Wolfsgate (51 page)

“Seeing that child, knowing he’s a part of you and your wife, it’s startling. You’ve created a new life, Graven. We talk and talk about spawning heirs, but we don’t really think about what that means, do we? Sweet Lord, he’s a little person cut from your very own cloths.”

Brandon sent a silent prayer of thanks up to God and his mother’s spirit for the thousandth time that his wife had survived giving birth to their son. His anxiety had run high the final weeks. The night Justine’s water had broke, he had sent for the doctor and Mrs. Shaw directly. His heart had burned anew with the stinging memory of his mother’s fatal suffering.

All through the hours of Justine’s labor his pulse had drummed a rhythm of dread through her grunting and heavy breathing. It drummed on even when the babe’s cries pierced the air, even when Mrs. Shaw shouted out that it was a boy. His leaden heart had jammed in his chest, and he’d remained rooted to the wall. Dr. Langham and Mrs. Shaw had to assure him repeatedly that all had gone well and that Justine was in perfect health.

Suddenly an uncontrollable urge to see and touch Justine for himself sent him spinning, and he’d burst into the bedchamber. His beautiful wife was exhausted, pale, drenched with perspiration, and yet she grinned and held her hands out to him, his name on her lips.

Later, when Brandon had finally held his son in his arms, this tiny warm bundle yawned and stretched and nestled further in its blanket. Holding this small weight in his hands, he had not felt anxiety over this new, awesome, and strange responsibility, but an unexpected exhilaration. It was not unlike the euphoria he had once known, but this sensation was real and true and long-lasting. This euphoria filled his blood to bursting and rooted him to the very earth.

When Justine had drifted off to sleep after a feeding, and the babe was still fussing at her side in their bed, Brandon had brought his mother’s music box. As a young boy, he had taken it from her chamber the day they had buried her and kept it for himself, but now he’d brought it out for his son. He had sat on the floor, leaned against the bed, and unlocked the small gold box releasing the soft strains of music into the room. He leaned his head against the mattress and breathed deeply.

He was at the dawn of a startling new life and wanted it marked with his mother’s melody. More importantly, he wanted to vanquish that music’s former wretchedness and transform it into something new, something beautiful once again. He turned and reached up to the babe. His son’s fist sprouted open and tightly clasped onto one of his father’s fingers. Every note of music swept through Brandon, and the bittersweet was replaced with a keen gratification.

Now, at little Jeremy’s christening he felt settled into that new life.

He turned his eyes from the sun as Charles clasped his shoulder. “It’s beginning to make sense, I think,” he said.

“What’s that?” asked Brandon.

“The notion of marriage, Graven.”

Brandon lifted an eyebrow. “Ah, I’m impressed with your rapid progress on the subject, Montclare.”

“Too right.” Charles scowled then his face broke into a grin. “It is impressive.”

“Make a wise choice though. Don’t get carried away by the pretty face, the fetching figure or the enticing income.”

“Oh, shut up. You’ve spoilt it for me you know, you and Justine. I look at the two of you and see what a marriage could be, and I am full of pathetic envy and high ideals.” He scoffed.

“You have razor sharp instincts, man. Have some faith and a lot of patience, and do not be persuaded otherwise.”

“Faith,” Charles muttered as they watched Andrew, Georgina and Justine laugh together. “Lady Graven looks very well and very happy.”

“There was a time I did not think it would be so.”

“Any word from William?”

“Not a one. They’ve been in London for almost a year now without a single visit here. Although Amanda did send a silver bauble for the baby’s christening.”

“That was civil.”

“Justine was touched by it. Who knows, maybe one day we can all be in the same room together without sparks flying.

“Or fists.” Charles drained his wine glass.

“Or fists, but that’s up to Justine. For the time being, distance is a positive thing. Perhaps one day our children can come to know each other. Andrew remains a friend, no matter his sister and brother-in-law’s course.”

“He’s always been a good sort,” said Charles, folding his arms across his chest as the trio approached them.

Justine rushed to Brandon and curled her arm through his, squeezing it. “Brandon!” Her cheeks were full of color, her lush dark eyes sparkled up at him. The air caught in Brandon’s lungs. Would that exhilarating delight in his wife ever cease?

Never.

His fingers entwined with hers and he brought their hands to his chest.

“Mr. Blakelock has just told us the most wonderful bit of news,” Georgina said, her face beaming.

“Has he now?” Charles’ eyes flashed as Georgina slipped her arm through Andrew’s.

Georgina glanced up at Charles. “He has indeed. Tell them, Mr. Blakelock.”

“It’s Amanda,” Andrew said. “She’s with child.”

Charles shot a look at Brandon. “Ah, and life goes on.”

Brandon nodded. “And so it does.”

Justine’s face tilted up at him. “Fresh beginnings are the very best, I think.”

He brushed her soft cheek with his fingertips and planted a kiss on her warm lips. She sighed against his mouth.

It felt good, so very good, standing here in the glow of the hot summer sun with Justine pressed against him, their friends with them to celebrate the naming of their first child. Dear God, how he wanted to plant another babe in her womb. And another.

Last night they had finally made love again for the first time since her confinement and little Jeremy’s birth. It was slow and gentle and glorious. She had trembled in his arms for a long time after, and then he took her again. This morning there had been more of that rich, sweet wildness. Her taste was still on his tongue now.

Brandon raised his head at the sky and smiled at the sight of thick masses of clouds gathering in the east. A summer storm was brewing, and it would surely arrive by nightfall. He knew that if he heard the howl of the Graven wolf in the din of this evening’s rains and winds, he would not be disturbed, indeed, he would welcome it. He would know the creature was finally at peace, for he had proven himself loyal and true. He had persevered through the dark, deceptive shadows of such a long winter and found a new, rich peace of his own making.

His gaze darted over his guests and his magnificent property. Georgina and Andrew laughed at something clever Charles said, and Charles smiled smugly. Brandon slid his arm around his wife’s shoulders and drew her closer. Even now in the glaring heat of the August sun, the evergreen trees which encompassed Wolfsgate stood vibrant and tall, strong and tenacious, full of the sap of life.

I COULD NOT HAVE MADE THIS DREAM COME TRUE
without a great many wonderful, supportive, and very smart people who deserve my big hugs and my sincerest thanks:

To editor Jennifer Roberts-Hall for her clarity, insights, her dreams, her beautiful friendship, her generous heart, and all the laughter day and night across oceans and continents and many time zones.

To the amazing Najla Qamber for her artistry in creating a truly magical and wonderfully unexpected cover and for collaborating with me over and over again.

To Jovana Shirley for her patience and beautiful handiwork.

To my awesome betas Adele, Alison, Angela, Archie, Carolyn, Danette, Deana, Natalie, and Rachel. Your eagerness, enthusiasm, and feedback always made me smile, gnash my teeth, and kept me moving forward. Thank you for answering all my questions and putting up with me. Your insights and generosity are treasures to me, and I would be lost with you.

To Chas Jenkins, Jessica, and Steffi for their support and guidance. Big smooches to all the amazing book bloggers and Facebook book groups for their support and enthusiasm. The amazing work all these wonderful women do mean so very much to me as an author and a reader and always will.

To my aunt Stella with whom I shared a secret passion for romantic reads. Every summer when I would visit as a young girl she would let me raid her vast secret library of Harlequins and historicals that was stashed under her bed and in the shadowy depths of her basement, opening up a whole new world to me, along with the classics I was reading at school and already falling in love with. This, however, was another kind of love. Auntie, this book is all your fault. Well, sort of. (I have Winston Graham’s wonderful
Poldark
series to thank for that, too) Love you. And of course to my mother who would roll her eyes at us, yet for most of my adult life was constantly urging me to write a historical- “you know you want to, just do it already!” I wish you and dad were here to finally see it happen.

But most of all, it has to come down to my three children who not only put up with my long, crazed hours of writing day and night and all my emotional wackiness as I live these creatures of my mind, but encourage me to do it. Their generosity and gentle reminders to feed them a real meal, bake them a treat, resolve an argument, help them with their homework, or simply to play with them gives me the temerity and resolve to keep plugging along even on the days when everything looks and feels so damn grey. You’re my everything. And to my husband for supporting the circus that is our lives.

To my readers, this is truly nothing without you. Thank you for letting my words whisper in your ears and in your hearts. Thank you so very much for reaching out to me, for the laughs, the smiles, and the sharing. Thank you for your support and your reviews. You make it all worthwhile and all the sweeter.

Please connect with me on my website, Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. Visit my Pinterest page where I have dedicated boards to “Wolfsgate” that I hope you enjoy as much as I do pinning them into creation. Please do leave a review wherever you may roam for all are very much appreciated and are very important for readers and authors alike.

xx C

CAT PORTER
was born and raised in New York City, but also spent a few years in Europe and Texas along the way. As an introverted, only child, she had very big, but very secret dreams for herself. She graduated from Vassar College, was a struggling actress, an art gallery girl, special events planner, freelance writer, restaurant hostess, and had all sorts of other crazy jobs in the big city all hours of the day and night to help make those dreams come true. She has two children’s books traditionally published under her maiden name. She now lives in Athens, Greece with her husband, their three crazy children, and a few stray cats. She freaks out regularly and still daydreams way too much. She is addicted to reading, the beach, the History Channel, her iPad, her husband’s homemade wine, really dark chocolate, and her Nespresso coffee machine. Writing keeps her somewhat sane, extremely happy, and a productive member of society.