The Heir

by Catherine Coulter

  Dr. Branyon clasped her hand in his and led her to the other side of the pond. He found a likely spot, spread his coat upon the springy moss and grass, and bowed to her. “Allow me to assist you, Ann. I want you to be very comfortable.”

  She sank down gracefully onto his coat and smoothed the flounce of her pink gown over her ankles. Then she pulled up the gown to her calves. She wanted him to see her ankles. “These are new stockings,” she said. “Do you like them?”

  He swallowed hard. He stared at her feet, at her ankles, not really seeing the damned stockings.

  “Perhaps I should have brought a picnic lunch,” she said, for he was standing motionless as a tree, just staring down at her legs. It pleased her inordinately. She thought to pull her skirt higher, but there were too many years of rules and embarrassment holding her back.

  He blinked. “I believe that after eighteen and some odd years, I want no piece of chicken to come between us. Your stockings are lovely.”

  “Oh, I thought you were looking at the ground.”

  He laughed. “No, you didn’t. You know very well that those damned water reeds hold no interest at all for me.” He sat down close to her. She felt suddenly warm, and with unsteady fingers untied the bow below her left ear and lifted off her bonnet.

  Dr. Branyon picked up the bonnet and gently tossed it off to one side. Slowly he lifted his hand to her face, letting his fingers trace over her smooth cheek, her straight nose, and come to rest lightly against her pink lips. “Your ankles are lovely, your hair is lovely, but most of all, you are so utterly beautiful inside, it makes me wonder if I can ever come to deserve you.”

  “You deserve me? Oh goodness, Paul, it’s the other way around. No, you are perfect. I haven’t yet seen your ankles, but I know that I want to run my fingers through your hair and just stare at you. May I stare at you for the next fifty years?”

  Now this was something utterly delightful he hadn’t expected at all. He’d prayed for something like this, but he hadn’t expected it. “Are you proposing to me?” He gently slipped his hand behind her neck, over the thick coil of heavy blond hair, and drew her to him. He thought she looked like a young girl readying for her first kiss. He had the good sense and patience to realize that her gesture was a tentative one, even though she had just proposed something to him. He prayed it was marriage. She was staring at his mouth and not answering. He kissed her gently, barely touching his lips to hers, savoring the taste of her, the softness of her mouth. He felt a fluttering response in her and lightly rested his hands on her shoulders and pushed her onto her back. Her eyes flew open and he read uncertainty, perhaps fear. Probably fear. He was moving too quickly. Immediately he released her and balanced himself on his elbow beside her. He had been certain for years that the earl had not treated her well. Yet, there was an air of fragile innocence about her that even her husband had failed to extinguish. Perhaps when they were married, she would speak of him.

  “Did you mean to propose to me, Ann? If you want to stare at me for that long a time, surely marriage is the only solution, the only way to prevent our neighbors from gossiping about us.”

  She smiled up at him, a lazy, impish smile, now devoid of uncertainty, and said, “Indeed, I fear that I must, Paul. I would be a terribly loose woman were I to kiss a man I did not intend to wed.”

  “Then I must kiss you again to double ensure your compliance.”

  She was laughing when he kissed her, and his tongue entered her mouth. She could not help the shock of fear that made her grit her teeth suddenly against him. In that instant it was the earl, and not Paul, whose mouth was grinding against hers, bruising her, forcing her lips open. How she had hated his wet, probing tongue, not that he had ever wasted much of his time kissing her. No, he wanted her on her back, naked and silent, open and willing.

  Dr. Branyon instantly drew back. There was no tenderness in his eyes or in his voice. “I’m not the damned earl,” he said. “Look at me, Ann. I’m not that man who hurt you and humiliated you.” She was shaking. He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers. “I would never hurt you. I would never humiliate you. I would never make you feel like less than nothing. You know that. You know me. You know I would protect you with my life.”

  “I know that you would. It won’t happen again.”

  “It might and it doesn’t matter. You will be free of him soon. Do you believe me?”

  She did. “I hated him so very much, hated him as much as Arabella worshiped him.”

  He wanted to know what that bastard had done to her, yet he knew that it wasn’t fair to push her. No, if she wanted to tell him, eventually she would. He had to remember that the bastard was dead and he wasn’t. Her memories would fade and disappear. He would have her with him forever. He asked quietly, “Do you trust me, Ann?”

  She raised her fingers to touch his mouth. “I trust you more than I feared him,” she said simply.

  He gathered her into his arms and pulled her gently to him. He pressed his hand against the small of her back and felt her snuggle close against him, her full breasts against his chest, her belly and thighs pressing against his. She slid her arms about his neck and buried her face against his neck. Just having him close to her, feeling his warm breath on her back, made her replete with happiness.

  He hoped she couldn’t feel his sex, hard and shoving against her belly. For one of the few times in his life he was thankful for the many layers of clothing women wore. He wanted to caress her hips, kiss every delightful curve of hers, but he forced his hands to remain on her back.

  He wanted to take off her clothes, stroke her, kiss her, and come inside her. He wanted her to hold him against her. He wanted her to find her woman’s pleasure. But it was too soon, despite her teasing, her bravado. He forced himself to calm, but it was difficult. They lay in each other’s arms until the sun began its rapid downward descent.

  He awoke to light soft kisses against his chin, his cheek, his nose. He’d fallen asleep. He couldn’t believe it. “Damn,” he said as he turned her face up with his thumb and kissed her mouth. “How long have you been taking advantage of me?” he said into her mouth. She jumped, then grinned. Then, quite suddenly, she was on top of him, her hands around his face, her lips parted, kissing him with a good deal of enthusiasm. Her hair had come free of its rolls and was a thick curtain on both sides of his face. The smell of her made him wild. He didn’t want to frighten her, but he groaned, and it was deep and hoarse.

  She wasn’t frightened. If anything she was more enthusiastic. He wanted to come inside her this very instant, but he was wise enough to let her keep control. He had to be patient; he had to keep on a steady course. He was a physician, for God’s sake, not some randy, ignorant boy. He groaned instead, his hips lifting.

  “Ann, it’s going to be a close thing for me. Eighteen years is a very long time to wait to have you.”

  She raised her head and looked down into his eyes. “It’s a ridiculously long time,” she said. “It’s too long a time. If you wait for another minute, then I will have to rhapsodize about the lily pads again.”

  She was laughing even as she jumped to her feet and began unfastening the buttons on her gown. He stared at her. There was no hesitation in her, no fear, only her beautiful face flushed with excitement, with anticipation. They were both laughing by the time they were on his coat again, naked, in each other’s arms. And when he finally came to her, she welcomed him with a soft moan. And when she cried out, he took her cries into his mouth, and gave himself to her completely.

  He believed she was asleep, when she said, “Paul, that is the first time I have ever felt pleasure. It is something I couldn’t have imagined. Will it always be like that with you, with us?”

  “If it isn’t, I’ll cut my wrists.”

  “I didn’t know—”

  He kissed her ear. “No, I never thought you did. Now you do. Forget all the rest of it, Ann. There’s just us now. I will give you pleasure until we both cock up our respective toes a
nd pass to the hereafter.”

  “And I gave you pleasure?”

  She sounded so uncertain, perhaps even frightened. He kissed the tip of her nose. “You give me any more pleasure and I’ll need to have a doctor.” He yawned.

  She bit his shoulder, tasted the warm muskiness of his flesh, and kissed him again. “This pleasure—no, don’t tease me—it’s quite extraordinary. I knew something was going to happen to me but I had no idea that it would shake me to my toes and lift the hair off my head.”

  He stroked her hair. “There are all sorts of ways to bring you to pleasure, Ann.”

  She came up over him, balancing on her elbow, chewing on her bottom lip. “How many?”

  He groaned. “I’ll be a dead man before the year is out. Enough, Ann, you are too sore for us to come together again today. No, don’t go all maidenly on me, it’s true. You are still unused to a man and I have no intention of hurting you. Now, I want you to distract me. No more talk of pleasure. But I want you to know something. It’s something that’s very important. I love you. Only you. It’s always been only you.”

  He loved her. Only her. “And I love you,” she whispered against his shoulder. She realized she was aching between her legs. But it didn’t hurt. It felt wonderful and strange and she wanted to feel it every moment for the rest of her life. She sighed, kissed his closed mouth.

  “Distract me, Ann. I mean it.”

  She said, frowning, “Whatever shall we do about Arabella and Justin?”

  “That was mighty fast. I expected a smoother, slower transition between passion and the damnable problems of the world. Here I am, just a poor man whose woman has used my man’s body for her pleasure, wrung me out so that I’m now only a husk, and is now unaware of the fact that I still have my hand on her beautiful bottom.”

  She moved and he moaned. “Stop that else I’ll never have another intelligent thing to say. No, distract me. I won’t complain again, I swear it. At least for ten minutes. Now, you’re worried about Bella and the earl.”

  He knew that he wouldn’t think long about them unless he removed himself from her. As much as he hated it, he pulled away from her, rose, and began to dress. She followed suit. Soon he was helping her fasten the buttons on her gown. He leaned down and kissed her throat. She was damp with her sweat. Her flesh tasted wonderful. “You know, Ann,” he said slowly, thoughtfully, “I believe that their difficulties involve the comte.”

  Lady Ann looked startled. “Gervaise? But how could they? I can’t imagine how Gervaise could have anything to do with their problems.”

  “I have seen Justin look at him. It is clear to me that he despises him. I would wager that he would challenge him to a duel if it weren’t against the law. Justin has enough brains to realize that he would have to flee the country were he to kill the comte, and if it came down to a duel, he would most certainly kill him.

  “But he wants to. It’s eating at him. Nor does he trust that young man. Not as far as he can spit. I believe he’s even made inquiries about him in London. But surely it’s too soon for him to have received any answer. I’ve tried to figure out why and the only thing I can come up with is that Justin is jealous of him.”

  “Jealous,” she repeated slowly. She tucked errant wisps of hair back into the smooth coil of hair at her neck. “Jealous? And that is why he despises him? How could Justin be jealous of any other man? He is handsome, well-spoken, a peer. It makes no sense to me.” It was her turn to sigh. “Perhaps you are right, but it seems improbable. Arabella doesn’t even know that Gervaise is alive. I would swear to that. I believe she even feels a dab of contempt for him. For his French blood? I don’t know, but that is possible. After all, she patterned herself after her father in so many ways, and he never kept his opinions about foreigners to himself.” She fell silent a moment, then said, “But you know, Paul, Justin hurt her very badly on their wedding night.”

  “Well, she was a virgin. Some pain was unavoidable.”

  “No, it was much more than that.” She told him about the shredded nightgown, the blood all over the bed. “When I spoke to Justin, I could tell that he was not only unhappy, he was angry. He was furious, but there was this iron control in him. Why? He wasn’t about to tell me. As for Arabella, she tried to act as though nothing was wrong. But you’ve seen for yourself that nothing is right.”

  “I had no idea,” he said as he gave her his arm and began to guide her away from the fishpond. “I would have thought that our confident little Bella would have most charmingly seduced her bridegroom without a by-your-leave. As to Justin, I cannot believe that he would be so green as to frighten her. So it’s more than that. Damn, this is difficult, Ann. You believe he forced her?”

  “Yes, I do. She’s afraid of him. My daughter, afraid! But I’ve watched her. She doesn’t want him to know it, she doesn’t want anyone to know it, but she is. We must do something, Paul. I know, I will simply tell the comte to leave. If he’s gone, then Justin will get over his anger, surely.”

  “No, it is not your decision, Ann. If Justin, for some strange reason, really believes that Arabella wants Gervaise rather than him, then it is his decision on what must be done. Since he hasn’t killed the young man and since he hasn’t ordered him to leave Evesham Abbey, well, then, he has something else in mind. Justin plays deeply. I believe he is known as a military man of clever stratagems. I would trust him. Besides, we have no choice at all.”

  “You know, now that I think about it, it was strange of him to speak to me at such length about Magdalaine.”

  “Good God, Gervaise wanted to know about Magdalaine? Why? What did he ask you?”

  “He wished me to tell him all about her life in England. Of course, I know very little of her. She was dead long before I came into the picture. Gervaise, mind you, then proceeded to tell me about her family’s rather unusual dowry settlement with the earl. It seemed that not all of her dowry was given to the earl upon their marriage. I really do not know why he told me all that, for Magdalaine died so very quickly after her return from France, indeed less than two years after her marriage to the earl.” She paused for a moment and then looked up with a sudden smile. “How very stupid of me, to be sure. Paul, you were attending her when she died, were you not? Gervaise should speak to you if he wishes to know more about his aunt.”

  Dr. Branyon looked away from her. When he finally spoke, his voice was uncommonly grim. “Yes, I was with Magdalaine when she died. As to Magdalaine’s dowry, I know nothing of her family’s arrangement with the earl. But why, I wonder, did our little French cock tell you all that? He gave no reason, no explanation for it?”

  “No, not really.”

  As they wended their way through the geometric patterns of the parterre, he asked, “Did the comte wish to know anything else from you, Ann?”

  “Nothing of importance, really, but he did nearly make me laugh aloud. He wondered about the Strafford jewels. He thought that as the countess, I must have a jewel box worth a king’s ransom. I told him it wasn’t at all the case.”

  “Hmm,” was all that Dr. Branyon replied until they reached the front steps of Evesham Abbey. He took Lady Ann’s hand to his and squeezed it. He looked deeply into those beautiful eyes of hers. “Listen to me. You’re now mine, Ann, all of you. I will love you until I pass to the hereafter, then if my soul is hovering about, it will continue to love you. Let’s not wait eight more months. Marry me, Ann. Soon. Very soon.”

  She was staring up at his mouth. “Soon,” he said again, and his voice wasn’t steady. “You know, people can tell when a woman is well-loved. Already there is a wicked sparkle in your eyes and that smile of yours would take the skin off an orange it’s so brilliant.”

  “Is tomorrow too late?”

  He laughed, hugged her, uncaring if every servant in Evesham Abbey was watching. “Let’s wait only until we can solve this matter between Justin and Arabella. Then we won’t have to think of a single thing other than ourselves.”

  “I will spea
k to Justin right now.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “No, let’s think about this a bit more. Let me speak to Arabella.”

  “All right, but do it quickly. Perhaps we will solve all their problems by Friday?”

  “I’ll try my damndest. Ann?”

  “Yes?” She was sliding her palms over his chest. He grabbed them and held them tightly in his own.

  “Will you mind being married to a simple doctor?”

  He was deadly serious and she knew it. She said calmly, her spirit radiant in her words, “I’ve always believed your intelligence of the highest order. Never have I believed you at all simple. That was a foolish question.”

  He threw his head back and laughed deeply.

  Her voice was low now, so serious, he felt a catch in his throat as she said, “I would marry you if you were but a simple farmer. It matters nothing to me. This is Arabella’s home, not mine. It never was my home. My home is with you, Paul. I want only to be with you. Forever.”

  “I am very glad that you came into my life,” he said, then he kissed her, lightly touching his fingertips to her lips as he took his leave. He doubted he could speak another sensible word if his life depended on it.

  17

  Why can I not feel anything? Please, God, let me feel something. Is it your punishment for my sin? Oh, please, let me feel my love for him. Just once.

  His lips roamed hungrily over her small uptilted breasts, and she wound her fingers in his short black curling hair to press him harder against her. He thought her gesture borne of a desire that matched his own and suckled hard at her breast. He was young, enthusiastic, and his confidence in himself was profound.

  She gritted her teeth at the pain, willing herself not to cry out. She brought her hands up to cup his smooth chin and eased his mouth away from her breast to her lips. His beautiful dark eyes were nearly black with his lust, and she saw a gleam of impatience, she knew it. It was impatience. She wasn’t as other women. She was slow. She wasn’t enough of a woman for him. Oh, God, she had to do something. She was afraid he would guess that all his caresses, his kisses, the stroking of his hands, did not bring her pleasure, indeed, froze all feeling inside her. Instinctively she moaned softly into his mouth and arched up against him. She felt a quickening in him, and for an instant knew an overwhelming desire to push him off her, to beg him not to drive his man’s sex into her. She hated it beyond anything. She held her breath, ashamed at such unnatural thoughts, and suffered his grinding mouth and probing tongue. She must remember that he loved her, that, above all things, she did not want to lose him, to give him a disgust of her.