“We will be sitting at opposite ends of the table,” she pointed out reasonably.
Brandon grinned crookedly, and firmly placed her hand where he wanted it. “Enough of your logic,” he said cavalierly. “It is misplaced here. You should know that a sidelong glance accompanies this gesture. Yes, just like that. You have very expressive eyes, you know.”
Shannon’s hand squeezed his knee warningly. “Did I do that correctly?”
“Was I saying something outrageous?” he asked innocently.
“Yes.”
“Then you were perfect.” He slipped his arm around her waist and gave her a little hug. “That was for reassurance. You try it.” Shannon imitated his gesture and regarded him questioningly. “I’m reassured,” he promised solemnly. “Let us say that you wish to show affection—for appearances. You could hold my hand when I put my arm around you, or you could place your hand very lightly on my chest and lift your face to mine.”
“Perhaps another time.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Without asking her permission, Brandon drew her close again. Shannon went into his arms naturally. She was silent for so long that he thought she had fallen asleep. He smiled wryly when she finally spoke. He should have known she was worrying about something. She had shown a remarkable aptitude for that particular state of mind.
“Did Aurora enjoy it?”
“It?” he asked lazily.
“You know…when you touched her. Did she enjoy it?”
“No,” Brandon said with bitter honesty, thinking of the deterioration of his marriage. Aurora had made it quite clear that she did not like being touched by him.
Shannon’s heart sunk as she heard Brandon’s reply. Her first instincts had been correct. She should not find such pleasure in his embrace. It was wrong, horribly wrong. “And in front of her parents? What would she do then?”
Brandon frowned, not understanding the bent of Shannon’s mind. “Why, she would pretend, of course.”
“I see,” she said slowly, and she thought that at last she did. It seemed it was correct for a wife to pretend enjoyment but quite wrong to actually feel that emotion. She thought of her own mother, invariably smiling, always willing to assist her husband; then she thought of the way in which her mother fought Thomas Stewart in the bedroom. Yes, she finally understood, and the knowledge made her ache. Her stepfather had been wise to turn down William’s offer for her. She would not suit as a wife.
Her head rested against Brandon’s chest, and she could feel his breath ruffle her hair. Her eyes fluttered closed. To her shame she realized she would not have to pretend in front of the Marchands. With luck, no one would ever suspect the very real desire that shivered through her when Brandon held her in his arms.
Chapter 8
“Idon’t look anything like them,” Shannon whispered. It was her first thought when she saw Michaeline and Paul Marchand, and panic caused her eyes to widen and her heart to race. They were standing at the rail of theHelena,both of them eagerly leaning forward, smiling and waving to Clara, who was dancing with excitement on the dock. Shannon knew there was no reasonsheshould bear either of the Marchands the slightest resemblance, but given the fact that she was supposed to look like Aurora, she had thought there would be some similarity. That there was none brought her doubts about the masquerade rushing to the forefront of her mind.
Brandon was standing behind her, his hands on Shannon’s shoulder, as the Marchands alighted from the gangboard. Sensing her fears, he tightened his hands, and he felt her lean into him for support. “It will be all right,” he said. He gave her a little push. “Go to them.”
Shannon’s first steps were tentative, but when she saw the faint sheen of happy tears in Michaeline’s eyes, she responded naturally by running forward and embracing the woman who was, for the time being, her mother. Shannon laid her cheek against Michaeline’s graying cap of hair and felt the circle of her arms tighten. The sense of belonging in the fiercely loving embrace shocked Shannon, and she was troubled by the reluctance with which she left it. Before she could acknowledge the full consequences of her deceit, Shannon found herself in Paul’s arms and returning his greeting with an enthusiasm that had little to do with her pretense.
“It’s so good to have you here,” she said breathlessly, looking from the taut planes of Paul’s sculpted features to the more gently rounded ones of his wife’s. Paul was several inches taller than Shannon and a full head taller than Michaeline. His hair was iron gray and somehow suited the uncompromising thrust of his chin and the breadth of his shoulders. Yet his light green eyes were gentle and kind and, at the moment, clearly amused by Michaeline’s inability to stem the tide of her tears. He plucked a handkerchief from the pocket of his forest green velvet jacket and handed it to his wife. Michaeline smiled ruefully and dabbed at her eyes.
Shannon was spared having to deal with the emotions of the moment as Clara commanded the attention of her grandparents by asking them with forthright honesty if they remembered her.
“Oh, darling,” Michaeline exclaimed, laughing. “Of course we remember you! Come, don’t mind the waterworks, and give me a hug.”
Shannon felt her hand taken by Brandon as Clara was swept off her feet into her grandmother’s arms. There was tension in his stance that made her ache for him as the depth of his fear of losing Clara was transmitted to her. She longed to offer some word of comfort, to tell him that his fears were not rooted in any reality that she could see. It seemed inconceivable to Shannon that Michaeline, with years of loving laughter engraved in the faint lines at the corners of her generous mouth and hazel eyes, would ever consider removing Clara from the folly.
As Clara was transferred to Paul and eventually carried on his shoulders, Brandon leaned over Michaeline and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re looking as lovely as always,” he said sincerely. “We’re very happy to have you here.”
“Then you’re not displeased we invited ourselves?” she asked, glancing from one to the other, her uncertainty painfully evident.
Shannon intervened quickly, wanting to ease the hurt that had prompted Michaeline’s question. “Of course not, Mama.” She took Michaeline’s arm and led her away from the wharf. Paul and Clara followed while Brandon directed servants to take care of the Marchands’ trunks. “I thought it was understood you were always welcome at the folly. Brandon and I never considered you would stand on such formality as an invitation.”
“We didn’t in the end,” Paul said. Clara giggled as he jostled her around on his shoulders.
“I’m glad,” Shannon said firmly.
When Brandon caught up with them, he was pleased to note that the conversation was unexceptional and that he needn’t have worried that in the short time he was gone from them, Shannon may have said something uncharacteristic of Aurora. She was gaily speaking of the preparations she had made for their visit, the airing of the rooms, the planning of Paul’s favorite desserts. When they entered the house Martha greeted them warmly and showed the Marchands to their chamber. Clara went with them, enticed in no small measure by the promise of some presents in their trunks.
