Discreet Gentleman Book One: A Discreet Gentleman of Discovery

by Tualla, Kris

  No. No. You delight me.

  Then he cupped her cheeks in his huge callused hands and leaned down as if to kiss her. He paused inches away from her parted lips and mouthed: I love you, wife.

  "I love you, husband," she whispered.

  His lips brushed hers and her entire body tingled in response. The knowledge that Brander would be in her marriage bed -- not Jarl -- filled her with soul-deep relief more profound than she could describe.

  All she had to do was survive the wedding feast that now celebrated Jarl and Freydis, shoulder the weight of myriad stares, and answer anyone who was brave enough to ask her why she married the damaged brother instead of the heir.

  She had faced worse. But it would be helpful to her nerves if she could recall when, exactly.

  Brander moved to a table right below the high seats intended for the bride and groom and their parents. He had his wallet in hand and after he sat he began to write. His hand moved quickly, he was absorbed in his task. Regin accepted two glasses of wine and carried one to him, wondering what he was applying himself to so intently.

  He mimicked a toast when she asked.

  For my brother.

  "Oh." That was admirable. "Who will read it? Roald?"

  Brander's mouth twisted in consideration. He nodded slowly.

  Yes.

  "Do you want me to ask him?"

  Yes. Thank you.

  That task completed, Regin took her seat beside Brander. Platters of food appeared, goblets were filled with wine or akevitt, musicians played. Jarl had spared no expense in his celebration and the exchange of brides hadn't had any visible effect on the press of guests.

  When the toasting began, Roald came to retrieve the paper from Brander. He read it silently, and then stared at his eldest brother in clear disbelief. "Is this true?"

  Yes.

  "What did you write?" Regin asked, alarmed. She turned to Roald. "What did he write?"

  Brander rested a heavy hand on her arm. He shook his head at her before he nodded to Roald. She would have to wait and hear Brander's sentiments along with everyone else. She took a hefty gulp of wine to drown her dread.

  Roald stepped to the middle of the room and lifted a cup in one hand. "Lord Jarl, our brother Brander has written a toast. He asked if I would read it. May I?"

  Jarl looked at Brander for the first time since the meal began. He was obviously weighing his permission against what mischief his unconventional brother might spark in the midst of his wedding feast. Regin watched her husband, but he only gave Jarl a sincere-looking smile.

  "Go on," Jarl consented with a dismissive flip of his hand.

  Roald cleared his throat and began to read, "I congratulate my brother, Jarl, on his marriage today. I offer my best wishes for his continued health, long life, and connubial bliss."

  Jarl dipped his chin toward Brander in careful acknowledgement. Regin thought Brander's words were quite generous considering the way he had been treated by his sibling.

  "I also would like to take the opportunity to make a wedding announcement of my own..." Roald paused as every person in the room shifted and silenced.

  Regin held her breath.

  "Because I successfully discerned the opium killer who murdered our brother Eskil, tracked the man from Christiania to Søm, and brought him to justice, I will receive a reward from King Frederick IV upon my return to that city." Roald stopped again as a wave of incredulity mumbled through the hall. Regin turned to look at Brander. He grinned at her, eyes twinkling.

  Jarl stood at that. "What reward?" he demanded.

  Roald faced the paper. "I will receive a title and land of my own."

  All eyes rested on the eldest Hansen son. The son who was deaf. The son who was passed over as heir. The son who disappeared eight years ago and was an embarrassment to the family.

  The son who was now receiving a title and land from their king.

  A long moment passed before Brander's words solidified in Regin's mind. Without thinking about it, she rose to her feet. She began to clap her hands in tribute to what Brander accomplished.

  Olvir joined her, so two claps echoed in the huge room.

  As minutes ticked by in slow passage, guests began to stand and join the applause until finally the entire crowd -- including a reluctant Jarl -- was thundering their recognition of Brander's success.

  He blushed, ascended to stand, and bowed deeply to the room.

  Lord Balder was the last man to rise to his feet. His large arthritic hands bounced soundlessly against each other. He didn't look at Brander but he fixed a stern gaze on Regin, as if the idea that his firstborn son was capable, married and royally endowed was beyond his comprehension.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  "I'm going up to my chamber," Regin said. "Will you come up soon?"

  How long?

  "Half an hour?"

  Brander swallowed, his throat suddenly dry: Yes.

  She reached up to kiss him before swishing through the crowd and out the door. Brander sat and guzzled a mug of ale, unable to rinse away the feel of her lips on his. He selected a clean sheet of paper and, bending his head over the table, began to write. When he finished, he slipped from the Great Hall without a word to anyone and sought his new wife's bedchamber.

  He knocked on her door and waited. Marthe pulled it open. She curtsied and stepped past him. When he didn't move, she shoved him through the door and pulled it shut behind him.

  Brander sucked a breath at the vision of Regin sitting by the fire, sipping burgundy wine from a crystal goblet. She wore a lacy white gown of very thin linen under a dressing gown of pale blue satin. The dressing gown gaped enough for him to see the curved and peaked outline of her bosom in the fire's light. His manhood, long neglected, stirred with purpose.

  The rest of him was frozen, unable to approach her.

  "Where did you get the sword?" she asked.

  His palm caressed the jeweled scabbard before he leaned over her desk and wrote: My grandfather gave it to me when I was fifteen. I forgot it the last time I left Hansen Hall, but not this time.

  "It's beautiful."

  Yes.

  Her expression faltered. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

  He shook his head and gave a little shrug, then moved closer and handed her one of the papers he wrote. She looked at it curiously. Then she read it aloud and he watched her lips moving.

  My dearest wife,

  I never thought to write those words in my lifetime. But you have bewitched me. Today I took vows that I swore I never would. I love you more than I can express.

  Regin looked up at him and smiled. "I love you, too."

  At that instant Brander wished he could freeze time. That this moment of perfection could be preserved for all eternity and what would follow might never need to happen. If only that could be true. Instead, he handed her the next paper.

  I never planned to marry. My few experiences bedding women have shown me that -- in my deafness -- I made sounds that were disgusting to them. I don't intend to, but it seems I am unable to stop myself.

  Regin's features twisted. "Are you serious?"

  Yes. More than you know.

  "But... when we were under the carriage..." She rose to her feet. Her dressing gown opened and he could see the dark shadow of hair at the apex of her thighs. Desire turned him to wood. "What are you trying to tell me?"

  He handed her the last of his prewritten sheets.

  Now that you know, and before anything transpires between us, you may choose to forgo the marriage act. I don't wish to frighten you, nor do I want you to be disgusted by your husband. I promise that I will remain faithful to you. I have lived long without this particular release and can continue to do so.

  Regin's chin jutted forward and her eyes darkened to a dangerous black in the firelight.

  "Perhaps you can. But I cannot!" she declared.

  He faltered. He had not expected that response, one that both alarmed and aroused him. But he needed
to make her understand before it was too late and all was ruined.

  I'll make noise! It will be bad!

  Regin got a queer look on her face. She folded her arms across her chest, making her breasts swell above them. Brander could not stop himself from noticing. His groin ached painfully with need of her. He cursed his deafness.

  "I might fart in my sleep," she said. "Perhaps you'll want to sleep in another room."

  Her incongruous change of subject threw Brander off balance. He knew what sleeping away from her would be like. He scribbled: No! I've had quite enough of sleeping alone.

  "But..."

  He shook his head and put up a hand to stop her.

  The two nights you slept in my arms under the carriage were the most endearing two nights in my memory. You are my wife. I love you. I don't care if you fart. I'll get used to it.

  He looked up from his paper and saw her self-satisfied grin.

  What?

  "The two nights I slept in your arms were the most endearing two nights in my memory, as well. You are my husband. I love you. I don't care if you make noise. I'll get used to it."

  Understanding tingled through him and with it came a sense of freedom as he had never known. He stepped out from decades of fear into unconditional acceptance. His soul sang a song in response, more beautiful than any he remembered.

  Then she pulled the graphite stick from his fingers and turned the paper over. She wrote: The marriage bed is comprised of passion and pleasure, intimacy and honesty; of laying down and taking up. The sounds we make together will be a beautiful symphony. I'll take up your groans and treasure them in my heart because they are proof of your love for me. Proof of your trust in me, your wife.

  Brander stared at her.

  You are not afraid?

  A smile sculpted her expression and she sashayed up close to him. "Do I look afraid?"

  He could smell the scent of her lemon soap rising on the heat of her skin. That delicate aroma tore down the last of his barricades. The transformation shimmied through him and shook away the remnants of his trepidation. All he wanted to do was love his wife as best he knew how and that would require time; such a feat must not be rushed. He led Regin back to her seat by the fire and refilled her wine glass.

  Stay there.

  He unbuckled his heavily jeweled belt and leaned the sword and scabbard against the wall. He sat and pulled off his tall boots and his stockings. Then he removed his doublet and folded it on top of the coffer at the foot of her bed. Stripped to his trousers and shirt, he poured himself a glass of the pungent wine.

  Regin curled in her seat and watched him. Her cheeks flushed and her eyelids drooped in a way that nearly finished him on the spot. He held the wine glass in one hand. With the other he combed his fingers through her hair from scalp to tip.

  She pressed her head into his hand and closed her eyes.

  He knelt beside her and buried his face in her curls. Her hair was so soft. The scent of her lemon soap became home to him. He tickled his tongue into the whorl of her ear. He kissed the hidden nape of her neck. She shivered when he did those things and he smiled.

  Brander rose and went to the ewer of water. He washed and dried his face first, and combed his hair. Then he pushed his trousers to the floor and stepped out of them. He dipped a towel into the hot water and scrubbed his legs. He sat and washed his feet. Regin continued to watch him over the rim of her goblet, her expression a play of curiosity and anticipation.

  In a quick move he pulled his shirt over his head. As he washed, the hairs on his chest curled when his damp skin puckered in the chill of the room. He turned to Regin; her lips were parted and her eyes wide.

  Wash my back?

  She swallowed visibly and nodded. Setting her wine aside, she stood and took the towel. He gave her his back and closed his eyes. The linen towel caressed him, wet and warm, circling over his torso in a slow, seductive dance. Regin washed his shoulders, under his arms, his hips. She washed parts of him already clean and he was certain she enjoyed touching him.

  He removed his short braies and stood naked and erect before her. He bent to take the towel back, but she held it out of his reach. A mischievous grin spread her cheeks. She went to the commode and selected a clean towel, wet it, and returned. Brander's heart pounded with disbelief; was she intending to wash his privates?

  Yes, it seemed she was.

  He sucked a surprised breath when the hot towel cradled him. Water dribbled down his thighs. He rested a hand on Regin's shoulder to steady himself and he closed his eyes again. But this caress was not in any way relaxing; he tensed against his arousal so it wouldn't subdue him too quickly. When she began to dry him, he released a breath he wasn't aware he held.

  Brander opened his eyes when her ministrations stopped. Regin gazed up at him so lovingly that his heart overfilled his chest.

  You are beautiful, she motioned. So very beautiful.

  He coughed a little chuckle.

  Women are beautiful.

  She lifted one brow. "Are you calling me a liar?"

  No. Never my love.

  He slid his knuckles from her temple to her cheek, under her chin, and down her throat. With both hands he pushed the dressing gown off her shoulders and she let it fall to the floor unheeded.

  His hands moved over her nightgown, feeling her curves through the thin fabric. He could feel the hardening tips of her breasts, the spongy softness of her pubic hair, the firm roundness of her buttocks. Kneeling, he ran his hands down her legs and over her ankles. Then his hands moved under the hem of her garment and slowly worked their way back up.

  Her fists gripped his shoulders now, and by the pressure of her fingers he knew she was succumbing to his seduction. His fingertips skirted around her mound and caressed her hips and belly. He felt gooseflesh rise under his touch. His fingers traced her narrow waist, brushed up the sides of her ribs, and circled her breasts. They moved along her collarbone, then her shoulders. Behind her neck. Over her head, taking her nightgown with them.

  He stepped back to look at her.

  Her skin glowed golden in the firelight, until she blushed prettily from her brow to her belly. She was more strapping than he expected, but her muscles were long and lean, not bulky and rounded like his. Her hair was like a cape of glossy fur. It spread over her back and hung below her waist. He saw her pulse thrum in her throat. There was no blue left in her eyes, only the black depths of arousal.

  Brander held out his hand. Together they crossed to the bed, where the covers were turned back and plumped pillows waited. Regin crawled onto the mattress and rolled to her back. Her dark hair spilled around her like ink on parchment. She was so beautiful he couldn't fully believe she was real.

  She reached for him and he knelt beside her. He shook his head again and put up his palm.

  I want to know you.

  "Know me?" she asked.

  Yes. I want to feel you and smell you and taste you and see you.

  Her mouth formed an O but he couldn't know if she made any sound. So he smiled and leaned over to kiss her, only touching her with his lips. Her mouth opened to welcome him and his tongue explored the hot, winey taste of her. Her hands tangled in his hair and she tried to pull him closer.

  Instead, he kissed her cheeks, her chin. When he kissed her throat, her pulse beat hard against his lips. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. He inhaled the heady scent of her skin. He sucked and kissed the hollow of her shoulder.

  Regin was breathing harder; he felt her breath on his cheek. He placed one hand at the base of her throat and lightly rested two fingers on her larynx; he wanted to feel if she made any sound. He took her hand and traced her palm with his tongue. He put each finger in his mouth and drew it slowly through his lips. She was delicious.

  Then he lifted her arm over her head and skimmed his palm down its length. He kissed the inside of her wrist. Then the bend of her elbow. He nipped at the muscle in front of her armpit and placed a series of kisses aroun
d the swell of her breast.

  Her larynx vibrated. Brander smiled.

  His mouth closed over one peak. He swirled his tongue and suckled, watching the other one respond to the teasing of his hand. Then he tasted that one.

  Regin was making sound again, and her breaths were uneven. Her knees bent a little and she twisted toward him.

  He slid his hand to her belly and stroked her soft skin in a slowly widening circle until he encountered her hips, the tops of her thighs, and the patch of black curls at their juncture. She lifted her hips, pressing against his hand.

  Brander smiled lazily. Though his own anticipation throbbed through his groin, he was determined to finish what he started. He kissed her belly and each hip bone before nuzzling the thatch over her mound. He wiggled a hand between her thighs, but she threw them wide, begging. Her larynx vibrated in short bursts with every staccato breath.

  He kissed the inside of her thighs, one then the other. He could see his target amidst the curls. Folds of dark skin surrounding a narrow breach. He lowered his head and his tongue probed the secrets that her body held.

  Regin's thighs tightened against his ears and he gripped them with both hands. He could see the wonderment on her face and no longer needed to feel vibrations to know her response. Her eyes closed and her mouth opened. Her back arched.

  She squirmed and held onto hanks of his hair. The more he explored her womanhood, the more violent her thrusts. Then she stiffened and her body jerked, jerked again, and again. And then it melted into the mattress.

  Brander rose up and looked at her. Though she still gasped, a soft smile and closed eyes defined her euphoric state. Then her eyes opened sleepily. She spread her legs and reached for him.

  He plunged into her, sheathing himself to the hilt in the most welcoming of scabbards. He stilled for a moment, gathering himself, but Regin's hands held his hips. She began to slide him out of her and back in again.

  Pushed by need and desire beyond his imagination, Brander moved on his own. Deeper, harder, faster. Regin thrust herself against him in urgent answer. He smelled her skin, felt her heat, tasted her mouth. She wrapped her legs around him and held onto his shoulders. His movements were fierce, his consumption of her complete.