Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle. Bronwyn Scott
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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.
The solution was simple. She needed to leave. She dressed rapidly, thrusting legs into her breeches and arms through her shirt. Her hands fumbled on the buttons in her haste. She hoped her absence would send a message. There was no need for him to come looking for her and offering futile explanations for things that didn’t need to be explained.
Drat it, where was the other boot? Nora knelt on the floor and bent to peer under an armoire. There it was. She reached out and grabbed for it with a hand. But she was out of time.
‘As lovely as your derrière looks in those breeches, I am sure I can find something more suitable for my betrothed to wear.’ A familiar male voice broke the quiet of the room.
Damn that boot. If the boot had been handy when she was dressing, she would have been out the window. Now, she would have to face Brandon. From the sound of it, he was not pleased. The last thing she needed right now was a male caught up in some primal sense of protection for the woman he’d bedded.
‘Don’t get up.’ Brandon’s voice held a dangerous tone. ‘It’s the perfect position for spanking, which is what I’d like to do to you right now for even contemplating leaving.’
That was the sound of cold fury. Nora shut her eyes and took a deep breath before rising from her ignoble position on the floor. Her acerbic wit failed her, so she opted for silence, countering his anger with crossed arms and a defiant pose. She waited.
Brandon stared at Nora in disbelief. After Jack left, he’d come upstairs, expecting to find her still abed, still drowsy and on the brink of fully awakening. If he had waited a minute more, she would have been gone.
It was quite a blow to his ego to find that, while he was contemplating some level of serious commitment with a woman, the woman in question was contemplating escape out of a two-storey window. The whole scenario was worthy of a Drury Lane farce: an Earl, rich and handsome, able to have any woman, made sport of by the only woman he wanted.
Brandon shut the door behind him and met her stare evenly. He was gratified to see she was at a loss for words. ‘What did you think you were doing?’
‘We both know I’m not really your intended,’ she said at last.
‘We’re the only ones who know that.’ Brandon folded his arms and settled against the bed post, entrenching. ‘You cannot simply make such a claim in front of witnesses and then walk away, leaving me to clean up the mess. How am I to explain your disappearance or live down the scandal of broken nuptials? It’s hardly fair to me.’ He tried to sound cool, neutral, as if he weren’t furious at finding her in the midst of leaving.
‘I am sure you’ll think of something. Tell them you discovered I was a woman of loose virtue and that I misled you into believing I was something I was not.’ Her tone was punishingly