Wolfsgate (29 page)

Even though their marriage was something he had been swindled into, the idea of betraying Justine was distasteful, especially now that he had found such satisfaction in their bed. Amanda, though, had made a statement by flirting with him at the ball, showering him with her attentions, drenching him with the finer air she breathed. He poked at the burning logs in the fire a bit longer than necessary.

The clink of Justine’s empty brandy glass on the carved wooden table behind him dispelled the web of his thoughts. “This dinner means spending an evening with the dashing Andrew, of course,” he said.

Justine’s lips settled into a firm line. “And his fiancée.”

“You realize he’s gotten himself engaged to her only to get your attention. She’s no match for you, Justine.”

“Is that some sort of compliment? Or are you implying something else?”

“It was a compliment, nothing more.”

“I’m not interested in matching her, Brandon. Or anyone else.” He glanced at her. “I am concerned about you, though,” she said.

“Dare I ask?”

“You’ll see William and Amanda’s life up close and first hand. It upset you your first night home and that was only peering into their window from across the lawn. Are you ready for that now?”

“I’ve already seen them at the ball. We spent plenty of time together.”

“Yes, indeed you did.” She rose from her seat and turned to leave.

“Justine, wait.” He reached out and pulled her into his arms. All he had to do was to lean in another inch and a half and take her mouth. Her brown eyes softened into his. Her tongue darted out, brushing her bottom lip.

One of his hands slid down to her waist and squeezed. Justine’s breath audibly hitched as his other hand rose up alongside her torso. His nose trailed the side of her throat, and her pulse quickened under her skin. It was good to know he still had that effect on her.

Oh, fuck it.

He dragged his lips across the delicate skin of her neck, and her breath hitched. He took her mouth gently, slowly, nuzzling the corner of her generous lips. His fingertips traced the soft, smooth skin on the side of her face. Her lips parted and found his, and their tongues slid against each other, discovering, pleading. His insides shifted and melted all at once.

“The fire is lit upstairs, milady,” came Katy’s voice through the open door of the room.

Justine stiffened and pulled back from him, one hand wiping the edge of her lips. “Yes, Katy, good night.”

“Good evenin’ then.”

Brandon let out a hiss. “That girl needs training.”

“I’ll have a word with her tomorrow.” Justine released herself quickly from Brandon’s hold and exhaled, a hand on her middle. “I’m quite tired. Good night,” she murmured and quit the room.

Oh, she was the Mistress of Supreme Self-Control, wasn’t she? How far would she take it?

Over the past weeks, he had made her body flourish with pleasure. He was sure she had to be missing it just as much as he did. But now there was this strain between them, like some sort of illness spreading its contagion. The contamination in question being Amanda, he was sure. He leaned against the mantel, soaking in the heat radiating from the fire.

The memory of a trembling but clear-eyed Justine seeped into his brain. Fresh from a nightmare the other night, she had sought the comfort he could give her. There had been something confident, certain, and definitely hungry about her then, yet all wrapped up in that vulnerability of hers. A searing combination, if ever there was. That night she had trusted herself to his care, given herself over to him completely.

He liked taking care of her, relieving her of her demons. Very much. In fact, every time he thrust his cock as deep as he could inside her he was filling himself as much as filling her; giving to her filled the empty pit inside him with something good, something real.

He tore open his neck cloth.

He wanted that back.

“
YOU’RE MY AUNTIE
?” Two azure blue eyes peered up at Justine from under a cap of fluffy golden hair.

“Yes, darling, I am. Aunt Justine. Your father and I grew up together as brother and sister. The last time I saw you, you were a tiny little baby.” Justine’s fingers stroked the impossibly soft skin of Geoffrey’s tiny hand. “You’re a fine young man now.”

Geoffrey’s smile lit up his cherubic face. “I am going to be just like Father!” His blue eyes danced at Justine.

William took his son’s hand in his. “You’ve met everyone now, Geoffrey. Time for bed.” William turned his head and lifted his chin at the nursemaid. She swept forward, and William tucked his son into her arms.

“Goodnight, Geoffrey.” Justine waved at him, and he smiled shyly as he receded up the grand staircase in his nurse’s embrace. “He’s beautiful, William. You must be very proud.”

“I am.” Without a glance, William left her in the hall and escorted his wife into their dining room.

“Lady Graven, come.” Charles raised his hand out to her. Justine placed her hand in his, and he ushered her to the end of the long dining table where William was seated in conversation with an elder gentleman. Her heart sank. The last thing she wanted was to have to sit close to William, A servant appeared noiselessly pulling out the chair for her, and she sat. Charles seated himself on her other side. At least she would have someone friendly and entertaining to chat with, even if her husband didn’t approve. Justine turned to greet the man seated on the other side of her. Her heart stopped.

Sir Wallace’s papery white face contorted into a smile, his thick eyebrows arched high. Here was the older man William and Richard had first promised her to. Time had not been kind to Sir Wallace. After years of high, indulgent living, he had grown stout, his face swollen. His greenish-brown eyes were cloudy, his ruddy skin now dull, and he wore a brand new powdered wig which only made him appear more pompous than he actually was, if that were possible. His fleshy cheeks pulsed with the wine he swirled in his mouth, his thin purplish lips pursed as his leering gaze swept over Justine from head to toe.

“My dear, a pleasure to see you again,” he said, his voice wheezing.

“Sir.” She turned away from him. Andrew was seated opposite her across the table next to Sir Wallace’s daughter Lady Emily, with William at the head of the table.

This was a table seating designed in hell.

Justine clasped her hands in her lap.

Andrew nodded at her. “Lady Graven.”

“Mr. Blakelock.”

“Lady Graven, surely you remember Lady Emily?”

“I do.” Emily smiled stiffly at Justine, and she nodded in return.

Justine’s gaze darted down the table under the fluttering light of the stunning crystal chandelier hanging above them. Georgina, Thomas and Matthew, Richard and Mr. Blakelock lined the great table. Her smile slipped at the sight of Brandon seated next to Amanda at the opposite end.

A number of servants slid quietly and efficiently in between the guests filling their bowls with a creamy white soup and bringing forth carafes of the first wine. Justine rubbed the silver spoon in her fingers, wondering how she would get through the long meal. The servants soon bustled in once again with platters of fish, beef, ragouts, green peas, french beans, and carafes of another wine. The smells of the food churned her insides.

The conversations ran from the bloody uprisings in France, to politics, hunting, the theatre, and even gossip about several London actors. Justine listened, smiled and commented when able. Charles often leaned closer to her to whisper a derisive remark or question the dubious intelligence of what was being said. Justine was grateful for his quick, dry wit which kept her not only entertained but distracted.

Through it all, she could hear Amanda’s throaty, elegant laughter. Amanda had her head tilted towards Brandon as he recounted a tale about Jamaica, then he smiled at her and Amanda’s laughter bubbled forth once again. That smile of Brandon’s shining on Amanda, even though it was for one brief moment, scraped Justine’s skin like a hundred sharp needle pricks. Georgina asked Brandon a question about the food in the West Indies, and he settled back in his chair and answered her. Amanda’s gaze absorbed Brandon as if she had suffered a long thirst for the refreshment only he could provide her.

Justine’s fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. Their amiable familiarity was quite evident, and they obviously still shared that sparkling affinity. After all, they had grown up together, been practically raised to marry one day. Justine exhaled and gave her full attention to the purplish-red claret now filling her wine glass.

“How are the renovations at Wolfsgate coming along, Lady Graven?” Andrew asked as he ladled a spoonful of buttered green peas into his plate.

“They are coming along nicely, and the new servants have finally found their rhythm in the house.” Justine sipped her wine. “Where is your fiancée this evening, Mr. Blakelock?”

“She was feeling out of sorts today and decided it was best to stay at home.” He reached for his wine glass and drank, his eyes on her.

“That’s a shame. I do hope she feels better.”

“I’ll be sure to relay your regards to her,” he said, his voice flat.

“Thank you.” She raised her glass at him and smiled.

Lady Emily sniggered loudly at a remark William had made to her.

An unusual pressure on Justine’s thigh made her body seize. Her eyes widened over a stodgy hand wearing a large engraved cornelian ring stealing up her leg. The breath audibly choked in her throat as Sir Wallace’s thick hand squeezed her flesh.

“You’re Graven’s now, eh?” The old man let out a hiss of air through his thin lips. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you were supposed to be my little wife, my pet.”

“That was none of my doing, sir,” she said. “My stepfather and stepbrother made those decisions.”

His swollen hand slithered over her dark blue silk further up her thigh, and her stomach heaved. “I’m no fumbler. I would have kept your belly full on my seed, my little sparrow. I see your husband has not accomplished that task yet. Perhaps his leg is not the only appendage of his that limps?” Wallace let out a squawk. “Those marks on his face have certainly marred his prettiness, have they not?” Sour bile seared her throat, her lungs constricted as the old man’s fingers squeezed her knee.

“Sir Wallace, I must insist—”

“I may not look it, my sparrow, but I have enough energy in me to best any young man here. More’s the pity, more’s the pity.” He gulped his wine, plonked the glass back on the table and licked his reddish-purply lips, his rancid breath fuming over her. “On all fours I would have had you my little piece, morning, noon, and night.”

“Sir Wallace, remove your hand from Lady Graven’s leg or I will personally dissect that arm from your shoulder. Do I make myself clear?” Charles’s voice cut between them.

“You’re not her husband.” Wallace smirked. “What do you care?”

Andrew burst out laughing at a jest Lady Emily had told. The sudden cacophony jolted Justine from her numbness, and she blinked up at Andrew. He caught her paralyzed gaze from across the table and sobered, his eyes narrowing.

Charles leaned in close over Justine, his hand pressed to her chair, the lines of his face hard. “I am not fond of repeating myself.” His clipped, masterful tone bolted through Justine.

Sir Wallace removed his hand from her leg, scowling at them both. Justine lifted her chin and took in a shallow breath. Andrew tilted his head at her, his brow creasing.

“There’s my good man,” said Charles. “You do not speak to Lady Graven again. You do not even look at her the rest of the evening, if ever again, do you understand? Not even a glance in her direction.”

Wallace mumbled curses under his breath, shifted in his chair, and turned towards William again. Charles whispered encouragements in her ear, his hand on her arm. Andrew’s grave expression remained on her.

“Ladies!” Amanda’s clear voice rose over the hum of conversation in the dining room. There was a general pushing back of chairs and clattering of glasses and silver. Amanda stood at the end of the long room, and the women rose to follow her into the parlor. Justine jerked up from her chair.

“Lady Graven—” Charles’s voice wrapped her in its warmth. She turned her head to him.

“I won’t let him near you again. Stay close to me for the rest of the evening. Do not be frightened. He’s an old lout, and everyone knows it. Your brother is the only one who doesn’t seem to mind him.”

She swallowed. “Charles,” her voice came out hoarse.

His eyes flared. “It’s all right, darling,” he said softly. “I would advise you not to tell your husband. The last thing we need is a scene.”

Justine nodded at him. She completely agreed.

Charles’s hands tightened into fists on the surface of the table. “I’ll be in soon,” he whispered, a muscle flexing in his jaw. He refilled her glass with the ruby liquid and slid it towards her. Justine seized it, gulped down the smooth wine, then set the empty glass down on the table.

“Thank you,” she said taking in a breath. Charles bowed his head slightly at her.

Andrew stared at them and rose from his chair as Justine swept past Charles and made her way to the door. She ignored the fact that Andrew followed her on the other side of the table. A large hand gripped her wrist, and she stopped.