Brandywine: Regency Historical Romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) by Jackie Ivie
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A forced groom.
A switched bride.
And a lot of lies.
THE GROOM
Lord Gillian Tremayne has the perfect life. Society embraces him. Women love him. Men emulate him. He's rich. Intelligent. Eligible. Tall. Incredibly handsome. Charming. And trapped. There's nothing worse than marriage to Helen Bingham - a black-mailing, evil-spirited woman with a soiled reputation...
Except the woman behind the wedding veil.
Excerpt:
“Now
come and undo this cravat for me. My fingers
don’t work too well when they’re cold, and the material’s
wrenched tight with damp.”
“Brandy’s
got the fingers fer ye, then, Guv. She knows just how to use ‘em,
too. Don’t ye be a-wastin’ any time worrying’ yer noggin—”
“Then
what are you waiting for?”
His
neck cloth was just above eye level. She had to stand right in front
of him, and somehow bear it. Everything was too visceral.
Too…intense. The
feel of his breath on her hands as she worked at his wrecked
collar. The particular slant of his head to help her unwind it from
him. The way he took it from her nerveless fingers and chucked it in
the same direction
as the socks.
Her
dress was starting to dry. Until then, she hadn’t known how
stiff the material was as it scratched every time she
moved. His hair was drying a bit, too, and the sight,
forced her to gulp before backing hastily
away.
“Where
do you think you’re off to? I need an assist with my buttons,”
Gil said.
She
swallowed. Started silently counting. Forced her feet to approach.
And reached for his shirt placket. Gil
stood very patiently as she worked the buttons loose,
although her hands shook the entire time. And then it was done. He
turned around to shrug his
shirt off. She caught it, and then busied herself with examining it.
It
was better than the alternative. Him.
“Laws,
but yer a fine-lookin’ one, aren’t ye? There’s not one hint of
padding, either. No wonder the ladies swoon at the sight of ye.”
“I
haven’t heard any complaints.”
“Oh,
go on with ye! I can see ye won’t be needin’ Brandy’s
compliments.
Sounds like yer head’s already full from hearing them.”
“Let’s
just say I’d enjoy hearing them from you, shall we? Turn
around.”
She
gasped, her eyes went wide, the shirt fell, but
she did as instructed, pirouetting to face the fire.
“We’ve
got to get your gown off, Brandy love, for I noticed how
much you shiver. I’m not sure I wish to wait that long when
it’s time to remove my britches.’
Any
lost color came flooding back. With a rush that heated. Enflamed.
Tormented. She forced herself to
breathe carefully and calmly while he undid the buttons down her
spine.
“This
material isn’t very conducive to lovemaking…is it? How
can you stand to wear such netting? My fingers may not survive.
Come along,
love. Step out. I can’t stay in this position all night. Think
of my back, for pity’s sake.”
She
shut her eyes. Reopened them. Nothing changed. There wasn’t
anywhere to hide. Nowhere to run. And Brandy wasn’t any help.
Somehow she’d lost the capacity
to live through any experience – no matter how horrid. It wasn’t
possible.
Love
had that much power?
She
stepped out of the gown, leaving it in a puddle of material on the
floor and then just stood there. Looking at the mess of ruined
material.
“I’ve
a hankering for yon tub, Brandy, and yet there you stand. Looking at
anything other than me. You must find me the most loathsome man in
existence.”
No,
Gil.
Never that.
She
lifted her head, turned around, and hoped her chemise
covered more of her than it felt like. Gil’s undergarment
clung to him. Two long rents
in the material flashed glimpses of flesh. She
stiffened and her
blank expression slipped. And she knew he saw it. The proof was in
his voice.
‘I’m
having a bit of difficulty with these
buttons again. Damn. You’d think they’d sew on buttons that
men could undo.”
There
was one yard of floor between them, yet she could swear she felt him.
And no amount of ignoring
it changed anything.
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