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

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.

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.’