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Authors: Escapades Four Regency Novellas
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but ran from the room, leaving Bran staring after her, white-faced.
For some moments, he stared blankly ahead of him. He could not believe what had just happened. He had resolved to treat Felicity with the courtesy and friendship that was due not only her position, but which had been a gift from his heart when they were children. He had not expected that his heart would rush to a recognition of a love he had not even known existed. All it seemed to take, however, to destroy his reasoned intentions were a few moments in close proximity to her.
For a moment, during, the searing kisses they had just exchanged, he had thought that Felicity was experiencing the same revelation. She had clung to him with a passion that had almost destroyed what little control remained to him. The sweetness of her lips, the soft, slender curves that moved against him with an innocent, age-old wisdom, had created a maelstrom of wanting within him—not just to possess that lovely, slim body, but to become one with her in spirit, as well.
He walked slowly from the room and, in the morning room, he found Martha, seated in conversation with the marquess and Carolyn Coppersmith. Her gaze lifted to him as he entered the room, but he could find nothing there beyond a shuttered blankness that enshrouded him in a bottomless depression.
Martha’s breath caught. Lord, Bran looked as though someone had struck him a blow. It had been painful beyond words to leave him without telling him of her feelings—but she had no right. Dear God, she had no right to love this man. What did he feel for her? Was she reading too much into the passion they had shared? She looked away from the earl as he chose a chair next to the marquess. As the afternoon died, he cast sporadic glances toward her, but she was careful to allow nothing of the chaos churning within her to show outwardly.
Lord Canby had arranged for a small dinner party that evening. Martha had already been introduced to some of the family members, and tonight she was scheduled to meet several more. She was unable to look forward to the festive little occasion with anything but unmitigated dismay, but at least, when the guests arrived, she was kept busy. She smiled and smiled until she thought her face would crack, but she was able to keep away from Bran.
She was conscious of his presence throughout the evening, however. He always seemed to be at the periphery of her vision, and she was aware that his glance strayed to her often through the endless round of introductions and her brittle acknowledgments of cousins, aunts, and uncles.
When the dinner party finally ended, Martha relaxed momentarily on the ride to the hotel from Canby House, grateful for Mrs. Coppersmith’s presence in the carriage. When at last they entered the little sitting room, she moved immediately toward her bedchamber, pleading exhaustion from the day’s events.
Bran bowed over Martha’s hand with a cool farewell.
“I would like to see you tomorrow morning, if that is acceptable,” he said before releasing her hand.
She nodded wordlessly.
“Privately,” he added in a very odd tone of voice.
Martha’s gaze, which she had directed assiduously downward, now flew to meet his. She dared not read what was written in his eyes. She nodded again, and with a word to Mrs. Coppersmith, he turned. The next moment, he was gone.
Outside the corridor, Bran leaned against the door. Good God, he was trembling like a girl. He had made his assignation with Martha unthinkingly. He did not know what he was going to say to her, he had only known that he must see her. He wanted to conclude the scene that had begun in the music room. He grinned to himself. Not that kind of a conclusion, though had she remained in his arms another moment, such might have been the case. No, he reflected, as he moved down the corridor and out of the hotel. He wanted . . . Dammit, he didn’t know what he wanted. On his deepest level of consciousness he yearned to
For some moments, he stared blankly ahead of him. He could not believe what had just happened. He had resolved to treat Felicity with the courtesy and friendship that was due not only her position, but which had been a gift from his heart when they were children. He had not expected that his heart would rush to a recognition of a love he had not even known existed. All it seemed to take, however, to destroy his reasoned intentions were a few moments in close proximity to her.
For a moment, during, the searing kisses they had just exchanged, he had thought that Felicity was experiencing the same revelation. She had clung to him with a passion that had almost destroyed what little control remained to him. The sweetness of her lips, the soft, slender curves that moved against him with an innocent, age-old wisdom, had created a maelstrom of wanting within him—not just to possess that lovely, slim body, but to become one with her in spirit, as well.
He walked slowly from the room and, in the morning room, he found Martha, seated in conversation with the marquess and Carolyn Coppersmith. Her gaze lifted to him as he entered the room, but he could find nothing there beyond a shuttered blankness that enshrouded him in a bottomless depression.
Martha’s breath caught. Lord, Bran looked as though someone had struck him a blow. It had been painful beyond words to leave him without telling him of her feelings—but she had no right. Dear God, she had no right to love this man. What did he feel for her? Was she reading too much into the passion they had shared? She looked away from the earl as he chose a chair next to the marquess. As the afternoon died, he cast sporadic glances toward her, but she was careful to allow nothing of the chaos churning within her to show outwardly.
Lord Canby had arranged for a small dinner party that evening. Martha had already been introduced to some of the family members, and tonight she was scheduled to meet several more. She was unable to look forward to the festive little occasion with anything but unmitigated dismay, but at least, when the guests arrived, she was kept busy. She smiled and smiled until she thought her face would crack, but she was able to keep away from Bran.
She was conscious of his presence throughout the evening, however. He always seemed to be at the periphery of her vision, and she was aware that his glance strayed to her often through the endless round of introductions and her brittle acknowledgments of cousins, aunts, and uncles.
When the dinner party finally ended, Martha relaxed momentarily on the ride to the hotel from Canby House, grateful for Mrs. Coppersmith’s presence in the carriage. When at last they entered the little sitting room, she moved immediately toward her bedchamber, pleading exhaustion from the day’s events.
Bran bowed over Martha’s hand with a cool farewell.
“I would like to see you tomorrow morning, if that is acceptable,” he said before releasing her hand.
She nodded wordlessly.
“Privately,” he added in a very odd tone of voice.
Martha’s gaze, which she had directed assiduously downward, now flew to meet his. She dared not read what was written in his eyes. She nodded again, and with a word to Mrs. Coppersmith, he turned. The next moment, he was gone.
Outside the corridor, Bran leaned against the door. Good God, he was trembling like a girl. He had made his assignation with Martha unthinkingly. He did not know what he was going to say to her, he had only known that he must see her. He wanted to conclude the scene that had begun in the music room. He grinned to himself. Not that kind of a conclusion, though had she remained in his arms another moment, such might have been the case. No, he reflected, as he moved down the corridor and out of the hotel. He wanted . . . Dammit, he didn’t know what he wanted. On his deepest level of consciousness he yearned to
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