Brazen

by Amy Sandas

  Moira initially scoffed at the idea. But as things continued to worsen and livelihoods grew threatened, everyone looked to her to correct their fates. She might not believe in the superstitious connection, but her people did. A doomed mindset could be as much of a problem as a run of bad luck.

  Something had to be done.

  That was when she considered handfasting.

  If binding herself to the duke for the next year managed to ease her people’s concerns and allow them to refocus on the many changes and improvements she’d already begun to incorporate at many of the farms, then it might be worth it. That it also allowed Moira to retain possession of her dowry while bringing a final resolution to the unwanted betrothal made it seem like a perfectly simple solution.

  But then she’d stood face-to-face with Melbourne in London and felt her heart skip and her body hum. Despite his wild reputation and rakish manner, it seemed her ridiculous girlish infatuation had not been completely extinguished. If she didn’t take steps to prevent it, she’d be at risk of falling in love with him. And when their year together was up, he’d return to London and she’d be left with a broken heart.

  She had to safeguard against that happening. Avoiding him had seemed a prudent strategy. Easy enough during the day. Not so much at night, when the loneliness and craving crept in.

  Returning to her own bed, she huddled beneath the bedcovers and fully realized the depth of her mistake. In trusting Braden with her body and opening herself to the pleasure he gave her, she left her heart far too exposed.

  And worst of all, she knew she’d do it again.

  Chapter Eight

  The next day, Braden’s bride was once again nowhere to be found.

  He breakfasted alone, then spent some time perusing the collection of reading material in the library before wandering about the house for a while. In the afternoon, he decided he needed some fresh air and took a stroll outside. There was no rain, but the sky was overcast with thick gray clouds and a heavy mist hovered in the air. He wandered along a forest path and spied a few grouse in the underbrush. Eventually, he came upon the trout stream and followed it for a while until he cut across a sheep pasture and met up with a country lane that took him back around to the castle.

  At one point, he saw his bride in the distance, mounted atop a dark grey destrier horse and riding alongside two men dressed in farmers’ garb. It was just a glimpse, but the image of her small form exuding such confidence and competence sparked a response inside him that he could barely identify.

  When he eventually decided what he was feeling was a mixture of pride, desire, admiration, and possessiveness, he had to add discomfort to the list. He’d never before felt those things altogether for one person. The possibility of what that could indicate caused a tightening in his chest that very simply terrified him.

  For dinner that night, he received another excuse for his bride’s absence.

  He tried not to take the abandonment personally, but he had to admit his bride’s lack of interest in his company bothered him.

  The next several days continued in similar fashion, with Braden rising earlier and earlier only to find that Moira had already gone off on some task. One day she’d visited a family who had just welcomed a new baby, the next she’d gone to the village, the one after that no one seemed to know where she’d gone off to, though no one was particularly concerned with that as Braden was assured that the lady was always off doing something or other.

  Braden, who loved the constant hustle of London life, was getting bored. He needed something to do. He was not accustomed to having his days unoccupied by the ready diversions of an active social life. He enjoyed being around people. On any given day back home, he’d anticipate visiting his club to gather the latest gossip about his many acquaintances, a rousing game or two of cards with his friends, an afternoon of social calls or intimate visits, dinner with more friends, and perhaps a ball where he’d flirt and dance and make merry.

  The near solitary existence he’d developed at Dunnwood was getting to him.

  He started to wonder if he could convince Moira to take him along on her various daily tasks. But he had a strong suspicion such a request would not be graciously received.

  An estate the size of Dunnwood obviously required a great deal of attention, and from what he’d seen, his bride took her responsibilities as mistress of the estate very seriously.

  It was equally obvious that she was avoiding him.

  This confounded him for two reasons.

  First, because from a very young age, Braden had always been surrounded by people clamoring for his company and his attention. He was known for his charming manner and entertaining wit. Though he had a tight group of very close friends who knew him better than anyone, he also enjoyed an inexhaustible wealth of friendly acquaintances who sought him out at every event and occasion.

  The other reason he was so utterly confused by his bride’s behavior was because, although she made herself decidedly scarce during the day, she never failed to come to his room at night.

  Every evening over the last week, once the house grew silent, she would step through the door connecting their rooms. And every night, Braden would be anxiously awaiting her arrival.

  They rarely spoke more than a few words before tumbling swiftly into bed as though they were both starved and dying for the taste of the other’s lips and skin. Braden had never experienced the kind of undiluted, unfading passion that he shared with Moira. The intensity of his desire for her seemed only to increase with every encounter.

  But still...though she gave of her body freely and generously, she kept her gaze shielded from him.

  And as soon as their heartrates slowed and their skin cooled, she always left him.

  Until the night finally arrived when she didn’t come to his room.

  Braden waited impatiently as the clock continued to tick away, well past the time she usually visited. He paced and stared out the window. He even pressed his ear to the connecting door in hopes of hearing some sound of her movements.

  It took three hours of this before he finally acknowledged she was not coming.

  It was hard to accept and harder to understand. Braden had never bedded the same woman more than once or twice, had never desired to extend an affair beyond the initial excitement of something new. Yet every night he craved Moira more. Every day he longed to overcome her elusiveness.

  He stared at the door between their rooms with a deepening frown as his thumb rubbed back and forth on the band around his finger.

  She had been successfully avoiding him through the day, but he would not stand for her avoidance at night. The night was their time and he needed her. He needed her throaty moans and soft sighs, her nails digging into his skin and the taste of her on his lips. He needed her generous sensuality even if that was all she’d allow him to claim.

  In long strides, he crossed to the connecting door and swung it wide. He took only two steps into the room before he saw she wasn’t there. Standing in the wash of pale moonlight that came through the windows, he realized she had never been there. The room was unused, the furniture covered by sheets to protect it from dust.

  What the hell?

  Not caring that he wore only his loose-fitting trousers and nothing else, he strode barefoot from the room. The castle was dark and quiet in the middle of the night with no one about, but Braden was intent on finding Moira. After walking the halls of the east wing and encountering nothing but silence, he ventured into the west wing, which he recalled housed several more bedrooms.

  The longer he searched, the more irritated and confused he became.

  Why the hell wouldn’t she be in the bedchamber reserved for the lady of the house?

  Reaching the second level of the east wing, he prepared himself to check each and every bedroom if necessary. But a movement at the far end of the hall drew his attention as Nan emerged from the servants’ stairs carrying a small tray containing a steaming teapot.

  Br
aden approached the old woman cautiously. Though she appeared to have a firm grip on the tray, he didn’t want to startle her into spilling the hot brew.

  Nan’s weathered face cracked into a wide smile when she noticed him coming toward her.

  “Ach, there ye are,” she said as if she’d been looking for him. Braden’s brief interactions with Nan since the night of the handfasting ceremony had convinced him that, although she was surprisingly quick of mind for her advanced age, she also had an odd way of going about things and a penchant for starting a conversation in the middle, as though one should know what she’d been thinking before she started speaking.

  When he reached her in the long hallway, she lifted the tray toward him. “Be a good lad and take this to our lady.”

  Braden took the tray from her automatically and the scent of something herbal and dark drifted up on the steam. “What is it?”

  “A potion for what ails her.” The woman reached into the voluminous folds of her skirts and withdrew the same little pouch that had held the wedding rings from nights past. Setting the pouch on the tray, she patted it gently and noted, “In case she needs it a wee bit stronger.”

  Braden frowned, his body tensing. “Is the duchess ill? Hurt?”

  The old woman gave a short laugh that was nothing short of a cackle. “No more’n usual. Through that door there,” she added with a gesture toward what he assumed was Moira’s room. “She’ll be needin’ ye.”

  Then the old woman turned and headed back the way she’d come.

  Braden carefully balanced the tray on one hand as he opened the door Nan had indicated and closed it quietly behind him. He found himself in a modest-sized bedroom lit only by a small fire in the hearth.

  Moira lay on top of the covers in the middle of the bed. Dressed in her nightgown, she was curled on her side facing away from the room with her knees drawn in toward her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs.

  Despite a rush of concern, he approached her quietly, setting the tray on the bedside table before lowering himself to sit on the edge of the mattress. The slim line of her back was stiff with tension. The urge to reach for her, comfort her, was nearly overwhelming, but he wasn’t sure yet what pained her and he feared hurting her more.

  “Nan?” she asked in a soft murmur.

  “No. It’s me,” Braden replied, keeping his voice low to match hers.

  Moira groaned and tightened her arms around her legs. “Why are you here? Go away, please.”

  Braden ignored her plea. “Shall I pour you some tea? It smells awful, but I can withstand the odor if you can.”

  “I doona want you here,” she muttered plaintively. “Can you please just go and fetch Nan?”

  “I’m afraid not. She entrusted me to see to your needs and so I shall.”

  She mumbled something beneath her breath. He couldn’t quite make it out, but he suspected Nan was not currently in his bride’s good graces.

  Settling himself further on the bed, he leaned closer to her, though he still somehow refrained from touching her. “If you tell me what’s wrong, perhaps I can help.”

  She groaned softly. “There isna anything you can do.”

  His muscles tensed. “Did I cause your discomfort?”

  She lifted her head to peer over her shoulder with an incredulous expression. “What? Of course not. Why would you think that?”

  Braden shrugged, feeling only slightly better. “Our bedroom activities have been rather...vigorous. Perhaps I should have held back a bit, eased you into things.”

  As he spoke, her eyes grew wide, then a blush he could see even in the dim light colored her cheeks before she turned away again. “I wouldna have come to you each night if I didn’t find pleasure in what we were doing,” she muttered thickly.

  He felt a moment of relief at her words until he noted the continued tension throughout her body. Her obvious physical distress caused an ache in his chest. “Were you injured in some other way?” he pressed. “Are you ill?”

  “Just leave me be, Braden. I swear I’ll be fine.”

  “But you’re not fine now. Why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Because I don’t want to,” she practically growled.

  He remained unmoving beside her. She was damned stubborn, but he could wait her out if he had to.

  After a bit, she released a heavy sigh. “You’re not going to leave until I tell you, are you?”

  Braden ignored the annoyed frustration in her voice. “No. And probably not after you tell me either.”

  There was another long pause before she asked quietly, “Why?”

  He had to think on that for a moment. The answer that immediately came to mind surprised him and he quickly forced it away to reply, “Because you are my handfasted wife and I’ve vowed to care for you.”

  Silence followed and he couldn’t be sure if she appreciated his response or was more irritated by it. When she finally spoke again, he could hear the embarrassment in her tone. “It’s my woman’s time.”

  Braden’s eyes widened, understanding why she’d wanted him gone. Such things were never discussed between a man and woman and he hadn’t the slightest idea how to address this particular issue. But he was here now and he was intent upon helping her. “Does it always come with such pain?”

  “Aye.”

  “You go through this every month?” he asked, incredulous.

  She gave a nod. “Only for the first day or so.”

  “What can I do?”

  She was silent for a moment and he imagined how hard it must be for a woman with her pride to be so vulnerable and with such a private, intimate matter.

  “There is a smooth stone wrapped in flannel warming by the hearth,” she finally said. “Could you...fetch it for me?”

  He immediately did as she asked, bringing the large heated stone to the bedside. She partially rolled over to take it from him, then pressed it to her low belly with a harsh sigh as she curled back on her side. “You doona have to stay,” she murmured.

  “I’m staying,” he replied, lowering himself to the bed again, only this time he sat with his back against the headboard and his legs stretched beside her. After a while he asked, “Are you ready for Nan’s tea?”

  She nodded and slowly rose to sit propped against the pillows while Braden poured some of the earthy brew into a stoneware mug. She took the mug with a murmured thanks and sipped while he sat there feeling helpless and...protective.

  “Do the herbs help with your pain?” he asked when she had nearly drained the cup.

  Something flickered in her gaze before she answered. “The tea eases the cramping of my womb, but it doesna touch the hammering in my head.”

  “Perhaps I can help with that.”

  She shook her head. “Nothing helps.”

  He leaned toward her, reaching for the mug. Lifting his lips in a gentle smile, he said, “Allow me to try.”

  She relinquished the mug and he set it on the table before shifting his position on the bed so he could ease his body behind hers.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Trust me,” he answered as he carefully drew her between his spread thighs and urged her to lean back against his bare chest. Then he brought his fingers to her head and began to massage her scalp in slow, circling motions.

  The breathy sigh that slid from her lips made him smile as warmth spread through him.

  After a few minutes, he spoke in a low tone. “You’ve been the mistress of Dunnwood Castle for years. Why haven’t you claimed the rooms reserved for the lady of the house?”

  She stiffened against him, but he continued the soothing motion of his fingers and eventually she replied. “I suppose I never saw a reason to.”

  “Not even now?” he asked through the thickness in his throat.

  When she didn’t answer, he wondered yet again at her elusive demeanor. Up until tonight, she’d crossed nearly the full length of the castle to come to his room each evening. Though she responde
d to his lovemaking with sensitivity and an addictive sort of enthusiasm, she still held so much back. She’d shared her body and her passion until he was breathless and shaking. But never more than that.

  He wanted more. “I’d like to have you close to me, Moira,” he murmured and was surprised by the raw nature of his voice.

  Vulnerable was not a term he would have naturally applied to the woman in his arms. She was too confident, too formidable and capable. But there was no denying the vulnerability in her voice when she finally answered him. “I’ll consider it,” she whispered softly.

  Braden felt no victory in her half-promised acquiescence. Confusion, frustration, a moment of regret, and a sharp stab of longing, but not a hint of triumph. How had he gone his entire life charming everyone he met with very little effort only to take as his bride the one woman determined to resist him?

  Slowly, her body relaxed and softened as her buttocks nestled sweetly against his groin. It required some effort, but he managed to keep his overactive arousal from rising between them.

  She needed comfort far more than he needed sexual release.

  He could do this for her. He wanted to do this for her.

  It was a singular experience—the desire to ease her pain with no benefit to him personally. He felt responsible for her. He’d never felt responsible for another person in his life.

  Chapter Nine

  Moira woke slowly. The cramping in her belly had dulled to a steady ache and the throbbing in her head had eased. As she tried to stretch her sore spine, she encountered a solid warmth behind her and realized with a start that it was Braden.

  A swift, tingling rush swept through her center.

  He was still there. In her bed.

  His wide chest pressed to her back and his powerful thighs braced against the backs of her legs while his large hand rested on her hip.