Wolfsgate (32 page)

He tasted of acrid tobacco and the sweet warm brandy they’d just shared, and those familiar sensations only drove her deeper into his kiss and into his firm body. She pulled her mouth back slightly from his as her hands slid into his hair removing the tie that held it back. Brandon’s heavy breaths mingled with her own.

“Say my name,” she whispered.

His hand slid up her throat and gripped her jaw. He tilted her face up at him, and his eyes scorched hers in the dim glow of the candlelight. “Justine.”

“Again.” Her fingers pulled at his thick, black hair.

“Justine,” he breathed, his voice scraping from his throat. He cradled the back of her head and drove his tongue deep inside her mouth. A groan escaped him which made her chest swell, but she tore her mouth from his, unlatched herself from his grip, and pushed away from him. Brandon’s head recoiled.

“Good-night, Lord Graven.”

He let out a gasp, pulled her to him once more, twisted her around, and shoved her back up against the wall. She cried out as his hands gripped either side of her face holding her steady. His kiss was deep and hard, and she began to dissolve in his arms, her knees weakening. Using her last ounce of bodily strength, she twisted away from him once more, but again he yanked at her torso pulling her back in.

Justine resisted and shoved at his chest, but he buried his face in her neck and sucked hard on her skin. She twisted in the opposite direction this time, but now she faced the wall. He was behind her, his one arm wrapped around her middle, his chest pressing into her back. His other hand was at her jaw, lifting it back towards his for a rough kiss, and she gasped loudly as his hot breath at her throat set her skin on fire. His brutal hardness pressed into her rear promising to satisfy her every primal urge, yet also guaranteeing to annihilate her all at once.

Justine wrenched away from him once again, but a strong hand clasped hers pulling her back in. Their fierce eyes met, and Justine only shook her head leaning forward. She relaxed her muscles, and the moment he loosened his grip on her hand, she snapped her arm back and darted towards the door. He shuffled back a step and gave her an incredulous look, his mouth gaping open as she strode from the room.

“Good night, Lord Graven,” her voice rang out from the staircase.

Glass crashed and a stream of curses exploded in the parlor resounding through the house.

“
YOUR LORDSHIP—SHALL I
…?

“No.”

“Might ye be needing assistance, sir?”

“Go away, dammit.”

Martin receded from his vision. Brandon raised the axe again and aimed it at the wood on the block. It split perfectly in two. If only this would help the pounding in his head and in his cock. Christ, what had bit her arse last night? The attitude, the teasing behavior, the surprising boldness…

It was fantastic.

Was it just the drink she had consumed all evening? That may have given her the courage to be so damned brazen, but she had been determined to make a statement. Justine had been uncharacteristically forward with him and so damned appealing doing it. She had wanted to provoke him, though. It exasperated him and made him taut with desire for her at the same time.

Her tongue had driven him to the edge of insanity, the belligerence in her eyes had made him painfully hard. She had wanted him all right, as badly as he had wanted her, but she had made the choice to leave him and herself high and dry. Alone in the parlor last night, he had jerked himself to release to get some relief, but it barely made a difference.

He kicked the split wood over and tossed a larger log in front of him. He raised the axe high, it whizzed by his ear. The wood snapped and splintered. Even though Justine had downplayed it, he had seen how pale and distracted she’d seemed when she had left the dining room at the dinner party, and he felt guilty that he hadn’t followed her to find out more. Then Andrew had approached him after the women had left the room.

“Wallace has said something to upset her. If, that is, you are at all interested in your wife’s well-being?”

“What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know exactly what he said to her as I had Emily and William prattling on at me, but it seemed quite unpleasant. Knowing him, it must have been ugly. Luckily Charles was on her other side, because he swooped in, and Wallace backed off right away.”

Brandon had winced with the possibilities of what that old lout might have said to Justine, not to mention the image of Charles “swooping in.”

“Do something about it, Graven, if you give a toss about your wife. And don’t let it happen again. The vultures are circling.”
Andrew had left him with a scowl and joined his father at the other side of the table.

Andrew was right. Brandon had let Justine down, and he regretted it fiercely. Once again, Charles had played the hero just when his wife needed one.

Brandon tightened his grip on the axe. What in the hell were William and Richard thinking even considering engaging the girl to Wallace? Just the thought of that old lecher ogling Justine made his stomach pitch. No one should have fantasies about his wife. Not Wallace, not Andrew, not Charles. Not even Martin whose gaze, he’d noticed often enough, remained fixed on Justine a mite too long for his liking.

No. No one. Ever.

But, of course, they did. Not only was she an attractive young woman, but her bearing was graceful and unaffected. Justine didn’t exhibit the languid torpor so many women of his class strove for, believing it bespoke a cool sophistication. Her dark eyes were full of activity that made you curious as to not only what she was thinking, but how she was thinking it. Those large, expressive eyes of hers and that full mouth revealed a hidden sensuality that he had possessed.

Yes, he and someone else.

Who was it, dammit? He inhaled and brought the axe down once again. The log splintered, the pieces dropping to the ground.

The vultures are circling.

The Adonis had made a point. A good one too.

More wood.

He raised the axe high.

“How is your head today?”

Brandon stood next to his wife in the dining room as she filled her breakfast dish with slices of bread, a piece of cheese and a spoonful of plum preserves.

“Sorry?” She glanced up at him from her dish. Her eyes were strained.

Brandon tilted his head at her. “From all the drink last night?”

“Ah.” Her gaze returned to her dish. Her hair was down, and thick locks of it shifted over her shoulders and across her chest. She bore a mark on the side of her throat from his rough kisses. His cock stirred in his breeches at the sight, and he shifted his weight waiting for her reply. “This morning’s walk did wonders for me,” she said finally.

“You went for a walk? That’s good.” He moved closer to her and slid a stray piece of her wavy hair that bobbed in her eyes behind her ear. He couldn’t resist tracing a trail down the edge of that delicate ear. He managed to elicit a slight tremor from her. “Any other aches and pains?”

Justine’s eyes shot up at him, and this time they were round. “Aches and pains?”

He leaned closer to her. “Yes. Aches and pains,” he whispered.

“Not this morning.” She sat down at the table and lavished a piece of bread with plum jam. He picked up a dish, tossed a few pieces of ham, cheese, and a hunk of bread and took a seat close to her at the dining table. A smile crept over his lips, but he suppressed it by biting into the cheddar.

She glanced up at him as she drank from her cup of chocolate. “What were you doing this morning?”

He swallowed the food in his mouth. “Chopping wood.”

“That was you? I thought that was Martin.”

“No.”

She bit into her bread. “Impressive at such an hour.”

“Indeed, I find such vigorous exercise early in the morning helps with all my daily aches and pains.” He took a bite of bread and chewed, his eyes locked on hers.

Justine took in a breath and broke off a piece of cheese. “Is it your leg?” she asked.

“Primarily.” He leaned forward, his forearms on the table. “It remains stiff, and the pain can be quite—”

“Disagreeable?” Justine’s gaze met his.

“Unbearable.”

“That must be intolerable for an active man such as yourself, Lord Graven. You should have told me. I could have…”

“Yes?”

“Prepared a compress of chamomile for it.”

“Ah,” he said, an eyebrow arching. “Do you really think such a compress would be soothing enough?” He bit into a piece of ham and chewed it slowly as he stared at her.

Justine drained her chocolate and deposited her china cup with a light but discernible clink back in its saucer. She licked her lips as she held his gaze. “I believe so, as the compress would be…

“Yes?”

“Hot.”

“Hot?”

“And wet.”

Oh, this woman.

The urge to spread her on the table and take her over their breakfast dishes tore through him. He’d lick that plum jam right off her nipples and pour that hot chocolate over…

Martin burst into the dining room. “Message, sir!” His loud voice broke the spectacular spell between them. Martin hastily bowed his head at Brandon and Justine then dropped a small sealed square of paper on the table between their dishes.

“‘Twas just handed to me outside sir, said it were urgent. Sorry. Erm—I did na think to give it to Molly first and put it on a tray for ye,” Martin said. Brandon glared at him.

“No matter, Martin,” said Justine. Martin stole a glance at her and nodded. He darted from the room.

Brandon and Justine’s eyes fell to the cream colored paper where Brandon’s title was elegantly penned on its cover. He snapped open the note and read it. A smirk flashed across his features then vanished. Justine slid her dish aside and pushed back her chair, making a scraping sound on the floor. Brandon’s gaze darted up at her, his brow furrowing. He rose from the table, note in hand.

“Justine, wait—” He took hold of her wrist.

“I have work to do.”

Brandon pressed his lips together. His fingers loosened their grip on her wrist, and she quit the dining room.

Instead of going upstairs, Justine flew out the front door and ran down the steps. She strode up alongside Martin.

“Martin?”

He stopped. “Ma’am?”

“Who brought the message?”

His neck stiffened. “T’was a lady’s maid from Crestdown, milady.”

The breath hitched in her throat, but she managed a stiff smile. “Very good. Thank you.”

Martin bobbed his head at her and left her standing at the end of the drive alone. Justine trod back to the house and sped up the stairs to her room. She closed the door quietly behind her, leaned her weight against it, and slid to the floor.

How many white tablecloths did one household truly need?

Justine’s head throbbed. The walls of the kitchen linen closet where she, Molly, and Katy stood seemed to be pressing in on her. Reviewing the state of the tablecloths and napkins was a terrifically tedious job. However, she gave it her full attention, or at least she tried, in order to block out fantasies of Amanda and Brandon rekindling their bond through love notes and secret trysts. She shoved down the scream in her throat as Molly unfolded yet another white linen rectangle from the pile, this one with frayed edges.