If Love Were Enough

by Quill, Suzanne

  “You bitch,” Damon shouted. “I don’t need you or this bastard. With the two of you gone, it’ll all be mine.” He wrenched her hard, moved his hands to her throat.

  Brandon was almost there. Almost there. . . .

  “You’ll not take me or my baby,” Cilla screamed. She leaned toward Damon, the extra give throwing him off balance. She threw a foot out and tripped him.

  Losing the grip on her throat while trying to save himself, Damon stumbled backward grasping the air in a futile effort to regain his footing. When he fell against Wildfire’s withers then to the ground, the horse went mad. Rearing up, his hooves came down violently once, twice and then a third time. Damon tried to protect himself by flinging his arms over his face and head but the horse’s agitation was too great.

  Brandon arrived to wrap an arm around Cilla and Robert, pulling them back from the horse’s wild fit of temper.

  Damon’s screams rent the air.

  Then there was silence.

  Wildfire whinnied, snorted and retreated. Damon lay still at the horse’s feet. His chest caved in, his face a bloody mess. There was no way he could have survived the onslaught.

  Brandon, gasping for breath from his run to the beach, sat on the ground, pulling them onto his lap. Cilla, now sobbing, laid her head against his shoulder as she rubbed the wailing baby’s back to soothe him.

  “He was going to kill me. He was going to kill me and our son. For the money. All that just for the money.”

  Brandon held her close as one hand stroked her back.

  “It’s okay now, Cilla. He’s gone. He won’t be back. You’re safe.” As his breathing calmed, he could feel Cilla trembling in his arms. Her tears kept coming as Mrs. Seeman and Furston came up beside them.

  “Are you all right, my lady? Is the baby well?” Mrs. Seeman gasped as she bent over, her hands on her knees.

  “Yes, we’re fine,” Brandon said as he looked up into two worried faces. “You both look as if you will pass out. Sit down here and catch your breath. It’s over now. Damon’s gone. Did you see?”

  “We saw it all, my lord,” Furston gasped, his face as red as a beet. He was folded over at the middle leaning both hands on his knees. “The horse went mad. No wonder the way he rode the poor thing. There was no saving the blighter. It was best you saved yourselves.”

  Brandon almost chuckled. He could not remember ever hearing that many words come out of the butler’s mouth. And the cockney accent, still strong after so many years in Rutherford service, must be why he said so little lest he give himself away.

  They sat there many minutes, catching their breath, looking out over the sea to the blue sky beyond.

  Wildfire had calmed down, his breathing slowed. His right hoof nudged the mangled body on the ground. Then he lowered his head to nuzzle it. When Damon didn’t respond, Wildfire raised his head and whinnied again, then moved off to graze as if nothing untoward had occurred.

  Mrs. Seeman said, “Well, it looks like Wildfire has recovered.”

  No one made a move to look after Damon.

  Finally, Furston said, “I’ll go fetch a groom to go for the magistrate. Must I run?” He got to his feet but bent over a moment to continue gathering his strength and breath.

  Cilla, sitting in Brandon’s lap gently rocking the now sleepy baby, stopped sobbing.

  Brandon stroked her hair as he answered, “No need, Furston. Make it a stroll to the stable. Damon’s not going anywhere and we’ll be here when the magistrate arrives.”

  Furston trundled off toward the stable yard.

  Brandon rose to his feet lifting Cilla and the babe into his arms.

  “Come, Mrs. Seeman. I think we all must be due for a cup of hot tea. I’ll take mine with brandy, I think.” Rubbing his cheek against Cilla’s forehead he continued, “We might even give her ladyship just a taste.”

  Chapter 31

  “Lady Priscilla,” Mrs. Seeman said, after knocking and entering the drawing room. “Furston just gave me this missive. It was delivered moments ago and I believe it’s the one you and Lord Brandon are waiting for.” The housekeeper crossed the room to the bergère chair where she sat in the warm light from the windows. Cilla took the foolscap and turned it over not recognizing the seal of the noble house protecting its contents.

  She paused to watch Brandon pick up his son and settle in the chair next to hers. Laying Robin, their new pet name for their son, up against his shoulder, he patted him on the back. “Go ahead, my love. Open it.”

  Ms. Seeman turned to leave.

  Cilla turned her head, alerted by the housekeeper’s movement. “Don’t go, Ethel. You have every right to hear this too. After all, you know all that has gone on this past year and have been kind enough to keep it to yourself.”

  “But my lady, it’s none of my business.”

  “Nonsense. You run this house, you take care of all of us, you keep our secrets. It is your business. If you don’t stay now, I’ll just have to find you and tell you later. Come, pull up a chair.”

  After watching Ethel pull up a small side chair and settle into the alcove, Cilla, her back as stiff and straight as a poker, took a deep breath then broke the seal to reveal the contents. She began to read. . . .

  My Dear Lady Brookfield,

  Thank you for your inquiry concerning the rightful line of inheritance in the case of your late husband, The Eighth Marquess of Rutherford, Robert Allan Aloysius Reginald Brunell. I understand how this matter becomes even more critical with the tragic and untimely demise of the next in line for the title, Damon Sedgewick Brunell.

  Due to the long line of prior succession and the lack of current direct heirs, our search took us back a number of generations. In point of fact, the next person in line for your late husband’s title comes through the line of The Fourth Marquess of Rutherford’s younger sister. Elizabeth Margaret Brunell married Albert Michael Jennings, Viscount Marfield. Their oldest son, Michael Randolph Jennings, married Jane Anne Markley. The oldest son of this union, David Roger Jennings, married Sarah Alice Englewood. This couple did not have a son but four daughters. The eldest daughter, Mary Margaret Englewood, married Angus Silas Bradley, Viscount Brookfield. This latest union resulted in the birth or one son, Silas Angus Robert Bradley, who married Dorothea Mary Jefferson, resulting in the issue of one son and one daughter, Brandon Silas Angus Bradley and Mary Elizabeth Bradley, respectively.

  It is the Committee of Privileges understanding this son, Brandon Silas Angus Bradley, as stated above, is the current Viscount Brookfield and the only direct descendent who has legitimate claim to the Rutherford title if your late husband died without issue. If this latter fact is inaccurate, please advise us immediately.

  If you should have any further inquiry or need additional clarifications, please contact this office.

  Sincerely,

  James Runion Sinclair, Earl of St. Cloud

  Secretary, Committee of Privileges

  House of Lords

  . . . Cilla dropped back against her chair, speechless.

  “My lady, it’s the viscount himself,” Mrs. Seeman said, as if in confirmation of the given information. “Well, that just seems right now doesn’t it? That means he’s the current marquess and our baby Robin here is the legitimate heir to him now, doesn’t it? Well, I’ll wager you two have a lot to discuss. I’ll just go make you both some tea.” The housekeeper rose from her chair, placed it back where it belonged and headed for the door. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  As the door latch clicked softly, Cilla looked over to Brandon. “We never discussed the birthmark. No wonder Robin has one. You have one too. I finally noticed. It took me weeks because I would always get distracted by other things.”

  Robin, now asleep in his father’s arms, made a sucking sound as Brandon shifted him
to take Cilla’s hand in his.

  “I never thought about the birthmark, Cilla. I know my father had one but my sister didn’t. We never made a fuss over it of course. When you and I are alone and I take off my clothing. . . . Well . . .” He smiled as his eyes warmed on her face.

  Cilla chuckled. “Yes, other things. You have a knack for distracting me with other things. But that’s why Damon thought he could prove the baby was not Robert’s. If the child was a boy and had no birthmark, particularly dolphin shaped, then he would be able to claim he was not the legitimate heir. Assuming Damon had the birthmark and could show it to the authorities he would call in, that would have legitimized his own claim and prove mine false.”

  Their son woke up then and started fussing and carrying on.

  “I think he’s hungry.” Cilla said. “I’d better feed him so he’ll settle down again.” As she prepared to nurse her son, Cilla continued. “It has to be a small miracle the one person in the entire world who would be able to provide my son with the necessary birthmark to legitimize his claim to Robert’s fortune would be the man I fall in love with.”

  Brandon handed the baby to her and watched as he started to suckle. No sooner was the child done and dozing in his mother’s arms, then there was a tap on the door and Mrs. Seeman entered with the tea tray. She sat it up on the table before the settee as Betsy, the new nursemaid, came in to take Robin from his mother’s arms.

  Cilla kissed the sleeping babe on his forehead before handing him off. Then she and Brandon resettled themselves on the settee to have tea. She hailed the housekeeper before she made to leave.

  “Tell me, Ethel. I saw your lack of reaction as I read the letter. You were not in the least surprised when I read the letter from the Committee of Privileges, were you?”

  After turning back, Mrs. Seeman answered, “Oh, no, my lady. I had no doubt of what the Committee would find when you wrote them.” Ethel stood before the two of them seemingly serene in her knowledge and responsibilities.

  “Did you know about the birthmark, Mrs. Seeman?” Brandon asked, obviously curious about the housekeeper’s confidence on the matter.

  “It may have been mentioned over the years, my lord, but I can’t say that I remembered it.”

  “Then how,” Cilla asked, confused, “did you have any inkling of the outcome?”

  Mrs. Seeman smiled with patience and affection at her mistress and master sitting on the little sofa.

  “Why, from the portrait, of course, my lady. I know you’ve seen it. Up in the portrait gallery. Lord Robert took you up there long ago but I don’t remember you visiting it for a long time. Anyhow, there’s the portrait of himself right about the age Lord Brandon is now. If you remember his telling you, he was already married to Lady Amanda then. Well, the portrait is the living image of Lord Brandon. So, I just figured it had to be fate that you found his lordship here and he was the heir to Lord Robert. It all worked out very nicely, don’t you think?” Mrs. Seeman made a short curtsey. “I’ll be going about my business now, Lady Priscilla, unless you have something else you need me to do.”

  Cilla, still trying to keep her mouth from gaping open, waved her away. “Thank you, Ethel. I expect Lord Brandon and I will be taking a walk up to the portrait gallery.”

  “As you wish, my lady.” The door clicked closed behind her.

  “Stand in the light, Brandon.” The late afternoon sun spilled warm rays on the walnut parquet floor as Cilla stared up at her late husband’s portrait. “You could be his twin,” she said in stunned amazement. “I knew when I first saw you, you resembled him greatly, but I had not been in this hall for years. After all, none of these people are my relatives and Robert’s portrait does not depict him as I will remember him.” She walked to Brandon and looked closer at his face and eyes. “Even his eye color, in his youth, was the same as yours.”

  Brandon pulled her into his arms. “So maybe you fell in love with me because I looked like a younger version of your husband.” He bent to nuzzle her neck, place kisses along her chin.

  “Brandon.” Cilla tried pulling away. “Not here.”

  “Why not? No one is here to watch us. Besides, I think there are a few more ideas in that little book of yours I’d like to try out.” He tilted her head up and took her mouth with a ravenous kiss. “Well, we’ll just have to go back to our bedchamber. Who would think you would be so proper after all I have learned of you?”

  A fire blazed in the bedchamber hearth trying to take the chill off the cloudy Northumberland night. Two candles were lit, one on each of the tables beside the huge Elizabethan bed whose tapestry draperies were now pulled back. Other than that, it was the fire’s glow that lit the room.

  And made her radiant in its warm light. She had on a gold silk robe, floor length, with nothing on beneath it. Her small feet peeked out from the hem when she walked, as she did now, back and forth before the hearth. Her hair, which had fallen down during their recent lovemaking, was flowing in graceful waves to her waist. As she paced before the fire, she drew her brush through her long auburn tresses burnished by the light of the flames.

  He wanted to touch her hair, revel in its softness as it was reddened by the fire’s glow.

  He rose from the bed. When he reached her, he tugged her elbow so she stopped in front of him. He held out his hand. “The brush, may I have it please?”

  She looked up at him, her perfectly arched brows raised in question.

  “Let me, Cilla. Let me brush your hair.” He reached for the brush, turned her around and drew it through the shimmering mass, his free hand gliding down behind the bristles. Not a tangle in it. She must have been almost done with the task.

  “Sit, here on the floor in front of the fire,” he said.

  They settled on the carpet and he set to brushing again. “It’s untangled, Brandon. I’m finished with it.”

  “I know. But I love the feel of it. It’s magnificent, you know. I sometimes think I could brush it forever, but there are other things . . .”

  Brandon laid the brush down. He reached around her, grasped the edges of her robe and slid them down off her shoulders and back. His hand swept the tresses aside exposing her back, shoulders and the nape of her neck so he could place heated wet kisses wherever he wished.

  “There are other things,” he crooned as he placed a kiss at her nape, rewarded with the sharp intake of her breath as his lips felt the warmth of her skin. “I want to tell you, Cilla, I know what you did and I understand why you did it.”

  Her breathing was slow and lazy. “Mmm. What? What did I do, Brandon?”

  “It was intentional, wasn’t it? Getting pregnant. Picking me to get you with child?”

  Her back straightened as she pulled away and twisted to face him. “Intentional? Getting pregnant? Brandon, what are you talking about?”

  He let her move away just a bit but took her hand in his own. “When you went to Asheville after Robert died. You knew you needed an heir to save the estates from Damon. I’m guessing you figured your brother might have a friend or two visiting from the area you might make use of.”

  Cilla looked away. Even in the dim glow of the fire he could see the color rise to her face.

  “I was never sure I could go through with it.” She turned back to face him. “I never expected the house party. And the people there were so distasteful. I was convinced fate was telling me it was no use. I had been watching from the top of the stairs as each couple arrived. I pretty much had given up hope. Then you arrived.” A single tear slid down her cheek, her eyes red-rimmed and welling with more tears to come. “I had been up to the portrait gallery once or twice and that early on in our marriage. I remembered just enough from Robert’s picture to recognize his youthful coloring, hair, eyes, skin. You were perfect. But later I saw that Anne had set her sights on you. And, I did not know if I could g
o through with it.”

  “That’s why you seemed so confused?” Brandon squeezed her hand.

  “Yes, it was difficult for me to decide to use someone like that and then to go through with it. . . . “

  “You never expected to tell me about the child, did you?” He kept his voice gentle wanting to know it all. Wanting to start with no secrets between them.

  “You were a rake. I didn’t expect you would care. But then we talked and got to know each other and the agony you were feeling over your father’s impending death. Then we made love.”

  She looked down so he tilted her head back up to look into her eyes once again. “You felt more than you expected, didn’t you? As did I. I didn’t go to Asheville with thoughts of falling in love. I didn’t expect to change my entire life because of meeting and making love with a woman I had never known before. But when I returned to BrookLea, I couldn’t bring myself to marry Estella. It was not in me. And things there were not as they seemed.”

  “Brandon, I thought you deserted me. What was I to think? I figured I had misunderstood and you felt nothing. So I ignored the hurt and nurtured the child I was carrying, protecting him from Damon’s evil intentions.”

  He pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “Now you know, though, I did write, I did try to contact you. It was Anne’s revenge for my slighting her that she kept my communications from you.”

  Cilla laid her head against his shoulder. “Yes, I know. But it doesn’t change the facts. Are you angry with me? Angry because I used you?”

  She was not looking at him now, would not meet his eyes.

  He tilted her face up once again and placed a kiss upon her lips. “It took a while for me to realize what happened and why. It was more complex than I imagined in so many ways. Even my sister and Estella were a surprise. But how could I fault you? I hadn’t expected our relationship to be lasting when we first met. I didn’t expect my missives to you to be stolen so you would think what had happened between us was nothing. If I put myself in your place, would I not have considered the same actions? A woman has little power in the path of her life, especially when her husband, her protector, dies and leaves her unguarded.