Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1)

by Jackie Ivie

  Her eyes widened, and her mouth made a perfect circle as she mimicked his voice, then she clapped her hands over her lips.

  “On my! I spoke just like you, My Lord! How is such a thing possible?”

  “Because you’re one hell of an actress, my love.”

  “You call me love, but I doubt you mean it. In fact, you don’t seem fond of me at all, are you?”

  He stood away from the chair and sighed. Helene couldn’t take her eyes from him. Traveling through the night could even be said to agree with him, although the area under his eyes was dark, and his clothes were a bit rumpled. Even so, he’d cut a fine path anywhere he chose.

  “You didn’t answer my question, My Lord.”

  “Call me Gil, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Do you speak such expletives as a normal course? Yes, I suppose you do. Fair enough. Don’t answer my question then, and I shall invent the course of events. I must be good at that, or you wouldn’t call me a liar, would you?”

  “Helen tricked me into marrying you. I can’t possibly be fond of you, because I don’t bloody know you. Hell, you don’t even know yourself.”

  She fiddled with a pearl button on her glove. It gave her something to do rather than continue to try and form words while looking at him. The man was more than handsome. He was wit-stealing beautiful. He was taking hers.

  “You say…um. Helen tricked you? I thought you had more sense. At least, Lady Bridget says as much.”

  “I do have better sense, but the bitch blackmailed me, damn it. Weren’t you listening?”

  “Blackmailed you? Helen? What did you do? Gerard perhaps…but Helen? Please, Gil. She’s no match for you.”

  She giggled and saw he didn’t like it. She immediately sobered.

  “You might think it amusing, but I’m up to here with the Bingham’s, including you.”

  He gestured well over his head, but she found it much more interesting watching where his skin darkened along his jaw line.

  “Very well. I’m damned by my lineage. If that’s the best you can do, you’re wasting your time and mine. I still don’t know why I would consent to Helen’s trickery, if that’s what it was. For all I know, you had a grand passion for her, which would easily explain your temper thus far this morn, wouldn’t it?”

  “She was prepared to foist her bastard on the world and claim it as mine. That’s what she did.”

  Helene gasped. “You, Sir, are no gentleman. I’ve had my fill of you, too. Here I’ve been forced to sit, listening, and all I can think is how stupid I must’ve been to agree to this wedding. I would never have encouraged such a churlish fellow as yourself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m retiring before I need smelling salts.”

  She stood and was shoved back so quickly, she didn’t even see him move.

  “You aren’t going anywhere until I say so. Is that perfectly understood?”

  “Is this how you accomplished our wedding, Lord Tremayne? I can hardly stand against your physical presence, and well you know it. Fine. Bully me and see how far it gets you!”

  “Oh, you didn’t have to be bullied, Brandy. I just had to do this.”

  Helene didn’t see it coming. If she had, she would’ve readied a defense. As it was, the touch of his lips pushing against hers made such a riot of sensation crash through her stomach, she felt lightheaded, and then she stiffened. Went cold. Terrified. It was her whimper that stopped him, and he looked as disbelieving as she felt when he lifted his head.

  “Now do you know why I married you?”

  He asked it in a soft tone that caused shivers. She shook her head and then had to consciously move her hands from his chest. Laws, but even through her gloves and his cambric shirt, she’d felt his heart beating. The sensation was incredible; vaguely stirring something in her breast…and yet so frightening it stole her breath.

  “Oh. I think you’ll figure it out.”

  He didn’t look back as he walked away. And blast it all, if her eyes didn’t follow him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I’m not entirely sure, Gillian, but it looks as if she’s leaving you.”

  It was his aunt Bridget. Talking nonsense. Gil moved his head back to contemplation of the fireplace.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to do something about it?”

  “My head hurts too much for riddles, Bridget, and even if you’re my favorite relative, I’m not listening. The chit has nowhere to go and no funds.”

  “Well, she’s got two feet. If I’m not mistaken, she was using them to leave over an hour ago. And she was wearing one of my traveling cloaks.”

  “Why the blazes didn’t you say something sooner?” Gil leapt from his chair, disturbing the spaniel in his lap.

  “I thought she was just taking some air.”

  “By God, she can’t leave me! She already made me the laughingstock of London, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I’m so glad you’re concerned for her welfare, Gil, my love. Why, a body would think you’re enamored of her.”

  “She may’ve changed, Bridget, although I have my doubts about that, but she’s still a constant reminder of my stupidity, now isn’t she?”

  “I think she actually saved you from a fate worse than death.”

  “Marriage to Helen?” He asked it as he shoved his feet into his boots.

  “Exactly.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there, see a mount readied and brought around to the front stoop.”

  “Already seen to, love.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “You’re very sure of me, aren’t you?”

  “Someone in this crazed world has to be. You will bring her back, won’t you?”

  “Of course. My reputation won’t survive otherwise.”

  “You’ll not count yourself lucky that she just disappeared?”

  “Do I look like I’m giving chase or not?”

  He blew her a kiss from the door and shrugged into his jacket in the next motion. This was ridiculous. Why couldn’t the girl accept things the way they were? He hadn’t had any sleep, he’d driven his chestnuts just like Reginald warned him he would, and his eyes felt filled with gravel.

  “The stupid chit,” he muttered. There were worse fates than marriage to him. She’d already experienced some. Even if she hadn’t been in the French revolution and seen her parents guillotined, she’d still endured many horrors in the sanatorium.

  It was odd, but she acted like his kiss was the most horrid thing he could’ve done to her. He wondered, as he pulled himself into the saddle, if that was what she ran from.

  “Did Lady Tremayne take the main road or the path, Witherspoon?” he asked.

  “Neither, My Lord. She set off right into the woods over yonder. You’ll bring her back, won’t you?”

  Gill looked heavenward for a moment before looking back to his butler. “I am in the saddle, Witherspoon, and I am giving chase.”

  “Just so, My Lord.”

  It took him ten minutes to find her, and she was ridiculously easy to spot. With Bridget’s puce-green traveling cape trimmed in pink, she’d stand out anywhere. Gil was surprised she hadn’t frightened the woodland creatures with the color.

  She looked over her shoulder at him, and actually walked faster. She really should watch where she was going, however. He watched as she stumbled, before falling into a ditch, but her cry of pain had him off the horse and beside her instantly.

  Good. She still breathed. And that’s when he got angry.

  “Well? Are you hurt? Because if you aren’t, by God, I’ll hurt you. Damn everything, Helene! Don’t you know better than to go running headlong about the estate, getting into God knows what trouble?”

  “I’m never hurt, My Lord.”

  She looked at him with her burgundy eyes, and he smiled.

  “That much I believe.”

  “Why didn’t you just let me go? I wouldn’t have made trouble.”

  She frowned, which made the little scar on her cheek dimple, and Gil fought a sud
den impulse to touch it.

  “Your middle name should be trouble, My Lady.”

  She started to stand but crumpled when her ankle gave.

  “Not hurt?” he queried nonchalantly.

  “It’s not so much that I can’t—”

  Her words ended on a gasp as she tried to stand again. Gil watched her tears dry immediately after appearing in her eyes. That’s when he knew he didn’t want Brandy back, but at least Helene wasn’t crying. That was an improvement — or so he thought.

  “You can’t walk any farther, love. Sorry.”

  He watched her color at his whisper, as if she’d never had a man, let alone whored with God alone knew how many. It was amazing what the mind could forget when it wished.

  “I...I can make it. Just give me a moment.”

  “We have all the moments in the world, darling. Take your time.’’

  He stretched out beside her and closed his eyes.

  ***

  Helene watched him sleep and knew exactly when it began. His breathing deepened, and he made the strangest noise, like he was grumbling at her each time he sucked in air. She blushed when she realized she was staring.

  When Bridget first described him, Helene had demurred. She’d convinced herself it wasn’t real. She couldn’t be wed! She didn’t want a husband. After what Gerard tried to do to her each time he was alone with her, she didn’t want any man’s attentions, especially one who made Bridget’s voice deepen when she spoke of him.

  Bridget mentioned Gil’s disappointment at being so young when the war began, and then his older brother died, forcing Gil to assume the title. He spent many years prowling about London, drinking and gaming through his disillusionment over the War Department’s refusal to sell him a commission.

  He wanted to kill other human beings?

  It was a wonder his mother hadn’t collapsed. Of course, Bridget told her how near the dowager was at that state when Gil suddenly married without warning.

  The truth would probably kill her.

  She should probably try her ankle again. It was clear he wouldn’t stop her. He was still snoring. He had one arm over his face so she couldn’t examine it, but he should’ve at least changed since his arrival. He was wearing wrinkled drain-pipe trousers, cambric shirt, and a jacket he probably donned the previous night before. He wasn’t dressed for riding. He was extremely unkempt and smelled of whiskey. His boots were in sore need of a good blacking, too.

  “Am I passing your inspection, love?”

  “I wasn’t inspecting. Thank you very much.”

  Why deny it? There’s no one to impress, and I already know how I fire your blood. At least, Brandy always told me so.”

  Who is this Brandy? You continually toss her at me, and I grow tired of it.”

  “Of course you do. And well, you should. Brandy was a wench I knew. I rather liked her. She called me her dream-man.”

  “Of all the men I could not remember marrying, you’re the least likely candidate, My Lord. I little care how many women referred to you as such.”

  He chuckled and rolled onto his chest, tucking a section of her skirt under him as he did so. Helene chose not to notice. He may have done it inadvertently, and if she noticed, well, it would mean she cared.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you on that subject, because I am most certainly the man you married. Of course, if another suitable candidate could be plucked from the air, I might not even fight myself free of you.”

  “The nerve! I was running from you, Sir! Now you tell me you’d let me go? What do you take me for, an idiot?”

  Gil pulled a bit on her skirt. Helene rolled alongside him, stiffening as she came into contact with his leg.

  “Call me strange, but despite every indication, I most certainly don’t take you for an idiot, Helene. I made that mistake once before.”

  He bent his mouth to hers, and her eyes widened in horror as she realized what he intended. Before she could stop, the most ear-shattering screech came from her mouth. She clamped her hand over it as her body shuddered with the echo of her voice drifting into the trees.

  Oh…God!” Tears filled her eyes as she stared at him, seeing a different scene unfolding before her eyes.

  “Stop them! Can’t you see what they’re doing?” She grabbed Gil’s lapels and yanked him to her, shouting into his ear. “They’ll die! Stop them, Sherry, stop them! My mama did nothing. She—. Sherry! Save them!”

  “They can’t be saved, you stupid girl. Now move yer arse afore we’re noticed.”

  “God, why doesn’t she hear me? Isn’t there a God, anymore?”

  “That’s right, Brandy. There’s no God. Would He let the comte and his family git their fool heads chopped off like that?”

  “No.”

  The last word came out in an emotionless whisper, and then she heard someone calling her name. But how would anyone in Paris know her as Helene?

  “Helene? Stop.”

  Warm breath caressed her cheek, helping dissolve the bloody scene. She turned subconsciously to him, snuggling her nose under his chin and waiting for her trembling to pass. No one would know if she needed someone for a span. Where was the harm in holding to another human being for a moment? She knew she couldn’t stay, because someone might find out, and there would be the devil to pay. The devil always got his due. So she pulled back, and let him go. She didn’t dare look at anything other than his chin.

  “That was a fine piece of acting, my dear. Remind me to book the theater the next time you decide to favor me with it.”

  She was thankful she wasn’t looking him in the eye. The disdain in his voice carried enough condemnation. “I’m sorry, My Lord. Truly, I am.”

  He frowned, but she didn’t care as long as he let her up. She tugged on her skirt.

  “You’re ready to return to the family fold, are you? Thank goodness for small favors. As it is, Bridget will be tearing the towels apart in her anxiety over what I might be doing to you.”

  “Will you let me up now, Lord Tremayne?”

  “We’re married, love. You can call me Gil. It’s the proper thing to do, I’m told, so don’t worry your little head over such a trifle.”

  “You’re funning with me, aren’t you...Gil?” She stumbled on the name.

  “Why, darling, I never fun when I’ve got a woman trapped like this. There are much more serious things I could do.”

  She shook her head frantically.

  “Brandy, you hurt me to the quick, you do.”

  “Gil—”

  “I know. You have no idea who Brandy is, so humor me. She would’ve liked it if I did this.”

  He rolled on top of her so easily, she wondered if she were really fighting. Why else would she make it easy for him to perch atop her, imprisoning her legs with his? His blue eyes were dark with the strangest expression, too.

  “Brandy would’ve really liked it.” He sucked on her chin, and she trembled, instinctively knowing not to struggle.

  “No pleas for your virtue, Helene?”

  He looked at her so closely, she could see each individual eyelash. She didn’t dare move, even to blink. He frowned at her compliant state, just as she knew he would, before he lowered his lips to hers, teasing her lower lip with both of his.

  “No, Gil. Please, no.”

  “My fine lady doth protest too much, I think.” The words were nuzzled against her lips.

  “I’ll do anything, Gil!” She squirmed.

  “Really?”

  “Just don’t touch my heart then.” Her whisper trembled. It matched the shivering overtaking her.

  “And how do you suggest I do that?”

  His breath touched her ear. The sensation was almost identical to when the dots danced before her eyes, but her entire body felt it, and she opened her mouth to gain breath.

  “Don’t be gentle, My Lord. Be quick and abrupt. Take what you want and leave me nothing, understand? I don’t think I can do it otherwise.”

  He chuckled. “C
ouldn’t you now? Well…that’s not what your skin is telling me.”

  “Fine. I can’t stop you. Go ahead. Take your pleasure.”

  “So that’s the way of it? I do understand, love, but I’m a different sort of lover than you’re used to. I never take a woman quickly. It spoils my fun as well as hers. I’m one to take my time, just as I’m doing now. Can’t you feel it?”

  Lord, could she! Helene’s scalp tingled with his exploration of her throat, his mouth running up against the ties of Bridget’s cloak. He ran his tongue along the string.

  “You…don’t know what you do!”

  He chuckled again. Since he was directly above the cloak’s opening, his breath caressed skin that never felt the like. Despite her best efforts, Helene stirred against him, undulating her body like she’d seen Sherry do. Only it wasn’t a filthy movement, it was an inevitable one.

  “I know exactly what I’m doing, darling. It’s you who’s worried. Am I not a proficient enough lover? I admit I’m a tad rusty, but I’ll do my best by you, and I guarantee I won’t mark you afterward.”

  “M...mark me?” Shudders made the words tremble.

  He lifted his head and smiled. “Have you forgotten your last lover’s tribute so soon? Really darling, I expected better.”

  His tone changed, tightening just enough that she stiffened again.

  “Don’t fret so. I’ll be much gentler than he was, more loving and willing to give pleasure. I promise.”

  He moved to straddle her as he spoke, lulling her with his words. And then he started ripping at the shoulder of her cloak and then her gown. Helene struggled then, hammering at his arms. He acted like it was nothing. When he finished yanking as much of her dress off as he wished, cool air greeted her skin, but he wasn’t looking at his handiwork. His eyes were affixed to hers.

  “You can cease the dramatics, Madame. I’d never take what isn’t freely given, unlike your usual experience.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She reached to hold her clothing together, but he caught her hands and held them with one of his. She couldn’t fight him — he’d already proven that — and now he was proving what a barbarian he was, too.