Tori Phillips (17 page)

A faint blush stole into her cheeks. She bent her head closer to her work.

Brandon grinned behind his hand. “Great Jove! The eggs of a plover are especially noted for rendering a person irresistible to amorous assaults. And to stuff them with cinnamon, a spice well known to induce lively desire? I am amazed that you are not panting with lovesickness this instant.” He moistened his dry throat with a sip of wine.

Kat peeked at him from under the wide brim of her straw hat. Her eyes took on a deeper shade of green. “If I am panting at all, my lord, ’tis with the heat of this June afternoon. You spoke of the mushrooms. Are they equally dangerous to consume?”

Brandon ran his forefinger around the wet rim of his wine cup. “Aye, so I have been told. They say that if one shares a dish of mushrooms with a lover, it leads directly to the bedchamber.”

“Indeed?” Kat pursed her lips. “I suppose ’twould be true, if the mushrooms were poisonous.” She added a cornflower to her chain.

Brandon took another swallow of the rich sugared burgundy. Kat was no one’s fool. ’Twould make his conquest all the sweeter.

“The next dish was dove pie, if I recall,” he continued.

“I believe so, Sir John, though you and Sir Brandon ate it up so quickly, I cannot be sure. Pray, what properties have the poor doves? Or is it the pastry you remark upon?”

“Doves, from the earliest times, have been considered the birds of love, for they do nothing but bill and coo. Do you feel inclined to coo, Miranda?” He winked at her.

Pausing in her occupation, she appeared to give the matter some thought. “I fancy that I coo to babes and small children, as well as to puppies, kittens and other assorted young creatures.” She swept him an appraising glance. “But since neither you nor I nor the river that babbles at our feet could be considered young, I am not moved to coo—nor to bill, for that matter.”

She is playing hard to get. Excellentl I like a challenge.

“Our main course was a goodly crock of hare stewed in a wine sauce,” Brandon continued. “My compliments to your cook for that inspiration.”

Kat threaded two more buttercups together. “How so? Rabbit stew is a common enough dish.”

“Have you never been warned of the dangers of eating hares, especially in the springtime?”

“’Tis summer, my lord, and I’ve eaten rabbits all my life.” She held up her chain to measure its length. “Pray enlighten me.”

Leaning forward, Brandon lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Hares have a universal reputation for exciting unbridled desire. Consider the vast number of offspring they produce.” He winked at her again.

Kat yawned, covering her mouth in a languid motion. “And I suppose that the salad of cress, mustard greens, radishes and onions also has amorous qualities?”

“Just so, mistress mine. They stimulate vigor and hot desire.”

“And you will no doubt tell me that the spiced cakes and peaches stewed in honey are also unsafe to eat in mixed company?”

Brandon nodded with mock seriousness. “Particularly the peaches, I fear. Why, I am amazed that mother church has not banned the eating of peaches by all except old married couples past their prime.”

Kat bent closer to her dwindling pile of meadow flowers. Her hat hid her face. “’Tis very strange. I feel satisfied by the choice of foods and their manner of preparation. But lusty? Full of heated desire? Ready to leap into bed? Nay, my good lord. Far from it. Besides...” She flashed him a beguiling smile from under her brim. “You have forgotten. I am but a spinster maid, and know nothing of bed sport.”

“Aye.” Brandon inclined his head in tribute. “I had forgotten that point, for the moment.” He poured himself more wine and wondered where to go to from there.

Kat’s golden voice interrupted his scheming. “Tell me, my lord, how is it you know so much about the foods of love? Is it something they teach you when you live at court?”

Brandon allowed a small smile. “Our good king is most interested in pleasing all the appetites. Food and love go hand in hand with Great Harry.”

“Ah!” She furrowed her copper brows. “Methinks ’twould make a frightful mess to combine the two in close proximity.”

Brandon’s wine went down his windpipe. He choked. Dropping her flower chain, Kat scrambled over to his side.

“Sweet angels! My good lord, are you all right?” She thumped him on the back several times.

“Aye,” he gasped, sputtering to draw a breath.

Kat struck him again between the shoulder blades for good measure. Zounds, the woman had a strong arm! He must remember that for future reference. Forsooth! If he had known ’twould take him half choking to death to get the cunning Kat within his grasp, he would have done that in the beginning.

“Sniff through your nose,” she instructed, her lovely face very close to his. “Sondra always tells us that, and it works.”

Brandon drew in air through his nostrils as commanded. Remarkably the raw, tickling sensation in his throat eased.

“Your Sondra is a wonder,” he gasped, mopping his eyes with one of the picnic napkins.

Kat’s lips twitched. “Aye, she is, indeed. Are you quite recovered, Sir John?”

He placed his hand over hers. “Only if you stay by my side like this, in case I am besieged by another attack of my windpipe.”

She cast him a saucy glance. “If you did not guzzle your wine like a dog in the slops, you would not be prone to these uncomfortable outbursts.”

Brandon coughed again. “I thank you for your advice, good mistress. I shall endeavor to remember it.”

Kat smoothed out the skirts of her gown, then leaned against the tree beside him. Their shoulders lightly touched. Brandon itched to take her in his arms, but her cool demeanor counseled that he bide his time. The evening had barely suggested itself. The sun would not disappear for several more hours. Time enough. Taking her hand and lacing his fingers between hers, he marveled at the delicacy of her skin. She did not pull away. They sat in companionable silence within the bower of the overhanging willow branches for a few minutes.

Kat released a small sigh. “Tell me, my lord, do you know Sir Brandon well?”

Brandon rested the back of his head against the willow’s rough bark. What was the minx up to now? “Aye, Miranda, as well as I know myself. Why?”

She cast her gaze down to their joined hands, then answered in a voice that reminded Brandon of the sound made by a butterfly on the wing. “The wedding day draws near, my lord, and I would have Lady Katherine take joy in its coming.”

“And I desire the same thing, sweetheart,” be replied with a tightness in his throat.

“As Katherine’s closest friend, there are some things I must ask you—concerning my Lord Cavendish.”

Brandon squeezed her hand. “And as Brandon’s closest companion, I will try to answer your questions.”

Kat caught him directly in her gaze. “First, why does your good friend drink so much?”

Brandon had been in the act of lifting his cup to his mouth. At her question, he put it down at his side. “You think he takes too much wine?”

“Mayhap, especially when he is angry or doesn’t get his own way. Is this true, my lord, in your close observation?”

Brandon chewed his lower lip. “I had not noticed it before, sweetheart, but I will keep an eye on the problem in the future.”

She smiled at him, her twin pools of green melting into soft mist. “That greatly eases my mind, my lord.” Then she furrowed her dainty brows. “Fitzhugh drank far too much, and it made a monster out of him.”

Slipping his arm around her shoulders, Brandon drew her closer to him. The spicy scent of potpourri filled his nostrils. “Tell me about Fitzhugh, if you can bear it,” he suggested.

She trembled. “He was false of heart, light of ear and bloody of hand. No dog was more mad than he, no wolf matched him in greediness. Like a lion after prey, he took what he wanted, whenever he wanted. Had he been inclined to cannibalism, he would have boiled and eaten those who opposed him. God forgive me for saying this, but he is the one man I hate above all others.”

Brandon squeezed her shoulder. “I heard that he beat you, and your cousin.”

Kat closed her eyes. “Aye, and the less said of those times the better. I have spoken too much as it is.”

“Do not think of him that was, but of him that is to come,” Brandon murmured. “I swear upon my honor, that Sir Brandon Cavendish is a far better man, and will make his lady very happy.”

She glanced at him from under the dark fringe of her lashes. “Then your friend must be a miracle worker, for Lady Katherine has had nothing but harsh words and ill treatment from every man she has ever known, beginning with her father.”

“’Tis a wonder that the lady is so sweet tempered.” Brandon lifted her hand to his lips. He lightly caressed her fingers. “Tell me of Lady Katherine’s early days—so that I may tell Brandon.”

She swallowed. “There is not much to tell. Her father, Sir Robert Addison, had two daughters, no sons. Grace was the eldest by nearly twelve years. Their mother died giving birth to m...my cousin. I believe her father never forgave Katherine for that. Grace married the second son of the Earl of Fairfax. They died in a carriage accident when her son, Fenton, was ten. Kat, then married to her second husband, took the boy in.”

Brandon gritted his teeth. “Fenton! A subtle, slippery knave, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

Kat shook her head slightly. “Nay, ’tis the truth. The boy was much taken with his Uncle Edward—Fitzhugh, that is—and aped him in all his ways. I fear he will grow worse as he grows older.”

“He needs the firm hand of a new uncle,” Brandon growled.

“Aye. Do you suppose that Sir Brandon can control him?”

Brandon returned a tight smile to her. “My oath upon it!”

“Good! For Fenton is a dreadful liar.” Kat grinned, banishing the knot of worry and sadness that had clouded her face. “Do you know what he told us of Sir Brandon?”

Brandon gritted his teeth. “I can only imagine.”

“He told us that Lord Cavendish was young, barely out of the schoolroom! We were most surprised when you...and Sir Brandon, appeared in the hall.”

Brandon mused that it was no wonder both women had looked thunderstruck and gabbled like geese on that first meeting! Aloud, he remarked, “Your surprise was no less than ours. Fenton told us that you...ah, Lady Katherine was—” He stopped himself. Jolt-head! Women were very sensitive about their ages.

Kat stroked the fingers of the hand she held. Her featherlight touch threatened to shatter his self-control. Damn the stewed hare and honeyed peaches!

“Pray, what did that rogue say about us?”

Brandon licked his lips. “That Lady Katherine was quite elderly, and that she practiced witchcraft.”

Kat’s eyes widened, then she burst into a peal of rippling laughter. “And what have you learned since meeting me...my cousin?”

Brandon drew her closer still, so that her face was only a kiss away. His heart drummed against his rib cage. “I have learned that she is light of form and figure. That her eyes brim with kindness. And that her only witchcraft is to charm the hearts of all who meet her.”

Kat sighed, her breath sweetened with the peaches. “You are beginning to talk like Sir Brandon.”

“Believe me truly when I say that I speak with his heart and his tongue.”

She moistened her lush lips. “And what else does his tongue say?”

“This,” Brandon replied as he claimed her lips with his own.

Without quite knowing how, Kat found herself in Brandon’s lap. She didn’t care as she returned his kiss with a hunger that belied her determination to remain unmoved. How could she stay calm when his tongue sent shivers of desire racing through her?

Raising his mouth from hers for a moment, Brandon gazed into her eyes. “There is poetry on your lips, sweet mistress. I desire to study more of it.”

She wove her fingers through his thick blond hair at the nape of his neck. “Teach me this poetry, for I have never tasted its sweetness before.”

Reclaiming her lips, he crushed her to him. Her soul sang in joyful response.
If this is paradise, let me stay here forever!

Brandon moved his mouth over hers, as if he would devour her. Then his lips left hers to nibble at her earlobe.

“Sweet,” he murmured as he kissed the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat. His lips continued to explore her soft ivory flesh as they seared a path down her neck to explore the bared expanse of her bosom.

Kat’s nipples tingled, then tightened with unaccustomed expectation. Her breath came in short gasps, shocking her at her eager response to his touch. Her mouth quivered with an aching desire to taste his again. Parting her lips, she raised her head to meet him.

Brandon’s grip tightened around her. Kat relaxed, sinking into his cushioning embrace. She felt transported on a soft, wispy cloud, far away from fear, pain and humiliation.
I am home, at last.

A loud shriek shattered the moment into a thousand jagged fragments. Another scream, calling for help, was followed by a tremendous splash of water.

Brandon tore his mouth from hers. “God’s death, what has happened?”

Kat flicked her tongue over her burning lips. “Methinks ’tis Mir—my cousin.”

A man’s voice cried out, then a second splash followed.

Bunching her skirts in her hands, Kat struggled to rise. “Saints preserve us! They have fallen into the river!”

Chapter Twelve

J
ack couldn’t imagine how the disaster had happened. One minute, he had been whispering sweet nothings into Miranda’s ear, and the next minute she was floundering in the river.

“Help me, ere I sink!” she cried as her skirts and petticoats ballooned out around her, making her look like a living water lily. Then the current caught her, and her clothing collapsed as it became waterlogged. Miranda’s head dipped under.

“Sweet Jesu!” Jack cried, ripping off his doublet. He flung himself into the water after her.

He swam a few strokes, then saw her red hair floating just under the surface. With an icy knot in his stomach, Jack dived. The material of Miranda’s flowing gown wrapped around him. For a split second, panic gripped him, then his foot scraped the bottom. Jack grabbed a handful of her clothing. Digging his feet deep into the muck and wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled Miranda to the surface. Her arm, flailing in her desperation, struck his head smartly, but he hung on.