Saying I Do to the Scoundrel

by Liz Tyner

  Surely Brandt could see how dear Gussie was and how happy she was to be in her new home.

  Once they were all settled, she’d make them a family. She looked up, hoping to see something in Brandt’s face that let her know he was accepting them into his life.

  In the seconds she looked at him, his eyes changed, returning to the present, but not softening. He had the same look of a beast not wishing to be tamed, of waiting until just the proper moment when no one watched and he could glide quickly and silently away.

  He nodded to her, no life behind his eyes, and he left her sight.

  *

  Brandt sat in the study. The air suffocated him and it had the stamp of the past on it, but still he preferred it to the little girl’s exuberance.

  He moved to the desk, propping himself against it. He picked up the globe and twirled it several times before sitting it back in place.

  Again, he spun the globe slowly, watching the markings go by. The worlds. The days. His other life had spun away. Taking the best of him with it. Taking all of him, leaving only his shell.

  Katherine would not be a bad sort to reside with.

  Her look pleased him—better than any tavern woman. Or any woman, he supposed. And, with all her ways, even wearing those sad trousers—he found himself aware of her.

  But, the globe kept spinning and nothing stopped. Not for happiness. He’d had his, for the time he could have it.

  His finger pressed into the orb and rested over a patch of blue. Where no one resided.

  The door opened, giving a soft creak. ‘You do not have to stay here if it pains you. I understand. I don’t want you to be miserable. It won’t do anyone any good. The tavern folk will be pleased to see you.’

  He turned. ‘Mrs Radcliffe, you’re generous with others’ opinions. What if the poor women would tell me I should be home with you?’ He stood and strode to the window and pushed the curtains wide and gave a little hoist to raise the frame, hoping the fresh air wouldn’t kill him.

  She darted her eyes up. ‘Would they?’

  He turned back to her. ‘I’m sure they would think it. They’re quite romantic, you know.’ He stepped in front of her.

  ‘The—’

  Her words stopped with his clasp of her waist.

  ‘Yes.’ He moved a breath towards her and leaned in. ‘Yes. The women are quite certain husbands should be at home with their wives. They secretly sneer at the married men giving them coin—knowing the women at home would be pleased with a new dress, or better food to cook for the children.’

  ‘You were there often?’

  ‘I was, but my coin only went for the ale. Not the women. Yes…’ he took her arms and gently unfolded them, keeping her hands in his ‘…I suppose, though, as I would find it hard to lie with a paid woman knowing she might be wishing me to the devil, on my wedding night I should stay home with a wife who might do the same.’

  ‘Will you stay?’

  He moved so his forehead brushed against hers. He ignored her question, answering it without speaking. With her hands captured, she could only lean back. He pulled her ringed finger to his lips, but after glancing at it, he turned her fingers down and kissed the back of her hand.

  He turned away, adding space between them.

  ‘Brandt. You cannot be as cold as you say.’

  ‘My heart might be gone, but I’ve still eyes in my head.’ He knew nothing showed in his face, though. ‘And my hands work and the rest of me as well. Only the heart is gone.’

  He looked around the room. ‘Feel free to take any room you like. It’s nothing more than bare walls to me. The same as the rest of the house.’

  He stood. ‘I’m going to the tavern. It’s not as fine as the Hare’s Breath. It’s just a room that Abernathy has set up to be a place to drink into the night. But it will suffice.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Abernathy’s had stunk worse than a barnyard. He’d not been able to stay for more than one mug. He preferred the Hare’s Breath with its more motley visitors.

  He moved up the stairs, holding the lamp they’d left beside the front door for him. A few servants had stayed.

  Katherine hadn’t chosen Mary’s room. She’d chosen the smaller one at the end of the hall. Hardly more than room for the bed. He knocked briefly and opened the door without waiting for a response.

  Sitting the lamp on the table, he saw two wine glasses, one empty. He dimmed the light and lay beside her.

  He yawned again, leaning back on the bed and propped his head on his arm. His eyes wanted to close.

  He made a decision. He’d leave the next day—Nigel or no Nigel, wife or no wife, he’d find another town further from London. And this time he might really change his name. He chuckled at the thought of calling himself Nigel. He looked less of a Nigel than she did.

  He’d make sure he had a well-sprung carriage to travel in. He was not riding any horse. Ever again. Never. No more saddles. And no more wives.

  ‘Rose and Mashburn will be making wagers on how soon our ways will part.’

  ‘How could they even know you’ve married?’

  ‘The carriage driver. Or the man who gave me directions to the bishop. Or Royce.’

  ‘I don’t see what the opinion of a few tavern folk matters to you.’

  Her words hit him in a way he couldn’t have imagined. He considered his speech as he spoke. ‘I’ve sat with them most nights for years. It’s not as if they’re strangers. They have been like blood to me. I’ve listened as the ale spirited their words and their eyes teared.’ He’d never known the truth of it before. He’d thought he’d left all family behind him, but he hadn’t. He’d merely moved to another place and grown another sort of relatives around him.

  ‘It’s your choice, I suppose.’

  He leaned over her. ‘You’ve seen where I’ve lived. Where I chose to spend my nights.’ He moved closer, the softness of her earlobe brushing his face. His lips stopped at her skin.

  Then he sat up and left the bed. He went to the curtains and spread them wide, letting the moonlight reflect into the room.

  ‘I took Mary’s innocence as easily as I might take a kiss from you.’ His voice seeped in the air, a rumble. ‘She bore my son. And then she died. They were taken. And I lost more than I ever knew I had.’

  ‘We may feel love strongest when it’s taken from us.’

  ‘I felt it even while she lived. I just didn’t know I was the stranger in the house, not her. As a child, I would sneak away and spend time with the field hands. I worked with them. One was my age and, if we could finish his chores together, then he would go fishing with me. My father knew. And one day, my friend had to leave suddenly, because a man showed up to offer him a job. My father said he refused to stand in his way and sacked him.’

  ‘Your father didn’t like him.’

  ‘It all came out later in the tussle for Mary’s hand. In his rage, my father told me he’d always seen that I was a servant at heart. I agreed and left with Mary and her mother. I was sturdy even then and I had already had a good share of work in the fields. I knew I could support them.’

  If not for the deal his mother had secretly made with Mary’s mother during the winter trysts to see that her daughter would have a fine house, it was unlikely they would have ever returned. But Mary’s mother sent messages to his mother and, when tempers cooled, both mothers pushed and pulled them back to the estate.

  ‘Mother kept after Father to make good on her promise to me and we were wed. Very quietly. My father was kind to Mary, not so kind to me, and they accepted her and made her a part of their lives and she loved it. I still helped the field hands and Father never again said a word about it. I think, at the end, he admired that I could.’

  ‘Perhaps working in the field is what you need.’

  ‘The blisters?’ He held up his hand. ‘I finally have the soft hands my father wanted me to have. I lead a life without physical labour, just as he wanted. And he was right. It led me into bed
with a duke’s granddaughter. I can now sire children with the best of blood and the worst of parents.’

  ‘It would mean Gussie could have a sister.’

  His chuckle was low and dark. ‘I don’t think it is a good idea for us to bring children into the world.’

  ‘I don’t know that it’s a good idea for anyone to bring children into the world.’

  ‘But now—you think I will have no choice but to sire children.’ He stepped away from the window, each move deliberate.

  ‘So tell me, Wife, did you take my gentleness with you as weakness?’ His voice was soft. ‘Did you take my preference for the tavern as a mark of insensibility? Did you think I would let you make me into nothing more than a mate to service you?’

  He put his right hand on her shoulder and, with a grasp of iron, pulled her so she moved into the circle of his anger. ‘You won’t make a pet of me.’

  ‘We are married.’ The words sounded forced.

  He smiled and his jaw firmed. ‘My lovely wife. Say that as many times as you wish. It doesn’t change a hair on my head and it doesn’t free you.’

  He took his finger and touched the tip of it to the bow of her mouth, then traced each side. ‘It’s not I who is the prisoner. It’s you. You wove this web and now the insect you caught is not small enough for you to hold or devour. I never kidnapped you. I never once planned to ask for a ransom. It was easiest to let you believe it until I could unlock the door of my house and let you inside. I planned to let you live here. But not with me.’

  She moved to shake her head, but with their eyes as one and the tip of his finger against her mouth, he held her still.

  *

  The loss of his family had seared something into him she’d never seen in another person. He had a brittleness, and perhaps the same strength as someone hardened by battle. She supposed after soldiers had buried their dead, and stepped over fallen friends and enemies, they lost their own fear of dying because life was a battlefield.

  ‘Marriage.’ He smiled. ‘Never, ever again…’ He laughed softly. He dropped his hand and turned away. Raising his hands up as if surrendering to the irony of life.

  ‘Brandt. I told you. People marry, and, well, do as they wish.’

  He took a step away. ‘All people who marry do as they wish afterwards. Some wish to live together. Others apart. But I will not risk children. They are like tiny flower buds,’ he spoke rapidly, ‘and then they burst open and you cannot believe the beauty in them.’ He stopped. ‘And then…’

  He picked up the wine glass, feeling the heat from where it had been close to the lamp, and then he emptied the glass and sat it back on the table. ‘Why do you have such colours in all your clothing?’

  ‘I was in mourning, first for my father and then for my mother. I saw no reason to buy new later, as I wasn’t to attend any events.’

  ‘We’ve both been wearing dark for a long time.’ He moved closer to her, then reached out a hand and folded Katherine into his arms.

  ‘I would like it if you cared for me,’ she said.

  His kiss took her thoughts away. And in that moment, she no longer thought about whether his heart was hers or only his body. She would take as much as he could give.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After the kiss, he took her into his arms and pulled her against him, cradling her and rocking her gently. He soothed her tremors and soaked in the feminine feel of her. She wasn’t stained glass. Perhaps some kind of unbreakable porcelain.

  They must have lain close for an hour when he felt a push at his chest and she moved to stand beside the bed.

  Her hair looked even more frazzled at the edges. He liked her that way, looking as if she’d just taken a tumble into the bed.

  A wonderful thing about the female body. It had been arranged so pleasantly.

  Their eyes locked.

  She swallowed. Took a breath. ‘Truly, do you wish to continue this?’

  ‘I would not miss it for the world,’ he said. His movements were languid and he moved across the bed and, with one leg on the floor, he reached out, securing her in his arms and lifting her as easily as he might a flower, and kissed her before he tossed her to the bed.

  He moved above her, crouching, and even though they barely touched, they were locked together.

  His eyes searched hers. ‘I have you to consider now, Katherine. I didn’t wish it. You blasted into my doorway.’

  He shut his eyes and brushed their cheeks together.

  He felt her palm flat at his chest, but her other hand reached upwards, to his face.

  Her touch started at his ear and he felt the line she traced, down his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, his chest. He let her fingers trail until she extended her reach, and she didn’t miss much.

  He savoured the womanliness against him. She smelled of unsoiled sheets and pleasing warmth.

  He let himself fall to his side and she propped herself up on an elbow, and again her hand began to trace his body. Gently putting her palms at his chest, touching the curves and contours above the muscles.

  ‘You know—a fashionable bodice is not quite as fashionable in the bedchamber as no bodice.’

  She didn’t answer, just rested her hand against him.

  He shut his eyes and he could hear the tavern piano in his head. Brandt’s buttons were no longer sewn shut.

  He let his lips fall open and he breathed out softly. He forced his hands to remain still.

  If he could only seize on to the feelings and lock out everything else in his mind, he could feel complete.

  Already he anticipated the pleasure of sinking into Katherine, of feeling her against his chest and both of them lost in passion.

  He ran his hands the rest of the way down her arms and then his fingers traced up the line of her body.

  He pressed, letting his fingers slide along the construction. ‘No, I do not feel a Nigel.’

  With her wrinkled chemise, mussed hair and wide eyes staring at him, he responded with the force of thunder and lightning taking the sky.

  Dropping his face into the curve where her neck met her shoulder and resting against the soft fabric, he breathed in. ‘These chemises you wear,’ he whispered. ‘I like them.’

  He let his breath heat her skin and her skin teased his lips. He saw her eyelashes flutter closed and he felt the essence of her moving through his fingers and into his own body. With only small touches, he felt joined to her.

  ‘Oh,’ she whispered.

  He met her eyes. ‘Yes.’

  He gave himself a moment so he could take in the vision.

  Her nose nudged his ear. Her tongue—tentative, barely brushing.

  His fingertips trailed down her back, slowly enough so he could linger over each rib, until he stopped at the swell of her backside and pulled her closer.

  He rolled her on to her back, braced himself on his elbows and held himself above her. He feathered his lips to hers, overwhelmed.

  ‘Katherine.’ He moved back and saw her half-opened eyes. She waited.

  He spoke. ‘I just wanted to hear your name.’

  She shut her eyes and he bent again to her mouth, tasting her lips, but being very gentle with his tongue.

  He nipped her ear and felt as her hand touched his chest, exploring.

  His mouth savoured the saltiness of her skin from their exertion and his lips moved against her neck, as if she were a morsel and he needed to relish each taste. He truly wanted her.

  He pulled himself from her arms, allowing himself a long glance at her body. And then he caught what he was doing. Memorising her body so that he could remember her after they parted. Instantly he stopped those thoughts. It would do him no good to be thinking of how she’d looked after he’d left her.

  Now her lips caught his attention and he kissed her.

  She tasted of chocolate and wine, and she had a wanton pull in her lips. When he backed away, she followed, refusing to let him ease from her touch. He let himself fall back into the bed, o
nly lightly holding her with his arms, and she moved up, looking down at him.

  He could feel each of her fingers pressing into his shoulders. And he could tell she had no complaints of his tongue. He moved back, breathing in her sweetness.

  She touched him delicately and the softer she touched him, the more he craved her. The softest flutters of her bolted heat into him. Stirred his blood through his veins.

  When he felt her hands leave his shoulders and run across his chest, he almost let himself burrow her back into the counterpane. Her head was buried in the hollow of his neck and he had to push her hands back.

  He rolled her into his arms and saw the look in her eyes. Swollen lips and a hunger he hoped he could fill.

  Brandt draped a leg over her to keep her settled.

  He could not keep his face from hers. She whimpered in protest each time he pulled back and her distress caused a reaction in his body so strong he could barely control his needs.

  Cherishing the smoothness under his touch, he held her breast and then touched her stomach. He wanted to feel the whole of her, capture her in his memory.

  He pressed himself into her thigh, her leg a balm to his manhood.

  His hand slid the length of her, to touch her and give her pleasure. He had to, or he was afraid between the two of them they’d never get the act done properly, or as he preferred, improperly.

  He kissed her bottom lip, keeping her close and waiting, feeling her tense against his hand, and this time, instead of whimpers, he felt the gasps from her throat.

  Brandt didn’t want to give her time to completely return to herself and he pushed above her, raising her knees, and began his descent.

  He whispered her name again, for the sound to soothe his own ears.

  But he couldn’t risk another child. He could not.

  He was barely able to breathe when he pulled himself from her and collapsed beside her. He’d been so close to losing himself completely, risking a chance of a child. Unforgivable.

  It seemed the only part of him which could still function was his eyes and his lungs.