Wolfsgate (23 page)

“I want you naked right now.” His hands went underneath her skirts and stroked her warm skin.

“Aren’t we going to go upstairs?” she asked, her eyes round.

He shook his head. “Naked, Lady Graven. Now.”

His fingers worked to unbind her stays, tugging and dragging at the thick ribbon. She looked down to inspect his work, her breath stalling and catching with each sharp movement. “Damn, I can’t see!” he muttered and she let out a laugh and turned in the direction of the fire so he would have more light. He glanced up at her, and her eyes glowed in the flickering light, her tongue darting over her lower lip.

His heart pounded as he finally set her free.

“Stand up.”

She quickly stood with her back against him and he tugged down her skirts until they dropped to the floor then swiftly pulled the muslin shift over her head and tossed it. He finally slipped his hands around her bare waist and cupped her breasts. They both groaned as she leaned back into his chest, her hands covering his, pressing in.

She turned to undo his necktie, but he pushed her hands away, shaking his head. Her eyes flashed at him as he pulled her down on the carpet. His mouth laid a wet trail of discovery from her breasts down to her belly, as his hands, rough and callused from the work he had been doing, grazed her smooth skin, abrading any diffidence from her.

Brandon reached for the glass of brandy and tipped it over her. Justine gasped as a stream of liquor trickled over her flesh. He licked at the amber liquid pooling across her breasts and spilling down her middle as she writhed under him. He reached again for the glass, and she held her breath as he drank and then leaning over her, his eyes catching the light from the fire, he drizzled the brandy from his mouth over her mound down into her silken cleft.

“Brandon…” She moaned and raised her hips. “You are wicked.” Her breathing grew ragged as he licked at the amber liquid streaming over her flesh. He sucked on the deliciously swollen button of her core and relished her salty taste which now mingled with the warm, sweet liquor. His hands kneaded her rear, bringing her closer to his mouth, the need to consume her overwhelming.

She shuddered, and that loud, undisguised moan he wanted to hear finally escaped her throat. His hunger for her roared through him, and he shoved her legs apart wider, gently biting the smooth inside of her thigh. He glanced up at her as he blew air over her lush wetness. Her eyelids fluttered, and her lips parted.

His tongue swirled through her delicate flesh. “Beautiful quim,” he murmured. “Pink and wet and all mine.”

He hadn’t had her in days. With all the heavy physical work about the property, he had been too damned exhausted and so had she. He had missed her. Very, very much. He stripped himself of his shirt. “What do you want, Jus? You tell me what you want, anything, and I’ll give it to you.”

She sat up and helped him remove his breeches. “I want to pleasure you.”

His lungs constricted. Speechless. Justine pulled herself on top of him, and he adjusted her thighs around his as she planted soft kisses across his jaw, at his collar bone. Her hands slid into his hair as she kissed him on the corner of his mouth, her beautiful breasts rubbing against his chest. She looked into his eyes, and he saw it flash across her gorgeous face. Uncertainty.

Brandon to the rescue, my love.

His hands circled her breasts, his lips nuzzling them gently, exploring, kissing, nipping at the soft flesh. Her body relaxed in his hold. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against her damp skin as he guided her hand to his shaft. His veins screeched to life as his cock pulsed under her firm touch. A moan heaved from his parted lips as they stroked him together. “Bloody hell, Justine.” Together they placed him at her very wet opening. “Take me inside you,” his voice rasped. Her hands clutched his shoulders as she lowered herself, and he filled her slowly, his hands gripping her hips to control her first movements. She moaned softly, her eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m so hungry for you, Jus.” Brandon kissed her along the pulse at her throat, and she ground down on him again and again finding her rhythm. That was what she needed to hear; she needed to feel safe and wanted. Bloody hell, that was what he would give her.

His hands squeezed her back. “I can feel you everywhere.” His eyes flicked down to take in the heady sight of their connection. He slipped his hand over her hip keeping her arse tucked into him. That luscious arse drove him mad. She panted hard, moved quicker, and his flesh combusted all over.

Her lids lowered over her glazed eyes, and a dull pain ached in his chest at the sight. He began to thrust up harder inside her, and she gasped, murmuring against his skin, her hands digging in his hair. He gently settled the tip of his finger in the tight rosette of her rear, and she jolted in his arms. His other hand slid in between her legs, his thumb finding her center and teased it.

“Oh, there you go again,” she gasped.

“All for you.” His lips pressed into her throat.

Justine rocked her body urgently against his, her cries coming quicker. Lord have mercy, he was desperate to finish with her. “Finish with me, Jus, come on.”

Justine let out pleading noises from the back of her throat. Every nerve ending in Brandon’s body buzzed with force. Her body clenched onto his cock, and she came apart in his hands, her pleasure spiraling right through him as he went off. The din of their heavy breathing filled the room over the fizz and crack of the burning wood. A raw moan loosened from her throat, and it shot an arrow through him which deepened and expanded in his chest.

He luxuriated in the silken feel of her skin, and his hands slid down her back over her beautiful arse. His fingertips skidded over something unusual on her skin, an irregularity.

“What’s this, Justine?”

“Hmm?”

He traced the once angry welt with his fingers. Her body stilled under his touch. “I thought it was some sort of birthmark before, but it’s not, is it?” He leaned over her body inspecting her lower hip which gleamed in the firelight. “It’s a scar, isn’t it? How did this happen?”

She lifted up from him, wiping the hair back from her face.“Summer before last I had an accident in the kitchen. I was carrying a heavy platter, lost my balance and fell back on the corner of the table.”

He tilted his head. “Were you naked at the time?”

“No. I was wearing my lightest muslin if you must know. It ripped straight through, blood everywhere.” She reached for her chemise.

Silence fell between them.

“I don’t believe you.”

She scoffed. “I can be very clumsy, especially when I’m tired.”

“The edges of the kitchen table are worn and rounded with age,” Brandon said. “They have no sharp angles.”

She smoothed the thin chemise down over her body as he pulled up his breeches. “Are we really going to discuss the state of the kitchen table now? There was a broken glass on the edge of it that I had neglected to collect earlier. I learned my lesson to clean up my messes right away after that.”

He picked up her skirts and corset from the floor, his gaze meeting hers. “Are you hiding something from me?”

“Brandon, it was an accident.” She shook out his frock coat and folded it over her arm. “Let’s go to bed.”

“
PERFECT
.”

He was still, his pale grey-green eyes shining over her.

“Do you really think so?”

“Oh yes. Beautiful.” His fingertips brushed the ruby and diamond earring dangling from her ear and grazed her neck.

“It’s an honor to wear them,” she murmured.

His warm fingers stroked the smooth skin of her wrist under the bracelet. The scent of his new amber scent made her insides tighten.

The steady gait of the horses drew them towards the ball at Marchmain House. The swaying and jostling of the refurbished black coach slid Justine closer to Brandon on the firm upholstery. Her dress of lilac silk elegantly draped over her body, and her new delicate shoes with a slight heel felt comfortable on her feet, at least for now. Lizzie had tamed her hair by pinning most of it up, allowing for several long, thick coils down her back, the crown of her head accented with a crisscross of thin lilac ribbon. Lady Caroline’s jewels decorated her ears and wrist, and Brandon’s ring shone on her finger. All these fine details gave her courage, and she felt she would need as much as possible this evening.

Justine had not been out socially in the past three years. She was excited about the music and the dancing, excited to see familiar faces, but she was also nervous. How would William and Amanda react to seeing Brandon and Justine together? That is, happy together. Or at least not unhappy. The more intriguing question was how would Amanda respond to seeing Brandon again? To seeing Brandon married to her?

She glanced over at her husband. His long legs were stretched out before him, his lean fingers tapping out a rhythm on the coach window. The trees flit by as their carriage bore them away from Wolfsgate and hurtled them towards unchartered territory.

Justine pressed her back into the seat cushions once more. Was Brandon thinking of Amanda now, anticipating their reunion?

Amanda was beautiful and she knew it—a blond, blue-eyed angelic doll, utterly feminine, elegant and graceful. Rather unlike her. Justine sighed. Brandon may be feeling attached to her now and grateful to her for getting him out of hospital, saving his fortune, and all the amorous activity. But when he sees Amanda tonight in all her glory, what will be going on in his mind, not to mention in his blood?

Justine’s unremitting thoughts collided and fired off with a vicious rapidity. Her fingers twisted in her cloak. Perhaps all this affection he showed her was an expression of gratitude or simply his fresh hunger and nothing more, and she should accept that.

She squelched that last sour thought as the stately spires of Marchmain House rose before them. It had been many years since either she or Brandon had been here. The sprawling house was one of the finest in the county with Wolfsgate seeming quite modest in comparison.

Their coach slowed down over the circular drive which swarmed with carriages emptying out finely dressed ladies and gentlemen. Servants had lit great torches dotting the drive and the entrance to the house. Their horses came to a halt, and Justine held her breath.

The coach door on Brandon’s side was thrown wide, and a rush of cold air burst into the compartment. The coach heaved with his exit, and her stomach curled. A few moments later her door swung open and Brandon’s open hand beckoned her forth. She put her hand in his, and he led her onto firm ground as a rush of excitement shot through her. He tucked her arm in his and together they walked up the steps into the great house. Smartly dressed servants greeted them at the hall, taking her cloak and his great coat.

Marchmain House had been recently renovated in the fashionable Palladian style. A long, sleek stretch of black and white marble floor gleamed before them as Brandon slowly led her into the great saloon at the center of the house. The edges of the sprawling room were trimmed with proud Roman columns with the requisite Corinthian capitals. Ancient masks, satyrs and scalloped shells moulded out of plaster peeked from every corner. Quite a contrast from the medieval griffins and wolves that were engraved on the original moss-covered stone walls of Wolfsgate. No, this was a different world indeed. This was a veritable temple to opulence and extravagance.

The smaller rooms to the side reminded Justine of the colored jewels she had seen in the village shop, each flanking the diamond that was the saloon with their green or red velvet wall coverings and matching damask curtains. The fresh sparkle of the vast interior was so very different from the intimacy of the rich dark woods and natural colored stone interiors of Wolfsgate. Her breath stalled at the coffered dome that hovered high above them at the center of the great room giving the space a magnificent cathedral-like atmosphere. Justine wasn’t sure if it was meant to inspire awe or strike humiliation in the piteously underprivileged below.

Brandon’s arm stiffened under her hand, and he brought them both to an abrupt halt. Justine’s wide-eyed gaze fell from the architectural astonishment above her to the dread before her. Hundreds of eyes feasted on them. Here was another kind of theatre, to be sure. Rustling and chattering wound their way around the great room as fast as flames. Her fingernails dug into Brandon’s arm.

“Lord Graven, good to see you alive, my boy, I must say.” Lord Marchmain lowered his voice and leaned in, “Do forgive us. We did not know you had married when the invitations were prepared.” His round belly jiggled with forced laughter.

“Oh dear, truly.” Lady Marchmain touched her husband’s arm, her powdered face turning rosy as she bobbed her head at Justine.

“Congratulations,” said Lord Marchmain.

“Thank you, sir. You know my wife, Lady Justine, my uncle’s stepdaughter.”

Lord and Lady Marchmain smiled at Justine.“Yes, of course. My dear.” Justine bowed her head.

Mariah, Marianne and Mavis Marchmain stood next to their parents, ardent smiles stamped on their young, eager faces. “Welcome. Ah, hello—how lovely to see you!” They each took turns greeting their guests.