When they were out of sight Shannon thought her knees would have buckled if not for Brandon’s support. He led her into the library and poured her a glass of wine. She took it gratefully and drained it in a long swallow. Brandon was amused by her prim “Thank you” and heartfelt sigh as she set the empty glass aside.
“It is more difficult than you thought, isn’t it?” he asked.
She nodded. “I did not think I would like them so much. It makes it harder.”
“I know. Can you continue?”
His question surprised Shannon. She searched his face for some hint of what he wanted her to say, and found no clue. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I can continue. Perhaps if they discover our deceit, they can forgive us, knowing that we did it out of our love for Clara.”
Brandon’s hand stilled in the process of reaching for the decanter of Scotch. His face took on the still watchfulness of expectancy. “And is Clara the only reason?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” Brandon turned away and poured himself a drink.
Shannon was grateful he did not seem to notice her response was too quick, too vehement to have been the truth, or, if he had noticed, refrained from pursuing the reasons behind the hastily given lie. She excused herself before she blurted out theonlyreason she had fallen in with his plans. That she loved him had to remain her most carefully guarded secret. The possibility that she might reveal it in front of the Marchands became sweet torment in the days that followed.
Shannon became the consummate hostess, managing to draw out Michaeline and Paul, listening with unfeigned interest whether they were reminiscing about their courtship or discussing some aspect of the Marchand merchant line. She was able to direct questions that concerned the folly to Brandon and was quite relieved when he engaged the Marchands in spirited arguments concerning the latest British trade policy or the most recent tax King George II and his ministers had levied on the colonies. During those conversations Shannon paid scant attention to the topic, choosing instead to settle comfortably beside Brandon in the manner she thought Aurora would have done. He touched her often, as if reassuring himself that she was at his side and drawing a measure of calm from the serenity she radiated.
Cody was an immense help, infusing laughter into the evenings with his good-natured humor. Shannon, knowing that the Marchands had been aware Aurora disapproved of Cody, managed to give the impression she still found him lacking good sense and good manners. Cody, for his part, seemed to take great pleasure in goading her, and Michaeline and Paul put their own construction on the lively bantering, expressing a very real disappointment that Aurora had had no brothers to prepare her for Cody’s teasing.
Clara’s presence, her chattering and her curiosity, covered the occasional awkward moment when Shannon was at a loss for a reply. It was through her reactions to Clara, and most especially to Brandon, that Shannon was able to show the Marchands that their daughter was happy with her life at the folly. Though neither Michaeline nor Paul ever spoke of what prompted their visit, it was clear to Shannon that it had come about because they were suspicious of Aurora’s long silence. Shannon did what she could to lay their fears to rest, disarming them completely by taking the responsibility for not writing as often as she should have, chastizing herself for not being the daughter they deserved. They could not fail to see that she enjoyed managing the folly or that she cared deeply for Clara and Brandon. And with each passing day she despised herself a little more for wishing the charade would never end.
After Addie had taken Clara to the nursery one night, Paul suggested they go for a ride. Shannon felt her throat close in panic. She beseeched Brandon for direction.
“It’s a beautiful night for it,” he agreed, looking out beyond the bay windows to the moonlit grounds. “We’ll take the carriage.”
“Nonsense,” Paul protested. “The roads will take all the pleasure out of it. Michaeline? What do you say?”
“I confess I’d love to go riding. By the time I wake up, the day is already too hot to really enjoy a ride. Do you still ride in the mornings, Aurora? I don’t think you’ve mentioned it.”
“I don’t ride often.” It was the only thing she could think to say.
“Now, that is a pity,” Paul said, shaking his head. “You’ve always taken such pleasure in it.”
Brandon put his arm around Shannon. “What Aurora is not saying is that she took a spill jumping the worm fence and I don’t let her ride alone any longer. She’s a trifle shy around the horses now.” When Paul and Michaeline expressed concern and began asking for details, Brandon managed to give them an astonishingly colorful picture of an incident that had never taken place. Shannon was too dumbfounded to do more than nod in agreement, while Cody joined in the spirit of the thing and added a few particulars of his own.
Seeing Shannon’s forlorn expression and taking it to mean that she thought she had disappointed him, Paul didn’t have the heart to tell his daughter that she should have immediately gotten on her mount again as she had so often done in the past. Michaeline’s response was equal parts sympathy and horror, and she said she understood perfectly well why Brandon refused to let her ride without an escort.
“You always were a reckless rider,” Michaeline said reprovingly. “And to never mention a word of your accident to us! I shudder to think of you laid up in bed like that. You did us no kindness, Aurora.”
“Really, Mama, you are making too much of it. This is precisely the reason I said nothing.” Then, with a measure of the backbone that she knew was Aurora’s, she added spiritedly, “And I meant it as a kindness.” She knew she had handled it perfectly when Cody grinned in approval and Brandon’s fingers were like a whisper along the curve of her neck.
“Of course you meant it as a kindness,” said Paul. He looked at everyone in turn. “So, do we take the carriage then?”
Brandon shook his head. “No, we’ll ride. Aurora and I can share a mount.” He leered playfully, causing Michaeline to laugh delightedly. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Shannon managed not to blush. “I don’t mind at all.” She neatly escaped his hold, teasing him with a sidelong glance, and took Michaeline’s arm. “Come, Mama. I’ll show you Clara’s pony while Papa chooses the horses.”
Michaeline made appreciative noises over Rainbow while their mounts were being saddled. Shannon could think of no excuse that would allow her to escape the ride, and permitted Brandon to give her a leg up. Her eyes followed the agile grace of his movements as he lifted himself into the saddle behind her. Michaeline’s eyes brightened with pleasure as Shannon settled herself comfortably against Brandon’s chest and his arms slipped around her waist to take the reins. The smile that touched her lips and the sigh of contentment that followed were genuine, and with uncharacteristic recklessness, Shannon didn’t think she cared if Brandon realized it.
Later, in her bedchamber, Shannon brushed out her hair and tried to remember what had occurred during the ride. She had a vague awareness of the stillness of the evening and the way in which she seemed to move through the heavy air rather than it moving around her. A wonderful sense of languor had crept over her, and she recalled little that Brandon had said regarding the plantation and nothing at all of the Marchands’ responses or Cody’s ripostes. What she remembered clearly was Brandon’s mouth close to her ear, his hand brushing across her breast when he pulled back the reins, the taut length of his thighs cradling her hip. She touched the back of her hand to the cheek she had laid against Brandon’s shoulder and imagined she could feel the softness of his linen shirt and the warmth of the flesh beneath it. She wondered now how she had dared to finger his neckcloth or press the heel of her hand over his heart for even a moment. Neither of those actions had been strictly necessary. The desire to touch him intimately, a desire that had been growing steadily within her, finally became a need stronger than her natural caution, stronger than the guard she had placed around her common sense.
Shannon gave her hair a few punishingly hard strokes and then laid the brush aside. The brass skeleton key that opened the door connecting her chamber to Brandon’s rested on top of a black lacquered jewelry box. Mocking her, she thought angrily. She picked it up and turned it over in her palm, then finally crushed it in her fist until she could feel the imprint, like a brand, on her flesh. She closed her eyes, helplessly recalling other brands, the pressure of his mouth on the curve of her shoulder, the hot urgency of his hand on her hip. Disgusted with herself, Shannon stood. Her arm slashed the air in a violent arc as she threw the key against the gray marble fireplace. Then, a moment later, with a cry of despair that was torn from her deepest, most private self, she was on her hands and knees and sifting through cold ashes to retrieve it.
Having come to the conclusion that sleep was no longer a possibility, Brandon swung his legs over the side of the four-poster. He groped in the dark for the breeches he had thrown at the foot of the bed and pulled them on. After lighting a candle on the bedside table, he thumbed through an agricultural pamphlet he had been reading earlier. It could not capture his attention, let alone hold it, and after a few minutes he tossed it aside.
Agitated by his inability to think clearly and his inability to give the muddled thoughts a rest, Brandon left the bed and sat on the window seat. Moonshine was scattered by a bank of fog. The mist rolled from the river on silent wheels, shrouding acres of fertile land in a smoky veil. Brandon turned away from the window and leaned his naked back against the cool panes of glass. It was a poor sort of relief to the heated flush of his skin.
