Kitabı oku: «Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle», sayfa 11

Deuce take it, he’d worried himself sick on her behalf and she was using him as a hostage. Jack would get a hearty laugh out of that along with his twenty quid. Clearly their night together hadn’t meant the same to her as it did to him. Well, she wouldn’t get away with it. The game stopped here and it stopped tonight.

They gained the dark corner where the horse waited. Brandon didn’t wait a moment longer. He grabbed for her arm, bringing her to a jarring halt. He spun her around amid a torrent of protests and backed her into a wall, both of his hands now fiercely gripping her shoulders beneath her dark cloak. ‘Listen to me, you little minx. Whatever game you and I are playing is finished. I could have exposed you back there at dinner and I didn’t. You owe me and you’re going to pay,’ he growled in menacing tones.

‘Do you think I’ll kiss you for it or perhaps you hope for something more? Would another night between the sheets be enough to cover my supposed debt?’ She was all sauce and boldness, making the most of their bodies’ close proximity. ‘Any debt I owe you has already been paid. I could have shot you for good measure and ensured no one would follow us since they’d be too busy looking after your wounded self.’

Her brassy behavior, coupled with her cocky assumptions, fired Brandon’s ire further. ‘Stupid fool! You wouldn’t have shot me. You were betting on me behaving more like your accomplice than your hostage the whole while.’

‘What makes you so sure?’

Brandon growled, ‘Because you’d never take an unbound hostage who has a height advantage of five inches and several pounds of brawn. You’d be setting yourself up to be overpowered. Like this.’

In a fast motion, Brandon pulled her to him, trapping her against his chest. He lowered his lips to claim a primitive kiss while she bucked against him in outrage. He used her in rough fashion, finding an outlet for his earlier frustrations over the danger she’d put herself in by storming the party. He tasted salt where her teeth bit the tender flesh of his lips. He revelled in the fight she posed.

Their mouths duelled. She bit. He nipped. Their tongues tangled. Brandon felt the tempo change as their duel became infused with a heat of a different sort. It wasn’t so much the heat of battle that raged between them now, but the heat of passion, of an attraction that, once acknowledged, was not easily quenched. He drew back for a moment to gather breath.

‘How dare you!’ she cried, remembering to be angry at his advances.

‘Tonight, I want something more than kissing from you. I want the truth and I’ll have it as soon as we get to safety.’ He had more to say, but a glimmer in the next lane demanded his attention.

He was loathe to let Nora out of his sight; however, the appearance of lanterns could only belong to a hastily launched search party. His plans were thwarted.

Brandon jerked his head to the west, calling her attention to the cluster of bobbing lights. ‘In the meanwhile, you might want to cultivate some common sense and develop some anxiety over your precarious position.’ He was gratified to note a flicker of concern pass through her as she took in the burgeoning scene.

‘Unhand me at once. You can stay here. Finding you in one piece will take the necessity out of their cold evening search,’ she ordered, taking charge again.

Brandon shook his head and held his ground. ‘No. We’ll do this my way. I’ve had enough of your plans for one evening.’

He knelt on one knee and began rubbing handfuls of dirt into his evening clothes. He smudged his cheek and then proceeded to gather his shirt between his hands and rent the cloth until he looked thoroughly abused. ‘I will go to them and tell them I’ve eluded you. I’ll show them my wound and ask to be taken back to St John’s for bandaging. That way no one will be looking for a trail you might have left behind. You will go on to my estate and await me there. You and I are not finished tonight.’

‘What if I don’t follow your dictates? You cannot force me to show up at your house and turn myself over to your dubious care. How do I know it’s not a trap of your own making?’ she argued coolly, her mind as sane as ever, but Brandon saw the nervousness in her eyes as she assessed the nearing lanterns and raised voices.

‘You don’t have a choice. If you do not comply, I’ll call out the hounds myself. I doubt Eleanor Habersham will appreciate her servants being subjected to the indignities of a house search, to say nothing of having to explain the oddity of her own nocturnal absence.’

‘You wouldn’t dare!’ Nora raged in impotent fury.

‘Follow my wishes and I’ll protect you if needed.’

‘There’s another consideration you’ve overlooked. You don’t have a wound,’ Nora pointed out.

‘Not yet. Give me your dagger.’

Reluctantly, Nora threw back the cuff of her shirt, revealing the hidden sheath and pulled out the dagger, handing it to him handle first.

He gripped it and quickly flashed the sharp blade across the palm of his hand.

Nora stifled an undignified yelp at the sight of dark blood welling in his hand. He’d cut deep, giving himself a realistic gash. Instinctively, she wadded the hem of her cloak to press against the cut. ‘You go too far!’

He stayed her with his good hand. ‘Meet me at the estate in an hour and you can doctor me all you wish.’ With an impish smile that suggested adventure sat well with him, Brandon took off in the direction of the lanterns. His hand hurt like hell. She was probably right—he’d cut it far more deeply than necessary. But he could not deny he’d enjoyed himself immensely tonight. It surprised him to realise that there wasn’t a night in recent memory that he could recall having so much fun despite all that was at risk.

The magnitude of the risk she was taking struck Nora all at once and all too late. She was already ensconced in Brandon’s private rooms, wrapped in a paisley robe she’d liberated from his dressing room and sitting before the fire his valet had kept stoked against my lord’s return later in the evening, when she realised what she had done. She had trusted Stockport unconditionally not once, but twice that evening.

First, he was right. She had indeed bet that he wouldn’t revolt against playing the role of ‘hostage’ when Witherspoon pulled out his derringer. Second, she actually believed that she would have his protection when he returned to the estate. She believed it so thoroughly she had made free with his chambers, shedding her damp clothing and curling up before his fire in anticipation of the forthcoming conversation.

What was she thinking? At what point had her wits become so addled that she’d started thinking the Earl of Stockport was her ally? In reality, there was nothing to stop Stockport from returning to St John’s and leading the company straight to her. After all, he’d told her where to be. It made sense that he was setting her up so he could capture her. Arresting The Cat in front of the people to whom her arrest mattered most would be a feather in his cap. Such an act would go far to restore his damaged credibility over the factory.

As if her doubts had suddenly sprung to life and assumed human form, voices rose from the vestibule downstairs. Stockport had returned, bringing with him unlooked-for companions. Her fears were realised and about to be played out. Being here in Stockport’s home was the real trap. The dinner party had merely been foreplay to the true betrayal. Nora’s heart plummeted at the sting of it all. She could imagine Stockport telling everyone how he had lulled The Cat into complacency, weaving his own web of deceit around The Cat and fooling her into believing she had the upper hand.

The voices grew strident and Nora detected the seeds of an argument rising between the new arrivals. Stockport’s voice rose in protest. He didn’t need any further assistance and the men were free to return to their evening. The others with him countered that it might be unsafe to leave him alone while The Cat ran free in the countryside. One of them, probably Witherspoon, suggested a search of the house. Stockport protested again. Nora grinned to herself. Maybe Stockport hadn’t told them everything after all. She would wager the contents of the jewel bag she’d collected that night he hadn’t told them The Cat was a woman.

The knowledge that he had most likely withheld some information didn’t exonerate him from the betrayal he’d wrought by bringing the men here, but it did serve to harden her heart. Brandon had promised her protection this night and he was damn well going to give it to her even if she had to drag it from him in the most compromising of manners.

Nora looked down at the fine paisley silk of Brandon’s robe and suppressed a laugh. He thought to show them The Cat, dressed in dark trousers and shirt. He could let Witherspoon and the others search the house. They wouldn’t find The Cat of Manchester in residence. Neither would they find anyone hiding away timidly awaiting discovery.

Nora tossed her hair once, giving it a sleep-rumpled look. Feigning wide-eyed innocence, she marched to the top of the stairs, ready to do battle with Witherspoon, Brandon and whatever else fate decreed to throw in her path.

Chapter Thirteen

‘Darling, what happened to you?’ The siren on the stairs gushed with concern, causing Brandon and the five men with him to stop their conversation in mid-sentence and gaze slack jawed at the vision draped in a man’s dressing gown at the top of the landing.

‘Your clothes are ruined and your hand—why, you’re wounded!’ The dark-haired angel managed a feminine gasp of horror and began descending the steps, leaving no ambiguity as to the status of her undress beneath the robe.

Brandon watched her performance in a state of consciousness that hovered somewhere between thoroughly amused and utterly horrified. She was magnificent, so boldly taking them all by surprise. He’d been racking his mind, trying to think of a way to be rid of the men who had insisted on following him home. He’d been unsuccessful. Dismissing them and their offers to search the house for the sake of his safety had proved too difficult to thwart without looking like a graceless cad. From the look of things, he need not have worried. Nora had it all well in hand with her tousled hair and wide eyes.

‘My lord…’ Witherspoon sputtered incoherently, looking to him for an explanation of the woman’s presence. Witherspoon might be maliciously ruthless, but he was also a prude.

Nora reached his side and put a possessive hand on his sleeve. ‘I have discomfited you. I must apologise. I thought Brandon would have told everyone by now.’ She playfully tut-tutted him in a chiding manner. ‘Before he was called away from London, we were about to announce our engagement. I am his betrothed, Nora Hammersmith.’

Brandon felt his face freeze into a smiling mask. She’d thought his self-inflicted wound was too much. This time she went too far! Was that her real last name or another alias?

Shockingly, he realised he didn’t mind her claim. What bothered him was the impossibility of carrying off such a charade. Did she know all that an Earl’s wedding entailed? More importantly, a nobleman’s intended would not be alone in his home unchaperoned. Her enticing dishabille cast his entire character in dishonour, suggesting to all assembled that they had anticipated their wedding night not just once, but were in the habit of frequently doing so. It would be much more difficult to wriggle off the hook of an already consummated betrothal.

Nora smiled and blushed, having the good sense to feign modesty. Belatedly, she clutched at the neck of the robe. ‘I am so sorry, my lords. I am a simple country girl at heart and seeing my betrothed in such a state has undone my wits. I must beg forgiveness for such a lack of decorum.’

Brandon scrutinised the group, watching for their reaction. He had no need to worry. She had them utterly convinced. Reassurances flowed, followed by congratulations, and a few of the men dared to slap Brandon on the back for finding such a lovely and concerned lady. Others ribbed him about keeping her a secret for so long.

Nora demurely took her leave and retreated upstairs. The men took her departure as a signal for their farewells and Brandon ushered them out of the hall within minutes, happy to see their backs, if only temporarily.

Several of them had assured Brandon their wives would call on his intended come the morrow. To which he had only answered that perhaps such visits were best delayed until his betrothed recovered from her journey.

He shut the door behind the last guest and leaned his head heavily against the solid oak panel. He would worry about tomorrow later. Right now, there was plenty in the present that demanded his attention. The Cat awaited him upstairs and she’d better have a good explanation for her behaviour tonight.

Brandon opened the door to his private chambers, ready to lay claim to those explanations and didn’t get a word out before she pounced.

‘Protection! You call that protection?’ she railed, punctuating her outrage with a well-thrown pillow at his midsection. ‘Your “protection” was self-defence at best!’

He schooled his features into a cool expression, a remarkable feat considering the heat she was raising in him, dressed as she was. ‘In defence of my actions, I’d hoped to re-direct their attentions to a lengthy search of the countryside. I did not guess they’d feel obliged to accompany me home and search the house or the grounds. If you’re angry at how events unfolded, you have only yourself to blame. Let me remind you—you told them you were my betrothed.

‘Do you know what it takes to pull off marrying an Earl? How will you extricate us from that one?’ Brandon pushed a hand through his hair in sign of his evident frustration. ‘Your escapades tonight were over the top. Whatever were you thinking to take on the entire dinner party? You could have been captured. Witherspoon’s more dangerous than you realise. I shudder to think of what might have happened with his gun if I hadn’t been there.’

She pressed the back of her hand against her forehead in a mockingly dramatic pose. ‘My hero! Am I such a simpleton that I would have gone into a situation where I had my doubts?’

‘Laugh all you want, but, thanks to me, you are not languishing in the Squire’s cellar tonight contemplating your upcoming trial.’ Brandon’s tone was harsh.

He strode to the window and looked out, turning his back to her, his hands fisted in his trouser pockets. He had to keep a cool head when dealing with this virago. He asked the question that had plagued him all night. ‘Why did you do it? You knew you were being set up.’

‘Did I?’ Nora challenged from the chair by the fire where she’d staked out her territory.

‘I told you.’

‘Why should I believe you?’ Nora snapped. ‘You might have been trying to keep me away from the investors with the ploy of this invented trap.’

Brandon turned from the window. ‘You should know better than to think I would lie to you. You know I am capable of more than cheap tricks.’

‘Do I? It’s easy to be brave with words and a wagon load of supplies you can afford without troubling your pocket,’ she threw at his back.

‘I’d say tonight proves all. Do you have any appreciation for what I risked at St John’s? If they had realised I knew you or that I signalled you when Witherspoon pulled out his gun, we’d both be ruined. I let you point a gun at me and use me as a hostage to ensure your escape. What does that prove to you?’ Brandon barely kept his temper reined.

‘It proves what women have known for ages. Men are ruled by their cocks. A man will do anything for a woman who arouses him.’

Brandon swallowed hard. ‘Aha, so I am not the only one in this room with “motives”. What about you? How am I to believe you’re entirely innocent? Perhaps you seduced me in order to get me to bare my secrets.’

‘Then we are nothing more than a pair of double-crossers,’ Nora said with smug satisfaction.

He breathed deeply and found clarity in the moment. He saw through her ploy. She wanted to drive a wedge between them and she thought this double-edged sword of doubt had successfully put an obstacle between them. Well, then, he would parry with a riposte of his own.

‘I can’t accept that we are nothing more than two people playing a duplicitous game, Nora.’ Brandon lowered his voice, using a trick he often used when speaking in Parliament to gain attention when a loud voice failed to get it. ‘I won’t quarrel with you tonight. We are not such different creatures despite our disparity in social standing.’ Brandon moved to stand in front her chair, bending slightly to gently grip and massage her forearms through the silk.

‘Can’t you see that we want the same things, Nora?’ he murmured in a tone that implied the ‘same things’ carried a romantic connotation as well as a political one. To emphasise the duality of his comment, Brandon wrapped a dark, errant curl around his finger.

Now that the initial danger had passed, he wanted to remind her in all ways how similar they were, how right they were together, but Nora was still fighting.

‘I am your enemy. You are building a mill. I am trying to stop it. The comparison escapes me,’ she argued in breathless refutation of his claim, but her attempt to hold him off was empty.

Brandon felt her breath hitch at his touch. He saw her eyes lose their hardness. They flickered now with uncertainty and he knew what she was thinking—dare she put down her verbal armour? The first time had been a voyage into the unknown, but this time she knew what lay ahead.

Brandon gave a half-smile, delighting in her fire. She was a fighter to the end, but he had patience and whether she knew it or not, the end was very near. ‘Poor Nora, you’ve fought for so long—all you know is the fight, isn’t it? My mill will make a difference here. If I don’t build it, someone else will, someone who isn’t so concerned with the inequities of factory life. Someone like Cecil Witherspoon.’

He dropped the curl he’d been winding about his finger and let it fall against her silk-clad breast. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she assessed his words. She was calculating, weighing pragmatic reality against the urgings of her heart. She wanted to trust him. She cared for him. But scepticism was a difficult opponent to defeat.

‘Why are you doing this, Brandon?’ The disbelief he sensed was evident in her words.

Brandon watched her. This was not a moment for teasing; this was the moment for reassurances. He could have told her any number of lies. He opted for the truth, even though it exposed his hand, left him open for manipulation if she chose to do so.

‘You fire my blood, Nora. Not just your pretty face, but the whole of you, body and soul. Never have I met a woman with such tenacity or such concern for her fellow mankind. Your passions, all of them, stir me in a way I’ve not been stirred in a long time.’

Brandon bent his mouth to hers, catching it in a gentle kiss so unlike the rough kisses they’d shared on other occasions.

She pushed against his chest, showing her characteristic stubbornness. His Cat was not easily conquered. But then, any battle worth fighting contained an element of difficulty. ‘It’s not that easy, Brandon. A few kisses and a flowery proclamation cannot solve what lies between us.’

‘You cannot ignore that we’re drawn to each other,’ he argued softly, drawing her to her feet and bringing her close enough to nibble at the tender part of her ear.

‘I don’t know what to believe any more.’ She sighed.

‘You can believe in me, Nora.’ Brandon whet his lips and prepared to lay siege.

What if she could believe in what Brandon offered? If they were on the same side of the political spectrum, what other dreams might she dare to give wing? Dare she believe that he might admire her, and that beneath that admiration there might be something more? She would not know if she didn’t pursue this thing taking shape between them. It was all she needed to give her desire free reign.

She wound her arms about his neck and invited his lips back to hers. She pressed against him, letting her body say that for which she could not yet brave the words to speak. She tossed back her head and let him trail glorious kisses down her neck, allowing the vee of her dressing gown to dip open until it revealed more than it concealed of her naked form beneath.

Brandon groaned against her, bending to lave her breasts with his hot tongue, and she knew the pleasure was mutual. She felt his fingers tremble as his hands rose to push back the robe from her shoulders. She let the silk slither into a pool at her feet and she let his eyes feast upon her utterly exposed body.

Standing before him, naked, knowing where they were headed, was infinitely more intimate than the spontaneous act between them a few nights ago. This was premeditated.

She felt no shame in her nakedness, or any coveting lust in Brandon’s gaze, although it might have been better for her heart if she had. Instead, the look he gave her was full of sincere reverence. At least, in this moment, she was cherished. With that realisation, all barriers vanished.

‘Undress me,’ Brandon commanded in a hoarse voice filled with awe.

Nora knew what he asked. This was the point of no return. If she disrobed him, they would spend the night consummating the relationship in the most intimate, most complete of ways. There could be no excuses of haste and impulsiveness.

This act was deliberate. As such, it could not be brushed off as a game, an experiment, come the morning. This act would serve to seal an unspoken contract between them and it would bring with it binding implications.

She held his gaze as if she could signal with her eyes her understanding and acceptance of the significance of what they were about to do. The intensity of his stare indicated he understood as well. And he accepted.

‘Undress me, Nora,’ he repeated, extending the unwritten contract again. He wanted her and he fully comprehended what the price of wanting her meant.

‘Patience, Brandon.’ Nora smiled, reaching for the placard of buttons on his ruined waistcoat. Now that the decision had been made, she was free, her passions could be hers alone tonight. There would be no worries about manipulation and hidden agendas. Just pleasure.

‘Brandon. I like the sound of that. I haven’t been simply Brandon for a long time.’ His breath caught as she slid back the waistcoat and the panels of his dirty white shirt, thumbing his nipples with her nails.

Her elation increased. He understood! Although it was for entirely different reasons, he too longed to simply be himself, to lay aside the strain of the earldom, of life as a peer of the realm, and to just be.

She bent to suckle him in imitation of his earlier overture. Her hands moved lower to release the fastenings of his trousers. She paused long enough for Brandon to pull off his boots and kick free of his clothes.

Naked and in the obvious throes of full arousal, Brandon held out his hand to her. ‘Come to bed with me, Nora.’

She did not miss the import of his words, all designed to set the rhythm of partnership this night. There would be no leading and following. There would be mutual explorations. They would learn each other’s bodies together with no artifice between them, and at the end of it would be completion.