Wolfsgate (14 page)

Brandon’s brow creased. “A cabinet in the kitchen?”

“Yes. It’s where I keep those documents safe,” she whispered. “I’ll show you everything in the morning.” She stifled a yawn and sank back against her pillow again, her body curling around another pillow. She looked up at his face for a moment and then her gaze fell to his bare chest and lingered there. He reached over and pulled the covers around her. Her eyelids closed.

“What are you doing?” Brandon’s voice echoed through his former bedchamber.

Justine’s head snapped up. Her breath caught at the sight of him leaning against the doorjamb, his arms folded at his chest. Dear God in heaven, he was like the formidable full-size portrait of his stern-faced grandfather which hung in the stairwell. The same grey-green eyes, now cold and unreadable, the same broad shoulders and chest, the same casual elegance and sophisticated bearing. But this younger Lord Graven before her was a more modern, rugged figure. He wore his white shirt opened at the neck over close fitting breeches and high boots, his dark hair loose, almost grazing his shoulders, his scars clearly visible.

She turned back to the heavy blue brocaded panel before her and swatted at it with a great straw paddle. A cloud of dust released over her. “What does it look like I’m doing?” she asked.

All the windows were open and the morning sun streamed in from the open leaded glass windows through a thick haze of dust. The massive, dark Jacobean oak bed with the heavy cornices and deep blue canopy was stripped bare, the thick inlay and elaborate carved posts gleaming in the light. Justine batted at the large panels of ancient fabric once more.

“It looks like you are hell-bent on kicking me out of your bed,” he said. Her eyes widened, yet she continued to swat the fabric. “Stop it, Justine, now.”

“Whatever for?”

“I don’t want to use this room again, ever.”

She stopped bashing the thick blue hanging, its gold edges worn and dark in the harsh light. A great puff of dust settled about her as she turned towards him.

“Brandon, why?”

He shifted his weight and leaned against the other side of the doorjamb. His eyes rested on the tall, heavy dresser as he cleared his throat. “This room represents a whole other existence to me. I’m not that person anymore. So don’t bother.” His gaze darted to the bulky canopied bed that once belonged to his great grandfather. “Please, Justine.”

“Very well.” Justine shoved the thick hangings to the side. “Of course, you should be in the master bedroom,” she said, rolling her eyes at herself. “What was I thinking? I will prepare Lord Jeremy’s room for you directly.” His eyes tightened and he clenched his jaw. She stopped at the sight. “Surely you would prefer your own bedroom, a room to yourself, the master’s bedchamber?” she asked.

“No.”

“But Brandon—”

“Unless, of course I’m bothering you?” His eyes pierced hers.

“No, you aren’t bothering me, but—”

“Your room. With you.”

Her heart skidded to an abrupt halt. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his pale eyes, so like some sort of exotic sea in a country far away.

“Thank you for the clean clothes you left for me,” he said, his voice more controlled now. His gaze darted to the right once more in the direction of the massive chest of drawers. He raised his chin.

“You’re welcome.” She turned her head slightly. “What is it?”

“Hmm?”

“What were you looking at?”

“Nothing.” He re-crossed his arms at his chest and stood erect. Justine turned her head in the direction of his gaze.

“I had found something in this dresser last year, stuffed in between old clothes in the first drawer. I think you’d like to see it.” She went to the dresser and opened the first drawer and removed a small black silk pouch. She opened it and took out a gold box the size of her palm. “It’s a snuff box, isn’t it?” She put it in his hands. Elaborate swirls of ornate foliage were etched on its shiny surface.

“No, it’s not a snuff box. There should be a key in the pouch.”

She found the tiny key and put it in his hand. He aligned the key inside a groove on the underside of the box, and mechanical strains of a melody erupted from it.

Her eyes flickered up at him, a smile lighting over her face. “Oh, it’s wonderful, isn’t it? Was this yours?”

Brandon shook his head. “It was my mother’s. My father had found it in Switzerland for her. One of the first ever made.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t remember Lady Caroline very well. I had come to Wolfsgate just before she—”

He twisted the key from the box and the music abruptly ceased.

“Shall I put it somewhere else in the house for you?”

His eyebrows slammed together. “No, leave it where you found it.”

“Oh. But—”

He gave Justine the music box and key, and she slipped them both back in the pouch and returned it to the drawer. She then moved to the windows and reaching up on her toes, leaned forward to take hold of the handle.

He watched her.

Even when closing a goddamn window she was graceful. He groaned inwardly and the blood hammered in his veins. Her supple movements had become a source of fascination to him. Watching her and now knowing firsthand the sensuous curves that lay under her layers of clothing made him instantly hard.

When another dream had woken him up again in the middle of the night he’d found her pressed against him once more. He hadn’t moved her away, he hadn’t wanted to. He also couldn’t stop himself from exploring the gentle lines of her body. Merely the simple act of his fingertips tracing her legs, the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist and then up her smooth back over her chemise, nothing more, had aroused him intensely.

The recollection aroused him now. She latched the casement closed.

“You should eat,” she said, turning to him suddenly with her hands on her hips. That glorious chestnut hair peeked out from her kerchief, its coppery tones glinting in the morning sunlight filtering through the room. “There’s food in the kitchen. I think Molly’s inspired now that you’re home and Richard’s gone.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You have to eat, Brandon.”

“Giving orders again, wife?”

She only sighed leading him out of the room and closed the door behind them. “Do you have the key I gave you?” she asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“Good.” They headed down the staircase. Brandon stopped in front of the largest portrait of one of his great-great-grandfathers.

“Brandon?”

“I’m looking for the wolf,” he said, the edges of his lips tipping up.

In every formal portrait of a Graven male, there was hidden a figure of a black wolf somewhere in the background landscape. As children they had loved searching for the hidden animals in every painting that lined the stairwell, each one a sinister reminder of the ancient Graven past.

“Is it the honor these Gravens thought it was to have slain so many creatures or is it a burden on their souls and now on mine?” he murmured.

His index finger traced the fierce animal with the glowing yellow eyes crouched in the distant trees towards the edge of the frame. “Is not the wolf a metaphor for evil Man who has a never-ending lust for power and dishonest gain? That wild beast which lurks in all of us?”

“Well, yes,” said Justine. “But in northern mythology, the wolf is a symbol of a persevering, loyal warrior.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Which am I, I wonder?”

In the kitchen they found Molly preparing a pot of tea.

“Good morning, Molly,” Brandon said.

“Good morning, sir,” said the woman, her crinkly face beamed at her young master and mistress.

Brandon rubbed his hands together. “First order of business around here is to hire servants, what do you say, Molly?”

Molly’s small eyes sparkled and she dug her hands in her skirts. “A proper cook? A footman? A manservant for you, milord? A few others to clean the whole house top to bottom?”

“That sounds right, dear. You know best.” He winked at her. Molly had been in service to the family since Brandon was a young boy. She had risen the ranks to housekeeper and was quite fond of her place within the family. Her twinkling blue eyes and the old fashioned white cap she still wore reminded Brandon of the good things in this house. The way they used to be with father, mother, no life and death decisions, and no cares for tomorrow. Only iced cakes and apple tarts and a multitude of games with his cousins in the gardens and at the creek. Bloody simplicity.

“I’ll go to the tenants today,” Justine said. Molly left them to themselves.

“The key?” Justine’s voice dropped. She held out her palm before him.

Brandon placed the key in her hand, and she headed for a cupboard in the back pantry. She returned with a leather folder thick with documents and a worn blue velvet jewelry box.

“What’s this?” Brandon tapped on the box with a long finger.

“Open it.”

He clipped open the fastening and pushed back the lid. Something burned in the back of his throat. His mother’s ruby and diamond earrings and matching bracelet glinted at him in the morning light. A hundred images of her beautiful face flooded him, the feel of her touch, the warmth of her voice. His chest constricted.

Her
clasping his hands as they danced together in the parlor.

Her
rich, unaffected laughter at something his father had said over dinner.

Her
wearing these very earrings which always hung fluidly by her long, elegant neck.

He could still feel the drop rubies of her bracelet knocking against his fingers when he held her hand at a formal party. The glorious feel of her full silk skirts against their hands. He was her ‘little gentleman,’ she had declared.

A shadow crossed his face.

“Brandon?”

“I haven’t seen these in a very long time.” His voice was quiet, yet thick with emotion. Lady Caroline’s death was a horrible event that had marked him and his father, disjointed their relationship, and altered the entire rhythm of the household forever on.

“No,” said Justine. “I suppose not.” Brandon winced, his shoulders stiffened. “Your father had them hidden, and he told me where to find them in his room,” Justine continued. “I’m afraid it’s all that’s left. Richard went through almost everything.” She leaned closer to him over the box. “Um, there’s a note from your father to your mother just under here.” Her fingertip poked at a small yellowed paper with faded ink nestled underneath the bracelet.

Brandon removed it carefully and read what Justine knew was a short love note from his father to his mother. She busied herself refilling her cup with fresh tea. The jewelry box snapped shut behind her.

She jerked her head up at him. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to save anything else. There was your father’s gold watch, a small cross on a chain, rings, and that lovely long pearl necklace.” She rubbed her cold hands together.

Brandon gave her a slight wave of his fingers, begging her to stop. “Thank you. This means so very much to me, Justine,” he breathed.

“You’re welcome.” She averted her eyes from his piercing gaze. “Shall we go to the study, and you can look over the papers?” He nodded, and they took their tea with them to the study where Brandon settled in behind his father’s desk.

After a short while, Brandon looked up at her from the pile of papers before him. “This was a lot of work on your part, very smart. Bold, in fact.” He eased back in his chair, his hooded eyes settling on her. His fingers drummed the surface of the desk.

“Bold?” She shifted in her chair, and he only nodded silently, his gaze intent upon her. She cleared her throat. “I have an idea, Brandon.”

“What is it?”

“I think you should come with me to see the tenants. They are your tenants, and they should see that you are alive and doing well.”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right,” Brandon said. “I should. I need to see them too. And I should sit down and confer with Davidson right away as well, communicate with the partners and the manager in Jamaica. There’s plenty of work to be done.”

Justine smiled. “Yes, there is.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That makes you happy, Justine?”

“It does. I can help with correspondence or whatever you like.”

“Very well.”

Her eyes gleamed, and something in his chest released. Justine’s smile was so genuine that it lit up her face even in the dim light of the study. It also lit up something inside him, an ember that he thought had long since burned out, but now flared once more in the dark cave that was his soul. Whatever it was it felt foreign, but at this very moment it was an unexpected pleasure flowing through him. Perhaps he ought to savor it.

He locked the leather binder and the jewelry box away in one of the desk drawers and tucked the key in his pocket.