Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle. Bronwyn Scott
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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,