Lord Braybrook’s Penniless Bride (25 page)

Shaking, on the brink of madness, bathed in her taste and scent, part of him clung to sanity, to safety. He should be gentle with her, take her carefully.

She was having none of it. Even as he fought for restraint she lifted against him, hot, wet softness claiming the head of his shaft, long slender legs wrapping around his hips. Nails raked his shoulders and her voice broke on his name.

Control exploded into ruin as he thrust into her welcoming body and buried himself to the hilt. Lost, he took her again and again, feeling her pleasure as his own, feeling her catch and match his rhythm so that their bodies sang together. He knew when the end was upon her, when he could let himself go and
be swept with her into the final crescendo. Consummation took him, all dark, fierce pleasure as he spilt deep within her convulsing body, blind and shaking.

With a groan he collapsed on her, and slid to one side, still holding her close, unwilling to let her go. Ever.

With his last remaining strength he pulled the bedclothes over them, sinking into a warm cocoon in a sweaty, sated tangle of limbs, Christy safe in his arms.

He woke to bright sunlight. Somewhere outside, high above, a lark was pouring its gift of winged song back to the world. He rolled over, reaching out, and made an unwelcome discovery—he was alone. She might be in her own room. He got up, pulled on his dressing gown and went to look.

There was no sign of Christy, but her maid’s eyes first widened at the sight of him still tying his robe, and then dropped modestly to the floor, her face scarlet. He felt his own ears burn. Damn it! Why the hell hadn’t he put on his nightshirt? The entire staff would be laughing over this.

He cleared his throat. ‘Do you know where your mistress is?’

‘Oh, yes, m’lord.’ Was that a flicker of amusement? ‘She went down to the Dower House to fetch Miss Nan. She’s up in the nursery with her.’

‘Thank you, er, Beth, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, m’lord.’

He beat a hasty retreat.

The nursery. He was going to have to face them both.

Back in his own room, Julian realised that at some undefined point either last night or this morning he had made a decision. Two decisions. About his marriage and Nan’s future.

‘I don’t know, sweetheart.’

Christy’s tired, defeated voice sliced into him. ‘It…that may not be possible, but I…I promise you will be safe and well looked after.’

He tensed at the uncertainty in her voice as she made the promise. Was she wondering if she would be permitted to keep it?

An indistinct murmur followed—a child’s voice. Nan. His sister.

‘Yes. It must seem strange. I don’t fit in very well here either.’

Not fit? His fist clenched on the door frame until his knuckles whitened.

Again, Nan’s indistinct voice.

‘Of course not, Nan! No one will mind if you ride it!’

He’d heard enough. He pushed open the door and walked in.

His old rocking horse had been pulled into the middle of the floor, and Nan was clearly attempting to dismount as Christy tried to stop her. Scarlet faced, Christy turned as Nan’s eyes widened and her breath jerked in on a gasp at the sight of him. She slid off the horse and stood stiffly, her eyes downcast.

He felt sick, clumsy and completely useless.

What the hell could he say? To either of them?

Christy met his gaze. ‘My lord. You should have sent for me.’

‘Actually I wanted both of you.’ He looked at his sister, who was still staring at the floor. ‘Good morning, Nan.’

A quick glance up, a mumbled greeting.

‘Am I interrupting your ride?’ he asked very gently.

A silent shake of the black curls answered him.

He looked from the stiff, averted face to the rocking horse. He’d been a year younger than Nan when Twigg’s father made it…Starlight. Named for the diamond blaze on the wooden face. Dapple-grey paint, chipped in places, worn and rubbed in others. The leather reins were soft and supple, the padded leather saddle showing where four gallant riders since himself had sat brandishing wooden swords, urging their noble steed to death and glory.

He reached out to touch the arched neck, remembered holding Lissy and Matt for their first rides. He supposed they had done the same for Emma and Davy. The once-flowing mane under his fingers looked a trifle ragged now, as did the tail. Probably due to five pairs of hands, firmly taught to care for their mount first and foremost.

At Nan’s age he’d half-believed Starlight a real horse, enchanted to look like a toy by day, but resuming his true form once the house slept. So many dreams. He’d been Starlight’s first
owner—was he special to Starlight? The painted eyes had faded, but there was something about the expression…To a creature like this, all children would be special, a flying weight of dreams on his back, and small, loving hands grooming out yet more of his mane and tail every year. He accepted them all.

He gave the proud neck a last rub and stepped back. ‘I called him Starlight,’ he told Nan.

For a moment there was silence. Then, ‘He’s yours?’

He thought about it. ‘No. Not really.’ Any more than Amberley truly belonged to him. Perhaps it was actually the other way around. Or he was merely a guardian. Starlight had passed happily to other children now. As one day he hoped Amberley would pass to his son.

He looked around. His eye fell on Noah’s Ark, set out on a low table with the animals dutifully lined up in pairs, being shepherded into the Ark by Noah, his wife and their sons. Only the lion, at the head of the procession, was alone. The lioness had fallen to lie forgotten beneath the table.

He crouched down before the table, and held out his hand. ‘Come and look, Nan.’

She came hesitantly.

‘This,’ he told her, ‘was made for our great-grandfather.’

He heard Christy’s startled intake of breath, but his concentration now was on the child looking at him, uncomprehending.

‘Your great-grandfather, sir?’

‘Yes. And yours.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘I remember him. Just. When he was a very old man he used to let me bring the Ark down to the library after dinner. He said our father, yours and mine, had liked it too.’

Her hand had remained at her side, but now Julian reached out and took it. She looked at him, the blue eyes so like his own full of bewilderment.

How the hell did one explain something like this to a child?

He tried. ‘There was a time, you see, Nan, when your mother and our father were both very sad and became friends. Your mother was very kind to our father, and you were born. I’ve
always known that, but your mother obviously wanted you with her. And that was right and proper. But now—’

He stopped. Nan’s eyes had spilled over and his own throat felt thick. Uncertain if it was the right thing to do, he put an arm around Nan and hugged her gently. Fumbling in his pocket, he found a handkerchief to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

‘It…some people would say what they did was wrong, because they were both married to other people—but that is in the past and is not your fault,’ he said carefully. ‘And it means you are my sister—my half-sister, like Lissy and Emma. And Davy and Matthew are my half-brothers. We all have the same father.’

He couldn’t look at Christy. He didn’t dare. A few days ago she had told him that she loved him—and he’d flung it back in her face. Reduced her gift to mere sex. Because her honesty had frightened the hell out of him. It had been easier to deny what she felt—deny
her
.

Just as it would be easier to let Jane’s family raise Nan, and contribute to her upkeep, holding aloof from further entanglement. Easier. Safer. For he did not delude himself that his chosen path would be easy. It would not. There would always be people to censure him for this step and look down their noses at Nan. He couldn’t help what they thought, but, by God, he would protect his sister.

‘So, these toys, Nan,’ he said. ‘Some of them were made for me. Some for my father and aunts, and so on. They don’t seem to mind which children play with them. They just belong here. Like the children. No doubt you’ll have Davy coming over rather often, and in a year or so there might be another occupant—’ He risked a glance at Christy, but she had turned away, was folding some clothes in a basket. With a deep breath he looked at Nan. ‘You might have to share, but I don’t suppose you’ll mind that. They’re yours to play with for as long as you want them, because this is your place now, and you belong here, just like they do.’

Nan said nothing, but she wriggled out of his hold, leaned forwards and picked up the fallen lioness. With careful concentration she set the creature upright beside her mate.

‘That’s it,’ said Julian, his throat unaccountably tight. ‘They’ll be happier together.’ He was aware that Christy had turned around, was watching them. ‘Poor old Rex probably felt a trifle lost without her. He’ll do better now he’s got her to show him the way to go on.’

He looked up and met Christy’s gaze.

Her breath caught in her throat at the smile in those blue, blue eyes. She was being foolish, imagining too much into his words. He had decided to accept Nan—that was all. No—it was everything. The most wonderful thing that could have happened. Far more important than her foolish romantic dreams.

She said nothing and after a moment he murmured something to Nan and gave her shoulder a squeeze. He rose in a lithe surge and came to her. She forced herself to remain still as memories of the previous night washed over her. His fierce passion, his tenderness—it had just been sex. That was all. For him.

‘Come,’ he said, and led her from the room into the empty passage.

He spoke softly. ‘Sometimes we have trouble seeing what’s right in front of us.’

She took a careful breath. He was all around her, the musky scent that had wreathed her all night faintly overlaid with the sandalwood soap he used. He was right. Sometimes it was difficult to keep sight of things that were laid out clearly. Like the difference in their feelings. Last night had not been about love. Not for him.

Yet his touch, careful and light on her cheek, the gentlest tracery, said otherwise.
Let me love you.
Not more than physically. He was a consummate lover and once was quite enough to make a fool of herself in that particular way. And it shouldn’t matter so much.

She stood rigid, trying not to let her heart show in her eyes under his magical touch. Yet still her heart yearned, not so much to hear him say it, but to be able to say it. To say it and not have it dismissed as a woman’s excuse for enjoying sex. As gratitude.

Just dismissed. As something almost distasteful and rather vulgar. It was as though she had finally opened a door she had
never wanted to approach, only to find herself trapped on the threshold, barred from the wonderful new country she had not even suspected.

‘Christy?’

She managed a smile. He meant she had helped him to see the truth about Nan. He would never have done this simply to placate her. Rather he had listened, really listened. And he had changed his mind. She had his respect and that would be enough.

Only the bright world she could see through the door blazed and beckoned. She could still shut the door and turn away. It would be safer to do that. Far more comfortable to close it.

He reached for her hand, enveloping it as though it were infinitely precious. Her left hand, weighted with his ring, the symbol of their contract. Duty and honour. Cold, empty bedfellows, but they would have to be enough. She dare not ask.

‘What was right in front of you?’

She scarcely recognised her own voice. It came from a great distance, as though she were not quite in control. As though some foolish, rebellious part of her had stepped out to take one last risk.

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the heavy ring.

‘That quote you flung at me yesterday—eventually I looked it up.’

Her mind tripped over the image of her rakish husband searching for a Bible passage.

‘St Paul was somewhat unequivocal on the subject of love, wasn’t he?’ said Julian, a wry smile tearing at her heart. ‘There was nothing there to let me off the hook. Even if I didn’t have the courage to acknowledge my own feelings, I had no right to cheapen and dismiss yours.’

‘Your feelings?’ she whispered, hardly daring to believe what he was saying.

He drew her into his arms, into the warmth and safety. And it was he who sighed in pleasure first as she settled against him.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I spent a great deal of time and effort trying to convince myself that there were many excellent reasons for wanting you and marrying you. Desire, duty, honour.’ He kissed
her gently. ‘But in the end I had to admit I was being a fool. Oh, I desired you right enough, but it became so much more.’ He broke off again, seeming to search for words. ‘I care what you think of me, I care about
you
and I don’t give a damn about your birth, unless it causes
you
hurt. Yesterday, when I realised how close I came to losing you—’ his arms tightened around her ‘—it terrified me.’

He held her slightly away from him. ‘Tell me it isn’t too late, sweetheart—tell me you still love me.’

‘Yes, I love you,’ she whispered. ‘So much. I just wish…’ Her voice faltered.

‘What do you wish, sweetheart?’

She struggled for the words. ‘That I was not…my birth…’

Gentle fingers stopped her lips. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Don’t wish that. Don’t wish to be anything other than who you are and what you are. That’s the woman I love. The woman I will always love.’

Her eyes were blinded, the room dissolving into mist. But he caught her chin and lifted it, then gently removed her spectacles, slipping them into his pocket. Through the blur she saw his mouth twist.

‘You gave me those words, and I didn’t have the courage to accept them, let alone return them. So I hurt you instead.’ He kissed her tenderly, on the eyes, the cheeks, capturing the silvery tears. ‘I’m not worth these,’ he whispered.

She smiled through them. ‘Not even tears of happiness?’

‘Just as long as I don’t cause you any more of the other sort,’ he said, holding her close.