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‘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.
Chapter Fourteen
The sun had been up for a scant hour when the door to Brandon’s study slammed open and bounced off the mahogany panelling of the wall.
Brandon looked up from the papers spread before him on the desk, startled by the intrusion. Jack filled the room, his elaborate cape swirling about his knees in fair imitation of a whirlwind. ‘What have you done? I’ve been away from your side for a mere twelve hours and now the village is on fire with news of your engagement. I hope you haven’t done anything foolish.’
Brandon leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head while he studied his friend’s chagrin. Calmly, he replied, ‘I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you this early in the morning before, Jack. Sit down and settle yourself. You look as if you’ve been up all night.’ Brandon gestured to a chair and rang for coffee.
‘If I’ve been up all night, it’s your fault. I spent the wee hours in the public house, listening to the latest scandal brewing on your behalf. First, there were harrowing tales of The Cat hauling you out of the dinner party up in Cheetham as a hostage. Then Witherspoon and his friends launched into stories of your delectable betrothed who was beside herself with worry over your wounds.’ Jack gave a wry smile. ‘What wounds would those be?’
‘Self-inflicted.’ Brandon held up his cleanly bandaged hand.
‘It didn’t take me long to add up all the bits and deduce that the supposed intended was none other than The Cat. Deuce take it, Brandon, I’ve heard politics make for the most unusual bedfellows, but this is beyond the pale.’
Jack might have gone on with his scolding, but a footman entered with a tray of morning coffee and toast.
Brandon gathered his thoughts against Jack’s attack. Jack was only the first of many visitors who would demand explanations. He’d left Nora sleeping peacefully more than an hour ago in order to organise his defences, beginning with a missive to Manchester’s leading dressmaker.
Jack voiced the most pressing issue facing him as the servants left the room. ‘Now that you’ve got her, what are you going to do with her?’ Jack asked over the rim of his coffee cup.
‘I am going to play out the ruse and present her as my intended. It will buy some time until everything settles down.’ Brandon laid out the plan that had been taking shape in his head. ‘It’s the only way I can think of to get what I want.’
Jack gave a disbelieving guffaw. ‘If it were me voicing those sentiments, I’d know exactly how self-serving that plan was. Humour me, Brandon, and tell me what it is that you want? Somehow I don’t think the answer will be the mill progressing.’
‘I want to keep her safe. If she goes back to The Grange, she’ll try something else just as dangerous as that performance she gave last night at St John’s.’
‘And you worry that you might not be there to rescue her?’ Jack’s flippant tone softened. ‘You can’t keep her, you know that, don’t you? The Cat’s as wild as they come.’
‘Not all of us are as jaded as you, Jack. It’s not a character flaw to be less cynical.’
‘Still, it’s my job as your friend to disabuse you of any foolish notions you might harbour about taming The Cat. It’s what you called me up here for,’ Jack reminded him.
He gave Brandon a half-grin. ‘But I can see my preaching falls on deaf ears. You’ve got that “morning after” glow about you.’ Jack rose and put down his cup. ‘I’ll leave you to play house with your supposed betrothed and let your ruse run its course.’
Brandon drew a deep breath. ‘That’s another thing, Jack. I am not sure I want to see the ruse end.’
‘Well, it has to eventually, unless you actually—’ Jack broke off the sentence. Brandon was rewarded with a view of Jack at his most nonplussed, a feat few accomplished. ‘Are you suggesting you would make the relationship more permanent in nature? Make The Cat your Countess?’ Jack managed to get out when the initial shock passed.
‘Yes, my Countess. I have not forgotten,’ Brandon said placidly. ‘It is time I marry and look to my nursery.’
Jack resumed his seat, scrubbing at his face with his hands. ‘Yes, yes, of course it’s time to spring the parson’s mousetrap and all that. We’re getting no younger, but why couldn’t you find a nice débutante?’
Brandon hooted with disbelief. ‘A nice débutante? Listen to yourself, Jack. I could no more settle for a nice, white-gowned virgin half my age than you could. Just because I must marry to beget an heir doesn’t mean I’ll leg-shackle myself to the first débutante and her mother who come along. If that was the case, I would have married ages ago. There would have been no point in waiting. I have standards that must be met. I’ve waited to marry because no one has yet met them.’
‘Until now? Surely you’re not in love with her?’
‘Until now, no one has provoked me enough to think of a more permanent arrangement,’ Brandon said tentatively. ‘As for love, well, I’m not sure I’d know exactly what that is, having not ever truly been in love.’ He toyed with a pen, avoiding Jack’s knowing gaze. Too many people thought love could be feigned if the prize was large enough. He wanted more than that.
Brandon sighed heavily. ‘I’m probably not in love with Nora any more than she’s in love with me, but she makes me feel alive, Jack, in a way I’ve felt with no other. When I am with her, life is a grand romp.’
‘An illegal romp, don’t forget. Surely that can’t be one of your standards.’ Jack was all silky sarcasm. ‘I admit I find myself insanely curious as to what those standards might be. What does a thief have that an eligible girl of good family lacks?’ Jack stretched out his booted legs and waved his empty coffee cup toward the decanters collected on the polished sideboard. ‘I’ll need something stronger than coffee, however, to get through this.’
Brandon rose and obliged, pouring a healthy dose of brandy into the cup before adding a splash of coffee from the silver urn on the tray.
Jack sipped and sighed deeply. ‘Much better. Nothing like good French brandy to dull the shock that one’s best friend has gone completely mad. Now, about those standards.’
‘I want a wife who shares my causes and has a passion for the political welfare of the country.’ Brandon began ticking his standards off on his fingers. ‘I want a wife who cares for people. I want a wife who has a healthy appetite for the bedroom and a sense of adventure. I want a woman who wants me for myself, who looks at me and doesn’t see estates, titles, coronets and enormous pin allowances, but sees an intelligent man who thinks and has ideas of his own. In short, I want a woman who will be my partner in all aspects of my life.’
‘In short, you want a paragon. The irony of it all is that you think you’ve found this paragon in the notorious Cat of Manchester, who is robbing your investors blind and hobbling the very ideas for which you want to be appreciated,’ Jack asserted.
He shook his head sadly. ‘I don’t wish to demean your standards. We all want the paragon. In the end, we all settle for the débutante and the glimmer of hope that we might make her blank canvas into someone we can passably spend the rest of our lives with.’
‘I don’t settle,’ Brandon said with conviction.
Jack rubbed his hands on his thighs. ‘True enough. I’ve known you since our school days. You’ve always found a way to get what you want. It’s what I like about you, Brandon. I hope she’s worth it. For your sake, I hope she’s not upstairs stealing your mother’s damnable amethyst ring, again.’
Jack rose. ‘I will take my leave of your hospitality. When you decide you need me, I’ll be close by. Send word to the inn. In the interim, I wish you well.’
Nora sleepily groped the big bed, searching for the warmth of Brandon’s body. Her seeking hands found only cold sheets. Disappointingly, Brandon’s side of the bed was empty.
She pulled herself up into a sitting position and scanned the room, looking for traces of him. His clothes were gone. He was up and dressed.
She sighed heavily, flopping back against the down-filled pillows. It was better this way. She could be dressed and gone out the window before he knew it.
The two of them were unsuited for a long-term future together, as much as she wished that could be different. The realisation that she did wish it could be different struck her with such force she sat upright, trying to quell her rising emotion.
Her mind cruelly played the ‘what if’ game. What if there could be more than a short-term relationship between them? What if their passion was based on more than mutually shared lust? What if Brandon had been right, that they wanted the same things?
But they were only fantastical ‘what ifs’. In order for them to come true the world would have to be a far different place, a place where Earls married outlaws, a place where The Cat was not needed. That would be a perfect world indeed, an utter utopia where workers were treated fairly, where children did not risk limbs scavenging cotton droppings from under machines.
Those days were far away and probably beyond her lifetime, which might be a short one if she wasn’t careful. As much as her body yearned for Stockport, she had no business giving him her trust carte blanche. And really, Brandon had no business giving her his. He was in this game up to his neck and she wondered if he realised how deeply he played these days.
She could not allow him to develop a connection to her. It would be too dangerous for them both. She would end up dead. He would end up hurt if he developed a connection to her that could be traced or an attachment of an emotional nature. That was putting the cart before the horse. They had never spoken of love or affection last night or ever.
But sometimes sex did crazy things to a relationship, creating the illusion of something being there that wasn’t. Neither one of them could afford that delusion.
