Kate had come to him. This very independent, very proud woman was offering him her trust. That made this kiss almost a sacred act. He’d failed her once. He did not wish to do so again.
He’d been at the stables. He’d not been able to sleep. Thoughts of his argument with Kate, with what he should have said, preyed on his mind. Finally, he’d taken himself off in the opposite direction of her tent. Brushing Orion and being out in the night air had helped to calm his restless energy.
Well, that and having his nephew come upon him in the stables and begin to carry on about how he worshipped the actress and felt she didn’t understand him. “She thinks I’m too young to know my own mind. And here I am, ready to offer her everything.”
Christopher’s declarations of undying love had not sat well with Bran. What if Kate did choose the duke? He’d offer her a security of which she could only dream—and one that Bran had helped rebuild. Kate was ambitious. She had learned to take care of herself.
True, years ago she had singled Bran out. However, they were now different people. Life had tempered them. He could offer her wealth, but didhewantherif that was all she desired?
In India, his work had been respected. In England, it seemed as if he couldn’t find a foothold. There were times he doubted if he’d ever make his mark in the world. Yet miracle of miracles, Kate was here,with him.
She broke the kiss, her hands warm against his jaw. Her curves pressed against him. The moon caught the sheen of tears in her eyes. “I shouldn’t be here.” Her voice was raspy as if she struggled with herself.
“Kate, if I could go back and relive everything, I would not have—”
She silenced him with her fingers over his lips. “It isn’t the past, Brandon. It is not that.”
He took the opportunity to kiss the tips of her fingers. She pulled her hand back. He captured it, lacing their fingers together. “Then what is it? Why are you here?”
Her eyes had always been expressive. They searched his face a moment before she said, “I want you.”
His answer was to sweep her up. He began walking toward the house. Her arms locked around his neck, her breath against his throat.
Years ago, they had spent one day, less than twenty-four hours, as lovers. Bran had been unaware of how precious those moments had been at the time. How treasured this woman in his arms was. He’d assumed that life would take them their separate ways, and yet, here they were. The Fates, those mythical creatures who knew the future, had woven he and Kate together.
He carried her toward the house. He’d left the back door open and easily let them both in.
“Is anyone awake?” she whispered.
“I live alone.”
“Servants?”
“No, Kate.” His valet was in London in a house he owned there. “It is just us.”
She gave a soft sigh and rested her head on his shoulder. “Like years ago.”
He climbed the stairs to his room. Neither spoke. His suite of rooms was at the end of the short hall. The door was ajar. Bran shoved it open. He crossed over to the bed. It was a four-poster with a plain white coverlet. The drapes were open and the dim, silvery moonlight gave the bed a soft glow.
Bran sat her on the mattress. He knelt on the floor in front of her. Strands of loose hair curled around her face. He gently pushed them back and kissed her.
Her arms slipped around his neck as if it was the most natural movement in the world for her. Her tongue met his and Bran experienced that timid touch all the way to his soul, and the kiss deepened.
He untied the string of her cloak. Her hands slid into his riding coat and pushed it back over his shoulders. Their kiss broke, giving them a chance to undress in earnest.
Bran realized his hands were shaking. It was as if his body had been waiting for her. He pulled her dress over her head and laughed to find she wore that impossibly thick nightdress.
She was more successful with his shirt. She placed her hand against his bare chest, right over his heart. “It races like mine.”
His answer was to kiss the sensitive skin at the line of her throat. He tasted her skin. Her breasts flattened against his chest and he ran his hand down along her rib cage, feeling the curve of them.
Reluctantly, he rose. He began unbuttoning his breeches—and for a second, he wasn’t in this room in the Dower House. No, he remembered that other night when they’d both been as eager.
The difference this time was that they each knew what they wanted. Bran made quick work of taking off his boots. He pulled down the leather riding pants. Kate watched with solemn eyes as if memorizing his every movement.
When he was naked, when his desire for her was obvious, strong, and demanding, he said, “Stand up, Kate.”
Like an obedient child, she came to her feet.
