Bronwyn Scott - Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle - Pickpocket Countess / Grayson Prentiss's Seduction / Notorious Rake, Innocent Lady / Libertine Lord, Pickpocket Miss / The Viscount Claims His Bride

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.

‘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.