Wolfsgate (49 page)

Brandon’s bloodshot eyes strained over his wife’s sleeping face. The color had seeped back into her skin giving her back the freshness that always marked her. He had been relieved to hear from Mrs. Shaw that there had been no more bleeding. There was still hope for their babe. He clung to that hope as he would the jagged edges of a cliff on his last breath. He curled her relaxed fingers around a small bunch of pink viburnum from their garden.

Charles and Martin had left William’s and gone on to Wolfsgate to wait for him. He had stayed on at Crestdown to assist William and Amanda with Dr. Langham’s visit and Richard’s corpse. Once home, Brandon made arrangements for Martin to board the next ship to Jamaica and head for his office there. He wrote out a letter of introduction on the young man’s behalf to his chief manager.

Martin refused.

“Are you mad?” Brandon asked. “After everything we’ve been through tonight? After what you did to him? You know William cannot be trusted. He might one day seek his revenge on you for your little stunt. That one such as you bested him will rot inside him forever. I promised you would vanish. This is for all of us, Martin. Most of all for you. You have no real family here, no prospects. This is a good opportunity for you, a new start. For God’s sake, man, take it.”

Martin turned his face away from Brandon’s heavy gaze.

“Lady Justine would want this for you,” Brandon said hoarsely, his hand raking over his throbbing scalp.

The resignation bloated in Martin’s eyes, and he finally nodded. He shrugged on an old blue wool cloak of Brandon’s that Molly had fetched for him, and he then took the satchel in which there was a loaf of bread, cheese, sausages, and small pies. Brandon handed him a pouch of coins and the letters.

“Mr. Montclare and Mr. Davidson will take you to Southampton and book passage for you,” Brandon said. “It is a fine place, Jamaica. A beautiful island. You may find it strange, certainly exotic, but it will be an adventure, Martin, a new life.” He put his hands on Martin’s shoulders and squeezed. “You’re a fine young man, and I thank you for defending Lady Graven, for having a mind to her all these years.” He took his hand in his and shook it.

Martin rubbed at his eyes and climbed out of the carriage after Charles. He walked slowly to the waiting Davidson, who had hired a coach. He stopped suddenly and turned, raising his chin at Brandon as he adjusted the leather strap on his chest over the bulky wool cloak. “You’ll not forget the flowers. You’ll give them to her. You’ll tell her—”

“I will.”

“Be good to her, milord. She’s…” He pressed his lips together, his chin trembling.

Brandon nodded and raised his hand in farewell. He had always felt keen annoyance and stabs of jealousy over Martin, and now he felt only respect for him. Martin had been Justine’s only witness, had protected her secret, had been her steadfast friend. He had appreciated her precious worth long before he had, and Brandon admired him for it.

Martin slowly turned away, the wool cloak billowing behind him. There on a corner in their quiet village Brandon watched as the gloom of the cold night swallowed a grieving young man from his sight.

“Brandon?” Justine’s small voice perforated the darkness.

“Jus?” He got up from his chair. “How do you feel?”

“Better.” She smiled weakly at him, and her eyes relaxed when they caught his gaze in the glow of the firelight. Brandon leaned over the bed and took her hand.

“What’s this?” She fingered the pink blossoms, her eyes softening. “They’re lovely.”

“From Martin. He wanted you to have them.”

Her clouded eyes darted up at his.

“He’s left.”

“Left?”

“I sent him to Jamaica.”

“Why?”

“He attacked William last night. Wouldn’t let him go. We struck a deal so that all this is kept between us without retributions.” Brandon sat on the side of the bed.

“No retributions? Truly?”

“Yes, love. I am satisfied on your behalf as per your urgent and repeated requests for peace. Last night’s events were heavy enough, indeed.”

She studied his taut expression. “There’s more, tell me,” she said.

“Another time, Jus.”

“Brandon, please.”

Brandon frowned and took her hand in his. “I know the truth now. The whole truth. It ended with William trying to shoot me with his pistol, but he killed his father instead. I pushed Martin out of the way, and Charles covered Geoffrey, who had been with his grandfather.”

“Oh my God!” she said squeezing his fingers. “Whatever William is, he truly loved his father.”

Brandon rubbed the back of his neck. “Amanda was there too. She knows he’s responsible for this.” Justine’s lips parted as if to speak. “Shh, love. The result is that Amanda and William are humbled in an extreme way, Richard is in a far better place, the child is safe, and Martin is nowhere near any of them and onto a new life. He’s a good man. He deserves a new start. Perhaps you and I can finally start ours without interference at long bloody last.”

“Ours?” she murmured into the fragrant flowers.

“Our life together.” He turned over her hand in his and touched his lips to her palm, then her wrist. His grey-green eyes rested on her. “With our child, Lady Graven.”

“Brandon…”

“All right, Justine, say it. I’m ready for it now.” He crossed his arms at his chest.

“There’s no need for—”

“For what? Go on.”

“For your kindness.”

Brandon’s head fell back, and he laughed softly.

“What is so funny?” Justine winced with pain as she struggled against the headboard. “Why are you laughing at me? We’re having a serious conversation, and you’re laughing?”

“I see my Mistress of Supreme Self-Control has returned.”

“What?” Her brows knit together and she planted her good arm into the bed attempting to lift herself higher, but it was useless. “Brandon, you’re not listening to what I have to say.” She fell back on the pillows once again.

“No, Justine, you’re the one not listening—to me or to yourself.” He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his. “I’m not going to let you finish this ridiculous denial you’ve conjured in your head. I cannot bear it, and I swear if you go on I’ll either laugh or explode in a rage. So let’s leave it out, shall we? I’ll explain myself once more.

“I love you. It’s not kindness or obligation, it’s bloody love. It’s all the times you’ve held my hand and helped me walk the straight and narrow. All the times you’ve stood with me through the drama of the past months. You bathed me, dressed me, fed me, put up with my temper and my mania. Made me laugh, worked beside me day and night. Poured me a glass of brandy when I didn’t deserve it, and then another and another. It’s the passion I feel for you in the middle of the night in our bed when I reach for you, and you press tightly against me.” He let out a breath, and her gaze darted down to their hands.

“Oh Jus, it’s any time of day when you give me that half-smile. Even when you’re mad at me, and your eyes get all fiery and you stomp away, and then you come stomping right back to try to get the last word in.” A grin curled the edges of his lips as the sweet pressure of her fingers squeezing his hand warmed his skin.

“But—”

“No.” His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist as he tilted his head at her. “Justine, please. I know that William lied to me about Martin. I know what he did to you, forcing himself on you. I know.”

Justine blanched, her gaze dropping down to the delicate flowers in her hand.

“They were trying to force you to marry me,” he whispered. “And you had refused?”

She nodded.

“So he assaulted you.”

“He was so angry with me. He—”

“He humiliated you, hurt you in the worst possible way.”

All the miserable, horrible cards were face up on the table now. She could finally be free of it. Be free of William, the fear, and all the lies crafted upon more lies. Justine’s grip on the flowers tightened. Her lower lip quivered.

Brandon’s nostrils flared. “What is it? Tell me.”

“He told me he was pleased that I could no longer marry properly. That any man in his right mind would always be suspicious of me and eventually turn me out. He had made it so I was only fit to marry you in your mad, half-dead state. That if you were ever to return home and bed me, my…condition would be a humiliation for you.”

“What a clever little bastard.” Brandon took in a deep breath. “We proved him wrong. We’ve deprived him of that satisfaction, just as you said.” She glanced away, but he turned her face back towards his.

Brandon’s brow wrinkled. “Let me say this once and for all, Justine. You keep saying you’re not worthy, you’re sullied. That’s not true. You’re stronger than that. You’ve pulled yourself up and walked on after all the things he’s done to you. You’ve faced him since, been in the same room with him, been civil to him in public and alone, carried yourself with dignity. You’ve taken care of yourself, gone out into the world, not scurried away into a hole somewhere and given up. I can only imagine the unbelievable amount of strength that requires.”

“Brandon—”

He shook his head. “And do not assume how I feel about it and try to give me an easy excuse to reject you as any other man might. I’m not any other man. I’m the manic egotistical bastard who adores and admires you.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m the man who loves you.”

Her chin trembled, her eyes were glassy. He bent over and brushed her palm with his lips.

“You’re not sullied or unclean,” he whispered. “You’re bright and clean. The bright and clean I’ve barely ever known and have always been missing. I’m not letting go of it for anything in the world. You took a risk in bringing me home and living with me. And you were right to enjoy what we have between us, to reach out and grab at life. You are so bloody brave. I want that too. I want to really live. I want us. Together.”

She held her breath as he stretched out next to her on the bed bringing their entwined hands to his chest, his molten grey-green gaze melded with hers.

“The passion I feel for you when I touch you deep, when I’m moving inside you, isn’t just what my cock needs from a woman. It’s what I need from you, from your sweet body and your beautiful spirit,” he whispered close to her ear. “We are lovers, you and I. Between us it’s gentle and wild, frenzied and sweet. It’s good, and we make that together.” His warm lips brushed her ear, and her legs fidgeted under the covers.

“That’s what we are Jus—lovers, husband and wife, partners in this enterprise called life. We need to hang onto it.” He leaned up on an elbow over her, his warm eyes soft and full. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asked. “Tell me you understand.”

She nodded, her eyes wet.

“Say it.”

“I understand,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Do you want it too, Justine?”

Her chest heaved. “Yes. I want it.”

His fingers gently tugged at the bodice of her nightdress and he stroked the warm satiny skin along her collarbone.

“Know this, Justine,” he whispered. “When I made you mine that very first time, whatever came before simply fell away.”

She let out a whimper, and it set his heart spinning.

“And the baby,” Brandon’s lips formed a smile against her cheek. His hand traveled under the thick quilt and down her torso to rest on her belly. “Oh, Jus,” he sighed. “There aren’t words to describe that. At least I haven’t found them yet.”

The smile lingered on his lips, its warmth radiating over her skin like the hot summer sun. He snapped a small flower from the bouquet and tucked it in her hair, then his finger traced the edge of her face down to her chin. The tears finally escaped her eyes, and her fingers curled into the thin wool fabric of his sleeve.

His heart seized. “What is it, love?”

“After I fell, I heard the wolf howling in the woods,” she whispered. “I heard him, Bran. I felt him with me, and for the first time, I wasn’t afraid. It was a comfort, because I knew.”

“What did you know?”

“I knew you would come for me.”

“Jus,” he murmured as his tongue caught a teardrop against her inflamed cheek.

Her fingers released their grip on the flowers, and her hands tucked around his middle. “Hold me, Bran,” she breathed in his throat.