by Meara Platt
He stood dangerously close.
Not that she was in any danger. He was the one who needed to be on alert to protect himself from her wanton impulses.
Would he notice if she kissed his neck?
Surely he wouldn’t mind if she nibbled along its thick, corded muscles instead of munching on the kippers that looked quite dead on the serving plate?
“Lettie? Stop fidgeting and tell me what you have in mind.”
She couldn’t help but fidget. He was standing so close, she felt the heat of his body and ached to nestle against his hard chest. He arched an eyebrow and frowned at her in that seductively stern way that never failed to melt her heart and render her utterly mindless. And what was she to tell him? She had no idea where they should go because Jeremiah hadn’t seen fit to help her out last night.
She closed her eyes and blurted the first thing that sprang to mind. “Battlefield.” She opened her eyes and smiled at him.
He didn’t smile back. “You realize it is nothing more than an empty field. The bodies have long since been removed and all signs of blood and battle cleared away by nature’s passage of time.”
“I do realize that, which is why... um, immediately after we inspect the battlefield, we’re going... um, to the town hall to look at the relics and read the historical accounts stored there commemorating the battle of Towton.” There! That made sense, didn’t it? “Pay particular attention to all mentions of wolves or roses.”
“Where’s Frances? Has she come downstairs yet?”
At that moment, a butler strode in. “Lady Frances always takes her breakfast in her bedchamber, but she bid me to see to your comforts. Please help yourselves to all that Cook has prepared. We usually serve coffee, but tea and cocoa are also available. You need only ask.”
“Coffee’s good for me,” Brynne said, reaching for a plate and handing it to Lettie.
He waited for her to start serving herself and followed after her, systematically piling the breakfast offerings onto his plate. He scooped a large spoonful of eggs, sausages, and everything else contained in each of the twelve salvers.
She supposed it took a good appetite to maintain his firmly toned and muscled body. He was a big man, after all.
She took two small kippers, two small sausages, and one poached egg. He glanced at her plate and laughed gently. “That would keep me alive for about five minutes.”
She stared at his plate. “And that,” she said with an equally affectionate laugh, “would put me into my grave in less than five minutes.”
They settled across from each other because that was Brynne’s way, to keep physically distant from her whenever possible. They said nothing to each other while the butler served their coffee.
But once she was alone with Brynne, she felt as though she ought to be talking. “What do you think of today’s plan?”
“It’s a fine one, Lettie.” He gazed at her with remarkable tenderness. “Don’t be too disappointed if nothing comes of it.”
“That’s the spirit,” she teased. “Imagine where we’d be today if Wellington had your attitude when planning the battle strategy for Waterloo.” She pursed her lips in mock despair. “Napoleon’s too strong,” she whined. “We’ll never defeat him. Let’s just go home and eat kippers until the little Corsican invades our shores.”
His smile reached into his gorgeous dark eyes. “Point taken, you impertinent little baggage. Off to the battlefield, it is. But we can’t stay long if you intend to fit in a search of the town hall records as well. Frances said we’re all to dine at Lord de Wolfe’s tonight.”
She gobbled down the one lone kipper remaining on her breakfast plate. “I’m ready.”
“So am I.” He finished the last of his coffee and set the cup back on its saucer then rose from the table.
Within the hour she and Brynne were at the site of one of the many battlefields where the Yorkist forces had engaged the Lancastrians and ultimately defeated them on that pivotal day. They said nothing to each other as they walked side by side along the snow covered field. Lettie was hoping to sense something about Brynne’s family history here, but she felt nothing other than a harsh wind that reached into her bones despite the layers of clothing she had on. Woolen gown and two layers of undergarments, woolen stockings, gloves, scarf, hat, cloak.
Nothing seemed to keep her warm.
But she kept walking and searching not only in the open field, but through ancient paths that cut through the woods as well. They had been walking for well over an hour, possibly two, when Brynne surprised her by placing his hands on her shoulders and drawing her up against him. “Enough, Lettie. It’s too cold for you out here.”
He must have been watching her and noticed her shivering, for he rubbed his hands up and down her back in firm and efficient strokes that he’d surely learned when warding off cold in the years he’d served under Wellington. “It’s even too cold for the ghosts of those dead warriors,” he said wryly. “Let’s head back to the carriage before frostbite sets in and damages that perfect, little body of yours.”
“You think my body’s perfect?”
“Come along. Your lips are blue and your teeth are chattering.” He drew her hard up against him and kept an arm around her shoulders so that she fed off his heat as they trudged back to the carriage. “Did you sense anything useful?”
“No. I expect we’ll learn a lot more sifting through the old town hall records anyway.” She held him back as they stood under the threatening sky, her heart truly aching. He would slip away from her with each failed outcome. “I’m so sorry, Brynne. I really thought something important would reveal itself while we stood out here.”
He drew her into his embrace as he continued to rub his big, warm hands slowly up and down her back. “Don’t apologize to me, Lettie. You’ve done more for me... hell, you’ve cared more for me than anyone on this earth. Whatever happens, I know that you tried your hardest.” He let out a long, ragged breath that formed a vapor around them because of the intense cold. “I’m forever grateful to you for that.”
In that moment, she thought he might kiss her.
But he responded in his usual Brynne fashion when he felt himself getting too close to her physically or otherwise. He drew away. “Feeling any better?”
“No,” she replied, because it could have been summer and the air hot and sticky, and she would never feel better knowing that she would soon lose him forever. “I’m still cold.”
He drew away anyway and kept his distance in the carriage for the duration of their trip back to Wrexham. They said nothing to each other until they stopped in front of the town hall. “What’s your plan, Lettie?”
She didn’t really have one other than to read as much about Wrexham and the de Wolfes as possible. “I think we ought to first search the records around the time of your birth. If we don’t come up with any reference to a missing child or anything else that might be unusual, then we’ll expand our search to the records of the War of the Roses.”
Brynne hopped out and assisted her to step down, putting his hands on her waist for the briefest, wonderful moment. But she had no time to dwell on him, something she now did every moment of the day, for several of the senior clerks came rushing out of the building to greet them.
Having the use of an earl’s carriage seemed to promptly open doors for them. The clerks fussed over them, eager to assist them and accommodate their every wish. She and Brynne were soon settled in the back room where the battle records were stored.
The magistrate himself stopped in and offered to give up his office since it was considerably warmer than the cold storage room where the clerks had put them. But Lettie declined. She preferred to remain within easy reach of those records and out of earshot of the magistrate and his clerk. This was a sensitive matter and she didn’t want Brynne’s family situation to be the talk of Wrexham.
Brynne, although seated beside her, continued to keep his distance while they read for hours in the cramped and cold space that was not mean
t for anything other than storage.
Finally, as the winter sun began to sink below the horizon, Brynne shut the ledger he had been studying and rose to stretch his legs. “Did you find anything, Lettie?”
She nibbled her lower lip. “No mention of lost children around the time you were born. And I’m not sure about the rest of it. There are so many references to knights lost in battle during the War of the Roses, but one stuck in my mind. Titus de Wolfe.”
Brynne stepped closer, his curiosity seemingly piqued. “Why Titus?”
“I don’t know. He was the older brother of Atticus de Wolfe who was known as the Lion of the North. Two of his friends turned traitor and killed Titus as the battle of Towton was about to get underway. They killed him because he refused to betray his king when they approached him with their sinister proposal to switch sides. Atticus vowed to avenge his beloved brother. But it’s Titus we’re looking for, I think... I’m not quite sure. My dreams were of wolves, not lions. But Atticus also keeps popping into my head. I wonder if there are any portraits of these de Wolfe men.”
“I’m sure the de Wolfe home has an entire gallery filled with them.”
“Do you think they looked like you?” She rose as well to stretch her aching back. Between the cold and the prolonged sitting on a not very comfortable stool, all her bones were sore. Nevertheless, she felt heartened and couldn’t resist teasing Brynne just a little. “I’m going to call you Dark Wolf from now on. You do have the look of a proud, conquering warrior.”
He laughingly groaned. “Let’s go, Lettie. This proud warrior is hungry and can eat about a dozen tea cakes. Washed down by about a dozen shots of whiskey.”
“Isn’t that a lot?”
“Of what? The cakes or the whiskey?” He fussed with her cloak, hat, and scarf to make certain she was tightly bundled when they stepped outside. She loved how naturally protective he was of her.
“Both.”
“Yes, I’m in need of a lot of cake and a lot of whiskey.” He grinned at her in that soft, seductive way that always melted her heart. “But that’s what happens to a man when he spends too much time with an impertinent redhead who insists on believing in angels.”
“Aha! You’ve revealed yourself at last,” she teased once more. “You’ve actually enjoyed the time spent with me. Admit it, Dark Wolf. You like me.”
He laughed. “On occasion you’re tolerable.”
“You do like me, but you won’t permit yourself to indulge in me. So you need to indulge in other cravings, such as cake and whiskey. That’s a lovely compliment. I’m glad I affect you.”
She cast him a smug smile, turned and then started toward the door. “But if you think you need to numb your heart after the few hours spent with me as I am now, bundled in four layers of clothes, then just wait until you see me in the gown I’m going to wear to Lord de Wolfe’s dinner party this evening. That gown will pop your eyes right out of their sockets.”
He put his strong, steady hands around her waist to lift her into the carriage. “Lettie, you could wear a burlap sack and still make my eyes pop,” he said with a wickedly seductive grin, and then his voice turned gentle and husky. “My eyeballs still haven’t recovered from the first time I set eyes on you at Woodburne on this last visit.”
She gasped.
He plunked her in the carriage and climbed in after her, settling opposite her as usual, but this time he leaned forward. “But if you think that displaying a hint of your perfect breasts - and they are damn perfect, by the way - will weaken my resistance and make me kiss you, then you are sadly mistaken.”
She leaned forward as well so that her cold, pert nose almost touched his aristocratic, aquiline nose. “Is that a challenge? Because I’ll have you know that I will bring you to your knees in surrender. You will kiss me.” She put a gloved hand to his cheek and caressed it. “And do you know why?”
“Because I’ll find you irresistible? I always have. It isn’t about your clothes, Lettie. It’s always been about you. Kisses are dangerous things. They quickly lead to other dangerous things. And that’s why I shall never kiss you.”
“You will,” she said softly, “because I will discover who you are. You’ll know your family before you leave here in three days’ time.”
“Two and a half days left.”
“And it won’t matter who they are, because you’re you. And the Brynne I know is the only man I will ever–”
“Damn it, Lettie!” He drew back as though she’d stuck a lit torch in his face. “Don’t you dare say what I know you’re going to say. I’m leaving here in two and a half days.”
“You’ve already reminded me. You keep reminding me, as though I could ever forget that in fifty nine hours, to be precise, you’ll walk away and I shall never see you again.”
He sighed as she began to sniffle. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m not.” But her chin wobbled and her eyes grew misty.
He sighed again. “Come here, you impertinent nuisance.” He drew her into his arms and held her close for the entire time it took the carriage to bounce and spring and roll its way to back to Wolverton Grange.
But he didn’t kiss her.
Not once.
Chapter 5
Brynne was the first one downstairs and ready for Lord de Wolfe’s dinner party, but that was to be expected since he only had the one formal black tie attire while the ladies had a dozen gowns from which to choose. He stood beside the long windows in the parlor, gazing out into the moonlit night. Half the sky was covered in clouds but the other half, where the moon shone in its full, silvery splendor, was clear and bright.
It was as if a line had been drawn across the heavens, the silver moon and a myriad of stars gleaming in diamond brightness against the black sky on one side, and snow that fell to the ground in soft flakes from the gray clouds on the other. “The world cut in half,” he muttered to himself, knowing Lettie belonged on the moonlit side, for she was a diamond of the first water, while he belonged on the cloudy side that hid the secrets of his family from view.
He continued to stare into the darkness, lost in his turbulent thoughts. The fire that had burned in the parlor fireplace for most of the day was on the verge of dying out. The fading embers barely cast enough light to illuminate the sofa in the center of the room but nothing more beyond it. He’d be lost in shadow where he stood, unnoticed unless he declared his presence. Except Lettie would know where he was, for she had that connection to his heart that always seemed to guide her straight to him.
He heard light, bouncy footsteps on the stairs and knew it had to be Lettie approaching. By her eager steps, he realized she was now dressed in her daring new gown and couldn’t wait to show it off to him. “There you are, Brynne. I almost didn’t see you standing there.”
She came to his side and took his hand. “Come into the light and look at my gown. Tell me what you think of it.”
He allowed her to walk a few steps ahead of him, wanting a moment to look at her and steady his leaping heart before she could fully see him. She walked into the well lit entry hall and turned to face him. He stopped in his tracks.
She smiled at him.
The breath fled from his lungs.
“What do you think, Brynne?” Her smile slipped a little when he didn’t immediately respond, mistaking his silence for disapproval. He disapproved all right. He didn’t want any man looking at Lettie the way he was looking at her right now or feeling the explosive hunger now rocking his body.
“Nice gown, Lettie.” He clasped his hands behind his back to hide their shaking. He was actually shaking with desire as though he were an inexperienced schoolboy about to have his first taste of a woman.
“Nice gown, Lettie,” she mimicked. “I am going to crack something very heavy and guaranteed to elicit maximum pain over your thick skull if that’s all you’re going to say to me.”
He had plenty to say, but wasn’t going to.
Her gown, a shimmering silk that wasn’t quite
white but one of those fancy colors close to white that modistes had fancy names for, wasn’t daring so much as tantalizing. It fell just low enough on her chest to show off the perfect swell of her breasts, but wasn’t anywhere near low enough for those same perfect breasts to spill out.
He didn’t mind spillage on other women.
Not on Lettie. Unless she was alone with him. Because he’d have to kill any man who caught a glimpse of those soft, pink mounds.
That she actually believed the gown was daring... perhaps it was so for rustic society, but quite tame for the faster London crowd... was a tribute to her innocence. He’d always loved that about her, for there was never any artifice or guile in her. When she spoke, she spoke from her heart. Although right now she was looking at him as though she had murder in her heart.
Hell, he wasn’t going to scandalize her by telling her what he really thought. The best thing about that gown was that it would be easy to strip off her. And that’s all he really cared about, not the gown, but what lay hidden beneath it. “Really nice gown, Lettie.”
She cast him a deflated look. “Seriously? Is that the best you can do?”
“No, I can do much better. But you’re too innocent to hear what I’m really thinking.”
Her eyes lit up. “Is it rakish and shocking?”
He laughed softly. “Absolutely.”
Her eyes were still bright and gleaming. “Then you like the gown?”
“I like the girl. Always have.” He cupped a finger under her chin and drew her gaze to his. “You will have male eyeballs rolling all over Lord de Wolfe’s elegant marble floor tonight.”
“Yours too?”
“Already rolling, Lettie,” he said softly.
She nodded and moved away from him as Frances made her way downstairs to join them. Frances was warmly cloaked in her winter fur, and she insisted that Lettie borrow another from her because it was bitterly cold outside and Lettie hadn’t anything warm enough to wear over that thin gown that barely covered her luscious curves.
They climbed into the carriage, Frances and Lettie settling across from him. Frances wore her fur with baronial elegance while Lettie, who was smaller than Frances, seemed swallowed up in hers so that only her head peeked out. Once again, she reminded him of the runt of a litter, the little, vulnerable one who immediately grabbed your heart and would never let it go.