Brandywine: Regency historical romance (The Brocade Series, Book 1) by Jackie Ivie Page A
Authors: Jackie Ivie
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your father, Brandy. It appears Lord Bingham really did have a younger brother.”
“The devil you say.”
She lifted her own cup in salute and tossed the bath water down her throat. It was to disguise the instant tremor. She hoped it worked.
“There’s no mention of what happened to him after he married a Valerie Montriart. That…would be your mother. Yes?”
Everything froze in her body. Ice filled her veins while her heart constricted. And then it decided it would continue beating.
“Brandy hasn’t got parents. Iffen she had a pair, do ye really think they’d have let her roam the streets of Paris? Pull your wits about you, Man.”
She spoke in Reginald’s voice and realized her mistake instantly. She snapped her mouth shut and sat as if chiseled from stone while he stared. Damn everything! He didn’t need to know that she listened at keyholes!
“That was very good, Brandy,” he said finally .
He sounded cold. Calculating. She wondered if she’d finally reached the part of him that demanded retribution. Every man had it, deep inside his soul. That’s what made it easy to hit defenseless things. Easier still to kill, rape, and maim. Easy to take the Montriart family out of their chateau one eve and call it a legal arrest. Easier still——
“As I said before, you should be on the stage,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.
“You aren’t…going to hit me?”
Her voice squeaked. That was distressful. That sort of thing showed she’d care. He heard it, too. She could tell by the way his eyes drilled into hers. Brandy forced her heart to calm down. If she breathed evenly and counted, it would go back to beating evenly and without emotion. It usually worked .
“You’re leaving me again, aren’t you?” he whispered.
She ignored him, barely seeing him as she concentrated on the pansy in his hands.
“Before you go, would you mind telling me what happened to those lovely folks? You know… Monsieur Bingham, and his lovely wife, Valerie?”
She forced the instant emotion down and brought the entire picture he made into focus. He really was handsome. And with the pansy in his hands, he looked darling and handsome.
“Cor, but ye are a sight fer sore eyes, Dream-man. Did ye know that?” Her voice cracked, but maybe he wouldn’t know why..
“I’m glad you approve. I’ll make certain my tailor hears.”
“And tall! Cor, but ye probably hit yer head on every tavern door, don’t ye?”
“Except for the Drake and Crown on Gloucester Street. They seem to appreciate a man of my size. Was Valerie responsible for the shade of your hair?”
“What shade? My hair’s a muddy brown, and it’s gray through and through. It’s got a nest or two in it, too. I should know. I’ve been cussing the stuff for years.”
Her count continued in her mind. 137. 138. 139....
“Mrs. Wright will be very unhappy when she hears your description of her handiwork, Brandy. I certainly like how your hair shines today. The sunlight brings out the purplish highlights. I only wish we hadn’t had to cut the very bottom off, but we had the devil’s own time getting a brush through what we left, as it was.”
“Fancy that,” she replied.
“Why, I’d be willing to bet Valerie Bingham’s hair was the softest, smoothest hair anyone ever touched, wasn’t it?”
Two hundred....
“Long, too. Yes? I’ll wager your papa loved it. Come, Helene, surely he spoke about it. Hair that color doesn’t come often. It doesn’t come—”
“Streaked with blood.”
Everything she’d veiled from herself slipped as the answer tore from her, coming in some new, unfamiliar voice.
***
Gil was so excited he didn’t dare move. He held his breath for countless seconds, fearing that if the boudoir chair squeaked, the moment would be lost. The mix of elation and horror made him light-headed.
Brandy was just sitting there, watching him with luminous brown eyes that were a definite brandy-colored shade.
“Blood?” he
“The devil you say.”
She lifted her own cup in salute and tossed the bath water down her throat. It was to disguise the instant tremor. She hoped it worked.
“There’s no mention of what happened to him after he married a Valerie Montriart. That…would be your mother. Yes?”
Everything froze in her body. Ice filled her veins while her heart constricted. And then it decided it would continue beating.
“Brandy hasn’t got parents. Iffen she had a pair, do ye really think they’d have let her roam the streets of Paris? Pull your wits about you, Man.”
She spoke in Reginald’s voice and realized her mistake instantly. She snapped her mouth shut and sat as if chiseled from stone while he stared. Damn everything! He didn’t need to know that she listened at keyholes!
“That was very good, Brandy,” he said finally .
He sounded cold. Calculating. She wondered if she’d finally reached the part of him that demanded retribution. Every man had it, deep inside his soul. That’s what made it easy to hit defenseless things. Easier still to kill, rape, and maim. Easy to take the Montriart family out of their chateau one eve and call it a legal arrest. Easier still——
“As I said before, you should be on the stage,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.
“You aren’t…going to hit me?”
Her voice squeaked. That was distressful. That sort of thing showed she’d care. He heard it, too. She could tell by the way his eyes drilled into hers. Brandy forced her heart to calm down. If she breathed evenly and counted, it would go back to beating evenly and without emotion. It usually worked .
“You’re leaving me again, aren’t you?” he whispered.
She ignored him, barely seeing him as she concentrated on the pansy in his hands.
“Before you go, would you mind telling me what happened to those lovely folks? You know… Monsieur Bingham, and his lovely wife, Valerie?”
She forced the instant emotion down and brought the entire picture he made into focus. He really was handsome. And with the pansy in his hands, he looked darling and handsome.
“Cor, but ye are a sight fer sore eyes, Dream-man. Did ye know that?” Her voice cracked, but maybe he wouldn’t know why..
“I’m glad you approve. I’ll make certain my tailor hears.”
“And tall! Cor, but ye probably hit yer head on every tavern door, don’t ye?”
“Except for the Drake and Crown on Gloucester Street. They seem to appreciate a man of my size. Was Valerie responsible for the shade of your hair?”
“What shade? My hair’s a muddy brown, and it’s gray through and through. It’s got a nest or two in it, too. I should know. I’ve been cussing the stuff for years.”
Her count continued in her mind. 137. 138. 139....
“Mrs. Wright will be very unhappy when she hears your description of her handiwork, Brandy. I certainly like how your hair shines today. The sunlight brings out the purplish highlights. I only wish we hadn’t had to cut the very bottom off, but we had the devil’s own time getting a brush through what we left, as it was.”
“Fancy that,” she replied.
“Why, I’d be willing to bet Valerie Bingham’s hair was the softest, smoothest hair anyone ever touched, wasn’t it?”
Two hundred....
“Long, too. Yes? I’ll wager your papa loved it. Come, Helene, surely he spoke about it. Hair that color doesn’t come often. It doesn’t come—”
“Streaked with blood.”
Everything she’d veiled from herself slipped as the answer tore from her, coming in some new, unfamiliar voice.
***
Gil was so excited he didn’t dare move. He held his breath for countless seconds, fearing that if the boudoir chair squeaked, the moment would be lost. The mix of elation and horror made him light-headed.
Brandy was just sitting there, watching him with luminous brown eyes that were a definite brandy-colored shade.
“Blood?” he
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