Wolfsgate (21 page)

She let out a soft whimper and raised her mouth to his. He took it, and her tongue slid through his lips tangling with his, her breasts pressing into his chest. He nudged open her legs with his knee, and his fingers found her wet heat and stroked her. The blood rushed to his head, and his already hard cock practically growled as her one leg hooked around his hip. He gently sank inside her as she cried out softly, her neck arching back.

He was intoxicated.

Completely intoxicated.

A shiver stole down his spine as he gave her deep, slow strokes. “Oh, Jus,” slipped from between his lips. His cock had never felt so damned blessed. His, until now, utterly superficial understanding of the flesh crumbled as he gently thrust inside Justine, her pelvis rocking up to meet him, her glorious eyes glued to his. This was another kind of pleasure. This was not mere swiving, a meeting of body parts for mutual satisfaction; this was offering, receiving, giving, creating.

She cried out.

His balls tightened and his brains blazed like a furnace being fed fresh coals. He licked at the damp saltiness of her throat, whispering endearments and a host of filthy sentiments in her ear. She groaned and hooked both her legs high over his hips. Oh yes, she liked that, didn’t she?

Her fingers dug into his flesh, and the bite of pain only incited his lust. Her gorgeous breasts rubbed against his chest as she moaned digging her heels into his rear, her body trembling against his, urging him on. She wasn’t over-thinking now, wasn’t closing herself off from him, from the pleasure he offered her.

Yes, Justine was his.

His to fuck until kingdom come.

SHE WATCHED BRANDON
drink deep from the large mug of cold water she had brought him to the roof where he and a few men worked making repairs. Thank God the wind was blustering over them as she needed the harsh rush of air to whip her out of these endless dreamy reveries. His skin glistened with perspiration as the muscles of his jaw and neck worked to drain the cool contents of the mug. Justine shifted her weight, her fingers gripping the tray tighter.

“Thank you,” he murmured, placing his empty mug on her tray. Her gaze remained on his full, wet lips. Her sensual absorption with her husband was interrupted by Martin and the other two young men working with him.

“Thank you, ma’am.” They loaded her tray with their large mugs. Martin bowed his head at her then turned away. Justine took a step back, but Brandon’s one hand curled around her arm and pulled her towards him, a cheeky grin lighting his face.

“Justine, my father’s room, is it being attended to?”

This morning in bed laying on their sides, her back to his front, he had woken her up with kisses along her shoulders and his hands stroking her breasts until her entire body ached for him. He had slid inside her from behind and whispered in her ear that she should prepare his father’s bedroom for them so they could move into the manor’s large master suite as soon as possible.
“So Lord Graven can plunder his Lady properly.”
That dark tone in his voice did her in every time.

After a few unhurried strokes, Brandon had halted his movements, his fingers digging into her hips.
“Find it, Jus,”
his voice had been harsh, commanding. He craved engaging her in the act, and she craved him doing so. She had moved against him, and his hand had slid between her legs stroking her until she had…oh, yes. Then he had joined her for a grand finale.

That was a fine, fine way to begin one’s day.

She cleared her throat. “The room will be ready today.”

“Good.” He brushed strands of hair back from her face. Justine readjusted the tray in her grip and quit the roof.

“All the bed chambers are finished ma’am,” Lizzie’s rosy face tipped up at Justine as she descended the stairs.

“Very good.”

Every window was open, every door, and the cool air rushed and swirled around Justine as she strode through the upper gallery tray in hand, a wide grin on her face. Rows of washing hung on the sun-filled lawn behind the house. Two girls swept the hallway, on the stairwell the portraits were being dusted off, and the oak panelling along the walls polished. The hum of loud voices, footsteps, bustling, and the hammering on the roof all surged together like a rousing symphony. Plenty of work had been done and there was a good deal more to do, and the thought only quickened her pulse. They were moving forward; Wolfsgate was seeing brighter, better days.

She had organized the new staff’s duties for the day, first having them clean up the servants’ quarters where several of them would eventually stay, and then the kitchen, the dining room, the study, the parlor, and the main bed chambers, and lastly the drawing room at the end of the great hall. She had Molly direct traffic and make a stew with the new cook and bake plenty of bread so everyone could be fed a proper meal later on.

Brandon and Davidson had reviewed the sorry state of the stables first thing in the morning with Martin in tow. Then they inspected the entry way of the manor, the roof, the cellars. They pored over old maps and charts of the estate, making plans for improvements. They toured the grounds, papers and maps in hand. Brandon showed little signs of restlessness and instability these days. She knew it must be ever-present inside him, but now that he was fully occupied, both mentally and physically, in tasks he cared for, he seemed to be in good form.

She left the tray of mugs in the kitchen and went outside to tend to Lady Caroline’s rose bushes. Justine sank her fingers into the damp, thick soil and smoothed the earth around the plants. A shadow fell over her hands.

“You’re prettier than any rose, you know.”

Her gaze snapped up at the familiar warm voice. Andrew stood before her, one hand propped on his hip. Her breath caught. She had lived another lifetime since she had seen him last at the church graveyard.

“Hello, Mr. Blakelock.” She wiped her hands on her apron, stood up and bowed her head. “How are you?”

He took in air through his nose and shook his head. “Not well. I still cannot comprehend that you are married to Graven.”

“Please, don’t.”

“Did you ever love me? Ever? Really? Or was it all a game to you?”

Justine’s insides knotted. She detested the pain and resentment visible in his eyes that she knew she had caused; pain that Andrew most certainly did not deserve. Justine could never tell him the truth, never give him some sort of logical explanation for her rejection of him. Now she had to lie to him about her marriage.

“It was most certainly not a game. My feelings were real.”

“Were?” he asked. He stepped closer to her.

She retreated a step. “Stop, I beg of you or I will have to ask you to leave.”

“Did he force you to marry him?” Andrew’s brows knit together.

“No, Mr. Blakelock, Lord Graven did not force me.”

His eyes flashed. “Did he force himself on you? And now he’s playing the gentleman by marrying you?”

Her throat burned. “No!”

“Then why? Did you feel you had nowhere else to turn?” he asked, his eyes searching hers. “You must have spent all of two minutes with him in London. How did he convince you before you even came home? Were your circumstances so desperate?”

He would never know how very desperate.

“Please—”

“Did your brother encourage this?” He scowled and leaned in closer to her. “Or perhaps you convinced Graven all on your own. Is that it, Lady Justine? You saw an opportunity and convinced him using your delicate charms?”

Her lungs froze at the viciousness in his tone, the coldness in his eyes. He touched her arm, and she shrank back.

“I know I have been gone a long while, yet I always thought that when I returned we could try again, that perhaps it was some immature misunderstanding.” He let out a heavy sigh and his face fell. “Justine, why did you not come to me?” he whispered. “If something was wrong, if you needed anything, whatever it was, why did you not come to
me
?” He shook his head, his jaw clenched, his hand clamped onto hers. “I always believed there was a measure of trust between us.” The knot twisted further in Justine’s belly, and her eyes pricked.

“Blakelock, this is a surprise,” Brandon’s deep voice sliced through them. They both jerked apart, their hands dropping to their sides. “Interested in what we’re planting in the garden this year?”

Justine squinted up at her husband in the glare of the sun. His long black hair moved freely in the cool breeze. His white shirt was smudged with dirt and open at his neck which gleamed with perspiration down his lean chest, the chest that Justine had eagerly explored with her hands and her mouth just this morning. His fingers settled on his hips just over his long powerful legs which were stamped in tall, scuffed leather boots. Brandon presented a picture so different from Andrew’s refined and polished appearance.

How much had he heard of their conversation?

The snarl on his lips confirmed that he had heard plenty.

“Graven.” Andrew nodded sharply at Brandon who only jutted his chin out further. “I was out for a ride and thought I’d stop by. However, you are both quite busy. I’ll take my leave.”

Brandon slid an iron hand around Justine’s waist pulling her close to his body. Andrew’s gaze immediately followed the gesture, his blue eyes hardening then shifting away.

Brandon had seen Andrew riding up to the house and wondered what the hell he wanted. He had been standing on the roof working with the hired men and admiring his wife in the distance. He’d been admiring her diligence as she dug her hands in the dirt, her attention to detail, her rounded backside every time she leaned over.

Then he saw Blakelock admiring her too.

“Yes, we’re very busy. New staff, cleaning, fixing, quite a job, the lot of us working together,” said Brandon.

“Indeed.” Andrew’s eyes swept over Justine. She clasped her hands together, her face pale. He turned away, striking his hat on his head. “I’ll leave you to it then.” He bowed his head. “Good day.”

“Next time you visit, be sure to use the front door for a proper welcome,” Brandon said.

Andrew’s shoulders stiffened as he charged towards his horse and mounted it. The animal’s hooves pounded the dirt carrying its rider away.

Brandon’s hand twisted Justine at her hip snapping her around to him, his eyes narrow. “Why was here? Some sort of secret tryst?”

“Of course not.” Her chin dipped down. “He’s—”

“He’s what?”

“He’s confused by our marriage.”

“Confused?” Brandon asked. “What is there to be confused about? Maybe we should invite him to our bed chamber to extinguish his confusion once and for all?” His hand gripped her arm, his stony eyes more grey than green. “He obviously still has feelings for you, my girl. And what of yours for him? Such feelings don’t evaporate quickly. Look at you, you’re positively disturbed.”

“If I am disturbed it is because he is upset,” Justine replied. “And I’ve not seen him or heard from him in years, just as I told you. He was simply surprised to have seen us together at the church. Surprised to hear that we are married.”

“He can’t get over the fact that he lost you to me?”

She dropped her shoulders. “Is this how it is with you men? A competition?”

Anger simmered in the pit of his stomach. The fact of her non-virginity reared its ugly head and pecked at him. “Yes, Justine. It’s always a competition—for women, money, horses, and a host of other things. Is there anything else you need to tell me about you and Andrew?” He shifted his weight, a twinge of pain cut through his bad leg.

“I’ve told you everything, Brandon.” She pinned her arms to her abdomen.

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything.” Her eyes narrowed. “What are you asking me?”

“Don’t you lie to me, woman!” Flashes of Andrew squeezing her hand, his lips on her skin, their sharing easy laughter, taking walks together, scribbling each other romantic missives, her luscious mouth whispering his name…These images all came fast and furious in his dark imagination blurring his vision, smoldering in his chest.

“I am not lying, Brandon. Andrew and I have never shared more than a kiss. A very innocent kiss. Ever.”

He snorted. No, this was too much to deal with now after all the energy he wasted on the Adonis’s little visit. Justine still refused to confess her little secret. How could she continue pretending? He took in a deep breath of air. He didn’t want to lose any more control. Or maybe deep down inside he didn’t want to know, not just yet. She was his now, his wife, in his bed every night. That had to be enough.

He grabbed her arms and pulled her into his chest. Her lavender scent drifted over him reminding him of his fondness for her, his bloody weakness for her, or was it purely a burning, uncontrollable need for her?

“Innocent kisses, eh? If I see him here buzzing about you again, I will break his neck, do you understand?”

“Brandon?” She raised a hand to touch his face.

He pushed her away and marched off, his hair whipping in the breeze. He didn’t want to listen to explanations or excuses anymore. His head hammered with every heavy step of his boots on the hard ground. He flexed his fingers and curled them into fists. He had to regain control over his rage before he did or said something he would later regret. To do that he had to get away from her.