It meant a lot to me.” Brandon’s hand stilled over his horse, his head tilted to the side. “Justine—”

“You were a good cousin. I mean, you are…”

His eyes glimmered over her. “Am I a good husband to you now?”

“Am I a good wife?”

Brandon took in a deep breath. “I can’t say I really know how husbands and wives are supposed to be.”

“I can’t say I do either. I hardly remember my own father, and Richard and my mother weren’t much of an example.”

“No, they certainly weren’t.” His face darkened. “I wish I had paid more attention to my parents.”

“Lord Jeremy often spoke of Lady Caroline to me.” Justine’s face brightened.

“Well.” Brandon averted his gaze. “We’re making this up as we go along, aren’t we? Why pile on unnecessary expectations?”

Justine’s stomach dropped. “Oh, yes.”

“What I mean is, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with me.”

“Oh. No, I don’t.”

“Or obligated.”

“I thought that was my line?”

“It was.” Brandon moved closer to her, his hand sweeping up Knight’s neck. “But it’s apt here, so I’m using it.” The horse snorted, his head bucking up for an instant.

Justine’s fingers sank into Knight’s silky mane. Brandon stood perfectly still, his gaze locked on hers. Her hand fell from the horse and slid up Brandon’s chest. Air escaped from between his lips.

“I don’t feel obligated,” Justine whispered. “For me, it’s not…”

Brandon wrapped his hand around hers holding it firmly to his chest. Every particle of her being was being absorbed by the steady beat of his heart under her hand, by his firm grasp, his eyes burning into hers.

“I’m glad,” he said, his voice low. His fingers brushed a lock of her hair over her ear, and her insides tightened at the delicate contact. His beautiful face loomed over her, his body perfectly still. She missed him. Missed his touch, his deep voice, the very smell of him. His heavy gaze fell to her mouth once more.

Was he waiting for her to kiss him?

Justine brought her face closer and touched her lips to his warm ones. His breath clipped, his hand tightened over hers.

Footsteps shuffled beyond them.

“Forgive me, yer Lordship, I dinna know ye had returned.” Martin stopped dead in his tracks. “Pardon, I…”

Brandon’s head jerked up.

“What’s this?” Another clearer, far more elegant voice rang out behind Martin. “You two are quite the domestic types, eh? Charles sauntered further into the stable. “Who would have thought?”

“Montclare,” Brandon said. Justine moved her hand from his chest, but Brandon kept it firmly in his grasp at his side.

“Am I too late to dine with you?” Charles bowed his head and winked at Justine.

“No, in fact, your timing is perfect.” Justine smiled. “I’ll just go let cook know we have a guest.”

“Wonderful,” Charles said.

She tried to take her hand back from Brandon, but he wouldn’t let go. She glanced up at him and, frowning, he finally released her.

“We are invited?”

Charles put down his fork. “Amanda, it seems, had such a wonderful time at the ball that she’s excited to have our little circle of yesteryear come together again. This time at her home.”

Brandon handed the invitation to Justine.

“Since I had stopped by there earlier, I offered to bring you the invitation myself.” Charles raised his wine glass. “You will come, of course?”

“If my wife would like to,” Brandon said. “Justine?”

She held the invitation in her hands studying the elegant handwriting. “I should like to go to my stepbrother’s house for dinner. I long to see my nephew.” She lay the invitation on the table.

“Then we shall go,” Brandon said draining his glass.

Charles grinned and leaned back in his chair. “There won’t be any dancing, but Amanda will surely play for us. William just bought her a new spinet. It’s quite fine and does her justice. Do you play, Lady Justine?”

“When I was younger, but I confess I have not practiced in quite some time.”

Charles’s one eyebrow shot up. “Ah well, newly married ladies have much more interesting amusements, now don’t they?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Quite so.”

“Who’s being the hound now?” Brandon asked as he refilled his glass.

“Couldn’t resist, Graven. Your bride blushes easily. It’s charming, I like it.” He raised his glass in her direction and drank.

“Her charms are only for me to like, Montclare.”

Justine’s gaze shot up at Brandon. Charles laughed as he refilled his glass and eased further back in his chair. “Quite right.”

The great clock in the hall pinged and thumped out its even cadence, echoing through the whole house. Justine rose from her chair. “Gentlemen, I will leave you to your port.” Both men nodded as she bowed her head and left the room, her skirts swishing behind her.

Charles lit his pipe. “She’s lovely.”

Brandon dragged his wine glass across the tablecloth before him. “I know.”

“You’re a lucky bastard.” Charles passed the ember tong to Brandon and puffed on his freshly lit pipe.

“I know that, too.” Brandon lit his own pipe, his eyes locked on Charles’s. “Why aren’t you married?”

“One must spend time and effort on finding the proper candidate. And I haven’t the time or desire to put in such effort at present. Even so, not one available female of my acquaintance has struck a cord deep enough to impel me to take such a step.”

“You require deep?”

Charles laughed. “Ach, how well you know me, Graven. No, I do not require deep, but I’ve decided I need to be able to have quality conversation with someone who will be sharing my house with me. And she best be plenty attractive if I am to share a bed with her in order to produce a number of heirs. I am not waiting for Cupid’s arrow to sweep me away. That can always be found when the mood strikes. I simply feel that the candidate for wife must not be a regrettable choice, but particular.” Charles savored the word and pulled on his pipe.

“Your father pressuring you?” asked Brandon exhaling a stream of smoke.

“God yes, that’s why I keep escaping to London. At least there I can bury myself in work and avoid all this without having to lie to him about how busy I am, because things are busy. When I’m here, it’s too easy to get into trouble, don’t you know?” Charles smirked and refilled their glasses with wine. “You did well at cards the other night.”

“I did.”

“You also did well with Amanda. She had eyes only for you.”

Brandon smoked and said nothing.

“She used to be your particular candidate once upon a time, eh?” asked Charles.

“That was a long time ago,” Brandon said. “She made her choice.”

“You just weren’t here, my friend. It’s quite simple.”

“Simple has ceased to be, don’t you think?”

“Not necessarily.” Charles pursed his lips, leaned back in his chair, and stretched his legs. “If you still want her you could have her. That’s simple enough.”

Brandon frowned at him.

“Why not?”

“She’s married to my cousin whom I despise, by the way, and I’m married now as well,” said Brandon. “Anyway, what would come of it?”

“Does it matter?” Charles shrugged his shoulders. “You don’t have to take it all so seriously, old man. If you want her and she wants you, you can play. Where’s the problem?”

Brandon cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t see a problem?”

“No, it’s just that simple.”

Brandon drained his glass. “Is that what she and William do? Play?”

“Ah, he’s devoted. At least for now. That hasn’t stopped him from the occasional dalliance in town, mind you. But you and Amanda, you two have history between you. That can be a powerful thing, especially if it was never, dare I say, fulfilled?” Charles smirked. “You must be curious, eh?”

“Weren’t we just talking about my new bride?”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Always.” Spheres of smoke floated from Charles’s lips as he exhaled. “A wife is one thing, Graven. A mistress is quite another.”

Brandon stood before the fireplace in the parlor absorbing the heat of the crackling flames. “Do you really wish to go to Amanda and William’s dinner party?”

“We cannot very well say no. We shall go, get it done with, and perhaps we won’t have to do it again for quite some time, if at all,” said Justine.

“There’s a thought,” Brandon muttered.

“I don’t think Amanda and Andrew’s father realizes the current rift between you and William. Nor does Amanda for that matter. So it’s best to play the happy family for the time being, don’t you agree?”

There was that word again—play. Such an amusement seemed odd to Brandon. Everywhere he looked he saw responsibility: his father’s legacy, the house, the estate, the business in Jamaica, a new wife. Playing meant entanglements with others, and entanglements led to obligations. To play with Amanda? Dangerous. Justine was already too aware of any leftover shreds of attraction he might have for his cousin’s wife. Probably more than he himself did.