Wolfsgate (27 page)

“Forgive me, Justine.” His voice was rough and gravelly.

She stole a glance at him. Every muscle of his body seemed cramped, constrained. A heaviness stole over her limbs, and she wanted nothing more than to disappear into the stiff cushions of the coach. He thought he had been too rough with her, too demanding, but the opposite was true, for she liked that very much. No, he had misunderstood. She may indeed be his legal wife, his possession, but Amanda was the thrill of yesterday blazing bright before him right now.

From the beginning, Justine had braced herself from confusing their physical intimacy with sentiments. Having to end things with Andrew had taught her that. It had been deeply upsetting, but she had plowed on knowing that it was smarter in future to harden herself against such an emotion that only left you vulnerable, troubled, disrupted. However, she didn’t feel troubled or disrupted now. No, more like clawed and shredded like an animal hunted and shot down, laying open and bleeding upon the ground at its master’s pleasure.

Maybe she and Brandon did not share a romantic attachment, but they did have a physical compulsion for one another which was exciting and satisfying. They also regarded each other with respect and friendship. Most marriages, she knew, didn’t even have that. Yes, she was fortunate. What they had between them was quite enough for a successful marriage, wasn’t it?

But sharing Brandon with Amanda would be utterly painful.

She folded her arms over her chest as her brain rabidly produced images of Brandon savoring Amanda’s naked body with his mouth…his fingers working to bring her to release as he just did with her…Amanda crying out his name and quivering underneath him…Brandon’s face buried in her silky blonde hair…her pale, thin hands stroking the long lines of his bare back…his whispering those wicked promises in
her
ear…

Justine’s eyes stung. She had begun to long for things she knew now could never really be hers.

Their first time together he had asked her if she wanted him. The kindness of that was not lost on her. Husbands did not ask, they simply claimed their rights whenever they desired. That was what she’d always heard, at least. He also hadn’t taken her after he first learned of their marriage, and he had been so angry with her then. No, he had waited until they had gotten comfortable with one another. And from the moment she had said yes to him, he had been relentless. She liked his relentlessness, liked being driven to extremes by him, to be outside of herself.

Would she ever have her fill of Brandon? She leaned her hot face against the cold damp window pane. This was the stuff of all those wildly popular poems she had read, wasn’t it? All these years going through Lord Jeremy’s library she had been so very curious what the great poets were on about, tortured verse after tortured verse. She was beginning to understand.

Now it was time for her to come back down to earth. She needed to be cautious, although, as his wife it was her ‘duty to submit,’ as she had overheard her mother describe it often enough. But being with Brandon was no submission to duty, nor was it ‘bearable’ or ‘rather tolerable’ as her mother had also once remarked. No, Justine relished it. He engaged her in the act fully, demanded it of her, and it was exhilarating.

She liked the two of them having that secret knowledge of each other; it was theirs alone. Either gentle or rough, it was a magnificent catapult to some great unknown, like a wild ride on a coach where she didn’t know the destination nor how to dress for the journey. He taught her that, and that satisfaction glowed in a secret place inside her.

She realized that for men it was a necessary physical release as well as a diversion, but for her, it was a novel experience. She delighted in Brandon’s firm hands moving over her body, sinking into her flesh as if he were searching for something new every time and treasured what he discovered. Or how his lips would graze at that ridiculously sensitive spot behind her ear causing shivers to shimmer over her and linger long after.

Justine liked the after part too. She savored that connection to him, neither of them speaking, only holding onto each other, letting the sensations wash over them. Being spent and fluid as honey on a hot summer’s day laying in his tight embrace was exceptional. Many times he would stay inside her after his movements had ceased, his fingers stroking her absently, the two of them enjoying their blissful haze. She felt cherished then, for once in her life.

Her eyes squeezed shut. There, she had indeed made the mistake.

She had taken that physical satisfaction between them as sentiment, thus giving it some sort of meaning in her mind. No, that was wrong. It had to be.

Justine was certainly grateful she had an official home now, free of her stepfather and stepbrother’s reign. Surely, that was more than plenty for her. It was easy not to expect more because her entire life after her father’s death and her mother’s subsequent marriage to Richard had been about adapting herself to low prospects. She was accustomed to it and had managed well all these years by keeping her head down, keeping quiet when necessary, and making herself useful.

Yes, she once had a dream, like a life with Andrew, but that had been dashed to bits and swept away, just like that fateful Cornish tempest had done to Brandon’s ship from Jamaica; all that was left was flotsam scattered over churning waters. No matter, she had persevered, as had Brandon. There was no need for petulance now. T’was only time wasted.

She took in a deep breath as the coach drove through the high black iron gate. The large central tower of Wolfsgate rose in the hilly distance, its walls glowing by the light of torches lit for their return. Her fingertips rubbed across the foggy glass window of the coach to get a clearer glimpse.

Brandon clenched his jaw as he poured himself another brandy.

He had done it again. Pushed too hard.

Once they’d arrived home she had muttered a barely audible but pleasant “good night.” A sharp pain sliced through his chest at the sight of her darting up the stairs. Now here he was once again, drinking his bitterness away in the parlor alone in the middle of the night.

He threw himself in the cushioned armchair and rubbed his aching temple with one hand, balancing his full glass on his thigh. Their tussle in the coach had been hasty, and there had been a note of despair about her. Why? Perhaps he ought to simply keep away from her for a while.

He wasn’t being fair. Always taking from her, demanding. Next time, if there was a next time, and there bloody well better be a next time, Justine would have to make the first move. She had to want it just as badly as he did. He would have to bear the wanting of her until then. Dammit, constant wanting.

He gulped down the liquor, and it scalded his throat. Would the old Brandon have pushed so much? Perhaps he would have been more convincing, less harsh with his own wife. The old Brandon certainly would have enjoyed all the attention he had gotten this evening: the women’s stares, the men’s cool appraisals, Amanda’s thirsty solicitousness.

Justine was right, of course. Amanda wanted him, but in a new, more demanding way, which had taken him aback. They weren’t flirtatious youngsters anymore, their whole lives abstractly ahead of them. She was a married woman now, a mother, and had a fine place in society. The damning part was she didn’t seem to mind making it obvious.

She didn’t overdo it, just enough in that sophisticated way of hers. The tilt of her head, that slight smile, a touch of her hand on his arm here and there, the perfect double-edged repartee to elicit an appreciative laugh from him along with a lingering glance. The treacherous list went on and on with that woman. He unwound the tie from his hair and sunk his fingers into his scalp. Is that how it was done nowadays?

She had showered him with her smile this evening, and he had been catapulted back to a time of glorious expectations and golden possibilities. Yes, her beauty was undeniable, and she obviously took great care with herself.
Damn, that sort of thing must be a full-time occupation.

He should feel flattered by the attentions of such a female. She did still appeal to him, but he had been…unmoved. He had looked into her blue eyes this evening, the eyes that he once found so irresistible, yet tonight he saw only shining glass.

Justine’s dusky velvet eyes, though, glowed with a secret heat just for him. Rich brown eyes like the coffee he used to savor in Jamaica. He could taste that rich flavor on his tongue right now, that aroma filling his senses, calling him to life. But tonight, once they had entered their house, those intoxicating eyes had been cloudy and opaque in the light of her maid’s taper in the hall. He had done that, he had put that resistance there, that boundary.

Congratulations.

What did he expect from his poisoned brain and his polluted body bent on self-indulgence? He had spent most of the evening with Amanda and then lashed out at Justine like a jealous husband. Well, he was a jealous husband, wasn’t he? He exhaled heavily raising the glass to his lips, and the heady scent of Justine’s musk invaded his nostrils.

He let out a groan. She was on his fingers still. Instantly the sound of her whimpers echoed in his ears and the memory of the silky feel of her slickness pulling his fingers in deeper overwhelmed him. His body was taut with need; now
she
was punishing him.

Bugger.

It was going to be a very long night.

“
LOOK WHAT I’VE BROUGHT YOU, PERSEPHONE
.”

Justine opened her palm, and her horse gobbled the pieces of apple and carrot she offered her. She murmured words of affection to the mare who snorted at her great fortune.

Justine simply couldn’t sit still today. She wasn’t in the mood for a book, and frankly, she had gone through most of Lord Jeremy’s collection in the library by this point. Lady Caroline’s spinet was woefully out of tune in the drawing room, and anyway, plucking on it only seemed more like a chore than a pleasure. No, she wanted to be outside, filling her lungs with the fresh cold air of late autumn that was now blowing through the hills.

Days had worn on and nights had dragged on. She and Brandon shared meals together or they didn’t. They often exchanged general information about their day without much eye contact. Frequently, Brandon was off riding or working with Davidson at the edges of the property and would have Mrs. Taggart, the new cook, prepare and pack them something cold to take along.

Justine threw herself into cleaning out the garden to prepare it for the upcoming winter months. She picked as many herbs as she could and hung them for drying. She approved Taggart’s menu ideas and checked in with Molly about the housekeeping and furniture repairs. Right now feeding her horse was just as much a pleasure for her as it was for the animal. Justine slipped her hand down Persephone’s sleek brown neck and the animal whinnied.

Heavy footsteps and hard breathing from behind her raised the hair on the back of her neck. She turned quickly. Brandon led his horse into the stable and stopped when he saw her. His dark hair, free of its tie, was ruffled with the wind, his cheeks ruddy, and his eyes bright. His horse raised his head pulling at the reigns in protest at his master’s abrupt standstill.

“You look well exercised,” Justine said.

His lips quirked up. “Are you talking to me or the horse?”

She let out a small laugh. She had missed this easy banter between them. “I meant you.”

“I am trying to be disciplined with regular exercise and manual labor. Do you approve?”

“I do. Very healthy.” She smiled at him. He was still, taking her in with his eyes. “What is it?” she asked.

“It’s just you, feeding your horse, not a care in the world.” He shook his head. “Last time I tried to show you how to do that you squealed and hid behind me, clutching at my coattails.”

“I was ten years of age then. I’ve spent lots of time with horses over the years. And with Martin’s help I learned a lot and got over my fear. I enjoy spending time with them, caring for them.” She cast a glance at Brandon whose face had tightened. “Bring Knight here so I can give him some treats.”