Knight of Christmas Page 5
“Earl to a crumbling title and a ruined estate. Not much of a legacy. Your late husband was careless and stupid,” Bran ground out through his clenched teeth.
Angeline’s eyes sparkled with ire. This was the first time he had seen her passion come to the surface in full flair. Perhaps all was not lost.
“I made an agreement, and I intend to fulfill my end of the bargain. As to the rest, we can discuss this later.”
His mouth quirked in amusement at her pointed set-down. “As you wish. We can converse about the weather instead. Abominably cold, is it not? Or perhaps we can discuss where we will place the Christmas tree. I thought the front parlor but not too close to the hearth would be sufficient.”
Peter looked up from his empty bowl. “May I go with you, sir, when you get the tree?”
Bran stood and walked to the bellpull. They might as well have the next courses. Angeline would not talk of anything more substantial now.
“Of course, Peter. We can go the day after tomorrow.”
William scurried in with the platter of carved roast chicken and vegetables. Bowls of Vichy carrots and asparagus in dill sauce were held out for them to select their choices. Bran stood, walked to Peter, and took his plate. He heaped copious amounts of vegetables on the boy’s platter and then did the same with the roast chicken. He sat the plate in front of the child.
“I expect you to eat every bite of food, Peter. If you are to learn to ride a horse you must be hale and strong.”
Peter glanced at the vegetables with little interest, and didn’t reply.
Bran asked, “Have you ever cut down a tree or used an axe?”
“No, sir.”
“I have in Canada. Trees with a girth so large I could not wrap my arms around them, and better than one hundred feet tall.”
Peter gazed at Bran in amazement. He could only manage an impressed, “Oh!”
“To fell a tree with a steel axe requires strength and stamina, and that means eating a goodly amount of vegetables.” Bran smiled.
“I will eat them all, sir.”
Without thinking, Bran tousled the boy’s hair. “There’s a good lad.”
The rest of the dinner passed pleasantly enough. He included Peter in the conversation, and the child enthusiastically joined in. Hardly any vestiges remained of the pinched and withdrawn boy he had seen in the chapel. Anna came to collect Peter when the meal concluded. The dishes were taken away, and the port left on the table. Bran and Angeline were alone.
“What ails Peter?” he asked gently as he poured Angeline a generous amount of port.
She took a sip, then set down the crystal glass. “Nothing specific. He was born early and struggled from the beginning. He seemed to catch every malady and sickness borne for child or man.”
Bran sat back in his chair. “And yet he survived.”
“When Peter caught the measles as well at the age of two, I nearly went mad with worry. So soon after Braden.” A look of sorrow covered her face. “I blame myself. Perhaps I didn’t care for Braden as I should. He was so strong and healthy that I assumed he would recover. What did I know of such things? Even the doctor assured me he would be fine.”
Bran enclosed her hand in his. “Do not blame yourself. I certainly do not. There is no rhyme or reason to it. Being a child is a perilous thing indeed. It seems, Angeline, you blame yourself for a great many things.”
She pulled her hand away and took another deep swallow of port. “Why would you wish to make a settlement on us? We are nothing to you.”
He didn’t answer right away. It was not true that they meant nothing. Angeline and Peter had come to mean more to him than any two people had in his life in such a shockingly short period of time. The feelings for Angeline were always there. Hidden and locked away. They were certainly at the forefront now.
“You still think me a footman in fancy dress. I can see the flash of disdain in your eyes. I never told you how I came to be employed at the Oakby estate, did I?”
Angeline shook her head.
Bran threw back the remaining port in his glass and poured another. “My father was in trade. We were not accepted into the higher echelons of society even though my father could no doubt buy and sell those viscounts and earls ten times over. I grew up wanting for nothing. I was educated, pampered, and we lived well.” He took a sip of his drink.
“My privileged life ceased to exist when I turned eighteen. Father never would have risen as far as he had without taking risks. He entered into a scheme for transporting tobacco from the Americas. The proposal was a dismal failure and ruined him. We lost everything. The man who hatched and manipulated the plan and lost nothing was,” Bran paused and shook his head, “the Earl of Oakby.”
Angeline shook her head. “Oh, Bran. No.”
“Oh, yes. While we lived in a miserable hovel, I hatched a scheme of my own: how to obtain revenge on the evil bastard who had ruined my family. My plans for retribution never work,” he scoffed sardonically. “I thought if I was employed in his home I could gather information to bring him down as he deserved. I was only there one week before I was brought into his room at gunpoint.”
Angeline looked at him with a frank gaze. “I am truly sorry your family was ruined, and that you were used in such a way, but it still does not answer my question. Why the settlement?”
Bran shrugged. “I have the means. I have made more of a fortune than my father ever dreamed possible. It is small matter, but my parents died living in abject poverty before I could assist them, another blow wrought by Oakby. However, I am in a position to assist you and Peter. Why should you both continue to be victims of your arrogant late husband as well? Would this not be the best revenge to live out your days in comfort?”
Angeline was clearly struggling with her response. It took all his self-control not to go before her on bended knee and beg she and the child return with him to Canada. He had to restrain his passions or she would run screaming in the other direction. He knew this instinctively. The time was not right to declare his feelings.
“Tell me what you want, Angeline.”
Chapter 6
What Angeline wanted more than anything was for her terrible past to melt away. Ten years ago, when she and Bran were last alone, he had whispered wicked words of desire. Angeline had been boneless, weightless, and utterly under Bran’s spell. He’d made love to her multiple times in various positions, some she had not thought possible. They were learning as they went. Bran had been virile, masculine, and very thorough. Each time they’d joined had been better than before.
If she could live the rest of her life with Bran,—but it was not possible. Too much had happened. Briefly, her memories drifted to the final occasion they had been alone.
“Bran, you must escape—”
“I do not leave without you. I love you, Angeline. We must be together, now, and for always. Tomorrow night we will depart this place. I don’t care where we go as long as we are together. We can go to North America and start a new life. Say you will.”
She eagerly agreed and Bran pulled her on top of him and kissed her deeply. He guided her onto his erect shaft and she rode him with wild abandon.
After that glorious night she had been taken away, and never saw him again. Then she was told the horrible lie. Crossley had told her in his spiteful, whiny voice that Brandon Knight no longer wished to service a simpering, love-struck girl. She’d believed the deception. Stupid fool. Now that she thought about it, Crossley must have been watching them through the peephole and overheard their plans of escape. Bran being beaten and dragged away all fit.
She turned to look at him. Bran’s face was unreadable as he patiently waited for her to answer. What did she want? She wanted Bran with an aching yearning she could not verbalize. But her insides were so rotted and damaged, how could she ever love any man—especially Brandon Knight?
“I want a quiet place by the sea where my son and I can be alone. There ar
e a number of cottages outside Herne Bay that would serve my purpose, but I have not the means to purchase one.”
Did she see a flicker of disappointment on his face? “After Christmas, I will instruct Sir Alastair to make inquires.”
“Thank you, Bran. Until then I will remain here as housekeeper for the three months we originally agreed upon. Peter’s education is still included, I assume.”
“Yes, if that is all that matters to you.” Bran stood, and with his mouth pulled into a taut line, he bowed stiffly. “If you will excuse me, Lady Oakby. Good evening.”
He strode from the room and slammed the door. There could be nothing between them. Angeline felt his potent anger. No, financially securing her and Peter’s future was not all that mattered to her.
Bran mattered. More than she could say. But the past was too horrible to forget or forgive for them both.
* * *
Bran paced in his room, clenching his fists in impatient desire. He had to get out of the dining room before he kissed her. Or said something he would have regretted. He supposed he couldn’t fault her for wanting to be cloistered away in a small cottage. Angeline needed to heal. He understood. Had he not done the same when he first arrived in Canada?
After what he had learned about his son, he too needed time for this new wound to scab over. Perhaps he should settle her at a cottage, sell this abomination of a town house, and return to North America immediately. The coward’s way out. If he were any kind of man he would stay and fight for what he wanted.
The soft knock at the connecting door tore through his aching heart. Damn and blast, the woman would not leave him alone. He stormed to the door and flung it open. Bran was struck afresh at how beautiful she looked tonight.
“We have more to discuss, Bran,” Angeline stated plainly. “You wanted me to tell you everything, so I shall. I will not be put off. Not again.”
He sighed and stepped aside, holding out his arm to bid her enter. She swished by him in a silken cranberry rush. The scent of chamomile caressed his senses to the point of torture. Angeline sat intractably upright in the chair by the fire. Bran grabbed the other chair and placed it across from her. He sat and crossed his arms.
“Enlighten me. Last you told me, Oakby intended to get you with child himself. Please spare me the disgusting details. Peter is evidence he managed to accomplish the feat.”
Angeline slowly removed her gloves, pulling on the fingers one at a time. Be damned if he didn’t harden at the sight.
“Hardly. He came to me that first night so drunk he could barely stand. The thought of making love to his wife filled him with such revulsion that he drank himself into a stupor. He wound up sobbing on the floor.”
Bran brushed a hand through his hair. Did he really want to hear this? If he wanted to understand what Angeline had to endure, then he must. Only in the last six years had he accumulated the bulk of his wealth through various shipping ventures. He had a line of his own, Knight Shipping, located in the province of Nova Scotia on Canada’s East Coast. The plan had been to start up an office here in Herne Bay, but now he was not sure.
In truth, he should have returned for her as soon as he was financially able. No, his pride believed the lie that she no longer wanted him. His broken heart and smashed pride spurred his actions. Far too late for regrets and guilt, though they weighed heavy on his heart anyway.
Angeline laid the gloves across her lap and clasped her hands, resting them on top.
“The next night Crossley came with him. Oakby was only half in his cups. Crossley had to soothe him and persuade him. The room was in complete darkness. Oakby was encouraged to pretend I was one of the many young men he and Crossley liked to play with. After some perfunctory foreplay, the deed was done.”
Bran felt the two plates of chicken and vegetables he had consumed churn in his stomach. He said nothing.
“The act became a game to them both. Every night for three weeks this continued. Sometimes Crossley watched as he pleasured himself or—”
Bran leapt to his feet to loom over Angeline. “Enough. By God, I cannot comprehend any of this.”
Angeline shrugged. “I was his wife. Under law I had to submit. Oakby was not completely inept at his duty. He was not rough or disrespectful, at least in this act. I was not forced. I did want a child most desperately. Having a second man in the room was abhorrent at first. What does it say about me that I became accepting of the situation? As you see, Bran, I am as Oakby predicted: completely ruined for any gentleman of honor. And you are far too good for me.”
“Too good? Hardly.” Bran collapsed in the chair, utterly weary in heart as well as his soul. “You became pregnant, then what?” His voice was heavy with the weight of her words.
“I was left to my own devices. Oakby was hardly at the town house. He might deign to stay a few nights a month. I settled into my own routine and life, as I assume most women do who are married to lecherous members of the peerage. He never touched me again. The games I told you of? The ones they coerced me to attend? They happened only a few times in the ensuing years, but enough to cause damage. And as those years passed, I realized you would not be returning to rescue me.”
Bran flinched. “Do you wish me to apologize for something beyond both our controls? We can agree that we were young and inexpert on many subjects. Both prideful and naïve, we believed the lies told to us, and frightened of the obvious and implied power held by these men. They were peers, after all.”
Angeline nodded and clasped her hands tighter. “I blamed you for many years. I had to endure Braden’s death alone. Even though Peter brought joy back into my life, my heart had shrunk to a blackened piece of coal. One year blended into another. I became numb and unfeeling. Crossley and Oakby became more debauched. They wanted to include me in those games I spoke of. I refused. Oakby threatened to tear Peter from me and send him away to school. I couldn’t bear the thought. I had already lost you and Braden, so I agreed.”
She exhaled shakily. “As I said, It did not happen often, but enough to kill what decency and heart I had left. I was made to watch orgies, men of all ages and classes. Crossley, and to a lesser extent Oakby, apparently received some perverse pleasure in seeing if I reacted to the erotic sights in front of me.”
The air between them was awkward and raw. Bran did not expect Angeline to be so forthcoming. Nor in his most depraved thoughts had he conjured any of these scenarios. A simmering fury had him tempted to dig up Oakby and kill him again if it were possible.
“Saying sorry you were subjected to all this is inadequate. In truth, Angeline, I don’t have the words to convey what I am feeling.”
“I know. It is a terrible mess. On all fronts. For us both,” she murmured.
“I am a passionate man. I have not lived as a monk these past years. You have not shocked me as badly as you may think. If you responded physically to what you had observed, don’t admonish yourself over it. Do not feel guilt over your very human reactions.”
“It proves my point. I am not fit for any decent man.”
Bran stretched out his long legs and leaned back in his chair. “Whoever said I was a decent man? Can you sit there and tell me you do not want me? You do remember how it was between us? It can be so again. I am hard for you now, as I was at seeing you at your husband’s funeral, if you want to speak of decency. What does it say about me that I lust after a widow whose husband is not yet cold in his grave?”
Angeline’s eyes widened. “You cannot want me, not after what I told you.”
“If you thought to shock me and send me running from you in abhorrence, you have failed miserably. I curse Crossley and Oakby for exposing you to their debaucheries. They should have left their sexual practices private as most people do. You can pretend indifference and claim you are dead inside, but I refuse to believe it. You have endured so much, Angeline, and are all the stronger for it. Cloistering yourself away like a nun in a tiny cottage is not the answer.”
He observed Angeline’s brown-green eyes trail down his torso. He moved aside his evening coat so she could see the evidence of his arousal. She stared at him for quite some time, then licked her bottom lip. As Bran suspected, she was not immune.
“Do you wish to know what I indulged in while in Canada? No? For all its strictures of a proper Victorian society, there is a seamy underbelly well hidden in Great Britain and the Commonwealth. I am sorry we were exposed to it at such a young and impressionable age. It affected us both in many ways.” He sat forward, his gaze firm on hers. “But here is the most important thing to consider: we can help each other heal. I want a life with you, Angeline. Think on that.”
Bran stood, and held out his hand. Angeline hesitated, but slipped her bare hand in his. Blistering heat roared through him from her touch. She stood and faced him, indecision clear on her face.
“Angeline. I ask permission to slip my arms about you merely to comfort you. I will not pull you close, I will not kiss you. I want to show that you can trust me. I will not force my lust on you. If you want me in your bed, you will have to make the invitation. May I hold you?”
She nodded, looking every inch the innocent, scared girl of seventeen he had fallen in love with so many years before.
Gently he slipped his arms about her, taking care not to let her brush against his arousal in any way. She shuddered in his arms, but allowed the embrace. They stood together, holding on, drawing strength, sharing comfort. The only sound was wood snapping and crackling in the hearth. Finally, Bran stepped back.
“Go to your room, Angeline, and I will see you in the morning. I will take Peter out to the stables after breakfast.”
When he heard the soft snick of the handle, he turned and faced the fireplace. Lowering his head, his hands came out to grip the mantel tightly. Bran did not move for a long time.