Authors: Andrea Pickens
His fingers were already at the neck of her gown. She shivered slightly as he undid a few of the buttons and gently slid the material down to bare her shoulder. There was a discreet knock on the door.
"Enter, Hopkins."
The butler came in with a basin and a length of linen on a tray. Branford motioned towards a small table by the bed.
"You may put it there. I shan't need you anymore tonight."
If the man experienced any surprise at finding a young lady with a bullet wound in his master's bedchamber in the middle of the night, he betrayed no sign of it. He merely bowed slightly.
"Good night, then, m'lord."
Branford moistened a soft cloth and carefully sponged at the gash in her shoulder. She was amazed at how gentle his touch was, how deft the movements of his strong hands.
"You are lucky, Miss Chilton," he murmured as he tore a long strip from the length of linen . "The wound is not deep and if you take care, there should be no need to consult a physician."
"I am quite knowledgeable about herbs as well, sir, and know how to make a salve to aid healing. There is no need for concern."
He finished bandaging her shoulder in silence. Then he grasped her other shoulder and turned her to face him.
"No need for concern," he repeated in a low voice. Alex was so close to him she could almost feel the heat from his blazing eyes. "Then perhaps you can explain to me how a supposedly rational being could act in such an addlepated, cork brained, idiotic manner. Are you truly daft, Miss Chilton, or merely as foolish as the worst of your sex are wont to be?"
Alex was taken aback by the real anger in his voice.
"I received a note concerning Justin. I was following the instructions...." She faltered, realizing how lame it sounded, even to her own ears.
"I see," he interrupted. "So it is your habit of blindly following even the most patently absurd directions, in your arrogant assumption that you can handle any situation that arises. I hadn't thought you so stupid."
Alex's eyes flared with her own hot anger. "What would you have me do?" she demanded. "Stand by and see my brother murdered?" She was dangerously close to yelling.
"He is no longer a child, Alex. Let him be a man and deal with it himself."
In the heat of the argument neither of them seemed to notice his use of her given name.
"Oh, you think me a managing female, " she sputtered. "How dare you, sir! You know nothing — besides, he refuses to acknowledge any danger. He thinks I am imagining it. Well, do you think tonight is a bad dream?"
"Indeed I do," he muttered through clenched teeth. In a louder voice he added, "Then you might have come to me."
Her chin drew up imperceptibly. For some inexplicable reason, an image of Lady Cameron floated across her mind. Blond. Beautiful. Beckoning. "Don't be ridiculous," she said roughly. "What possible reason have you to care about me and my family?"
It was his turn to feel stung by her words. "I have little choice when I observe a lone female of my acquaintance skulking off in the dead of night. Though you may not countenance it, I have some sense of honor!"
His hand was still gripping her good shoulder and as he spoke, the other one came up to bandaged one. Without thinking, he began shaking her. "If you ever do anything so idiotic again, I swear I shall..."
Alex snapped. He was hurting her, both with his grip and the truth of his words. Her hand shot out and delivered a resounding slap across his face.
Both of them were rendered speechless for a moment. Alex's mouth dropped in belated shock at what she had done. An unreadable emotion flashed in Branford's eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something.
Instead, his lips came down on hers, not tentatively, but hard and demanding. Alex stiffened in utter surprise, then found herself responding with equal passion. Her arms flung up around his neck, her fingers reveling in the silky feel of the long, dark locks that curled against his collar. She felt herself crushed to his chest, felt the heat of his skin, the pounding of his pulse which echoed her own racing heart.
She had never imagined a kiss could be like this. On one or two other occasions in the past she had allowed a gentleman's lips to brush hers. But this was so much more — intimate. His tongue urged her mouth to part and the feel of him touching her in such a way sent a surge of fire rushing through her body. Hesitantly her own tongue met his and she gave a low moan as she tasted the exotic spiciness of his mouth.
At the sound, he deepened the kiss with an intensity that took her breath away. Then he broke it off to run his lips with gossamer lightness over her cheekbones, then down the inside curve of her throat.
"Don't ever scare me again like that, Alex," he murmured between caresses.
All at once, all the reason, all the common sense, all the practicality that had dominated her life to that point deserted her. She knew, beyond all doubt, that regardless of the consequences she must seize the moment.
"Sebastian," she whispered. "Make love to me."
His eyes glittered a deeper blue that she had ever seen as they searched her face. "My little one, are you..."
"Please." Perhaps it was very wrong, but she couldn't help herself. The need for him was overwhelming. Her hand slipped tentatively inside his shirt, her fingers seeking out the bare skin.
With a deep groan he wrenched at the folds of his neckcloth, tearing it off and throwing the length of linen to the floor. Then he yanked at the fastenings of his shirt, sending the buttons flying and exposing himself to the waist. Alex ran her palms over the taut muscles and flat planes of his torso, her eyes wide with wonderment.
"You are beautiful beyond imagination, "she whispered as she brushed the dark curls on his chest. Looking up at him, a shy smile came to her lips.
The rigid control that usually governed his features was suddenly gone, replaced by a look of need as urgent as her own. He slipped the bodice of her dress down to her waist, then eased her chemise off her shoulders as well. His hands cupped her firm, rounded breasts, the thumbs gently coaxing the nipples to immediate response.
"You are as lovely, as luminous as one of your exquisite paintings," he said softly.
Whatever words she was about to say caught in her throat as he lowered his head and took the delicate flesh in his mouth.
She cried out in amazed pleasure.
Branford made a low sound from deep in his throat as he threw back the covers of the bed. He rapidly removed the rest of her garments until she lay totally unclothed on the snowy sheets. His ruined shirt was tossed over a chair, then his boots came off one by one and clattered to the floor. He turned away from her to unfasten the buttons on his breeches and stripped them off over his powerful thighs. When he faced her in the flickering candlelight he, too, was naked, and fully aroused.
She stared at him in wonder. He radiated strength and a rampant masculinity. Having lived all her life in the country, she knew something of the physical act, but looking at his manhood jutting forward from the dark curls she gave a nervous swallow.
"I am aware of what is about to happen next, but I think, that is, I fear — we may not fit."
Branford gave a husky chuckle as he climbed onto the bed and straddled her willowy form. "You may trust me, little one. We shall fit quite nicely." His expression turned serious. "If you are afraid, or are having second thoughts you have only to say so." His mouth quirked at the corners. "It may be the death of me, but God help me, I shall take you home..."
She reached up and pulled his head down to hers.
The kiss was gentler this time, unrushed but no less passionate. As their lips played together, his knee came between her thighs, slowly easing them open. His fingers trailed down over her stomach, then brushed through her own downy curls and touched her most intimately.
Alex gave another soft cry at the exquisite jolt of fire that his touch sent through her body. She arched up to meet his hand, wondering at the novel sensation of dampness between her legs.
"You are sweetly ready for me," he whispered as he slid his finger inside her.
Her nails dug into his shoulders as her narrow passage adjusted to the fit. Slowly, he began moving it in and out, Her body, tight with pleasure, moved instinctively to match his rhythm.
"Good Lord," he groaned. "I feel like a callow schoolboy about to spill my seed here and now — Alex, I can wait no longer!"
His hand came away.
"Sebastian! Don't stop," she cried softly.
His voice was taut with emotion. "My sweet, the devil himself could not drag me away now."
He lowered himself, thrusting his rigid manhood gently into her. His own sound of pleasure echoed in the room as her honeyed passage closed tightly around him. The feel of it nearly sent him over the edge. He fought to regain control, then pushed ahead slowly until he felt the barrier of her maidenhood. Withdrawing slightly, he pressed forward again, then again.
Alex flinched slightly.
He became still. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice full of concern.
"Only for a moment, and it is past. Now it feels... wonderful."
Her hips rose, burying him deep within her. With a muffled groan, he brought her legs round his hips and began to move to the music of his passion.
Alex was responding to the same glorious rhythm. Her breath was coming in rapid gulps. Each of Branford's thrusts was building a shuddering, delicious tension throughout her whole being that somehow she knew must be released, though she knew not how. Her hands roamed over the rippling muscles of his back as if seeking the answer there, and her hips rose and fell with his tempo. Sensing the burning need building within her, his pace quickened.
She arched one more time and suddenly was aware of nothing but a surging wave coursing out from the center of her being. His name burst from her lips as she sought to merge herself more fully with him. Her hands grasped at his buttocks, urging him deeper. His own hoarse cry joined hers as he buried himself to the hilt and poured his life giving essence into her.
The room was utterly silent save for their ragged breathing. With his full weight pressing against her, Alex felt the melding of their beating hearts. Her own body felt oddly unreal, as if she couldn't move a muscle if her life depended on it. She sensed that all the tension had drained from Branford as well, all the hard edges gone and a strange vulnerability about him. He was still inside her, and as she caressed his heated skin, she found herself wishing she could stay a part of him, help him fight off whatever demons caused him to erect such careful defenses around his feelings.
With a deep sigh, he rolled to one side and settled her head on his chest. It was damp and the scent of his exertion made her feel almost giddy. His hand ran through her loosened tresses, which tumbled down over her shoulders onto the sheets.
"Tis like spun silk," he murmured.
"It's mousy," she sighed.
He smiled. "For an artist, you are remarkably unobservant. It is a rich burnt umber, with highlights of sienna.' He held a strand up to the candlelight. "And perhaps a touch of cinnabar with..."
"My lord, how do you know the palette so well?"
Branford's eyebrows rose in mock consternation. "My lord, is it then? A moment ago it was Sebastian."
Alex felt a slight flush steal over her at the thought of her unbridled physical response to him.