Chapter 21
REWARDS
Brandon was sitting in his study, staring at the wall of papers and yarn, but he was seeing none of it. He had had his lunch elsewhere, and despite that, this had always been his routine, those few days that he had been eating all his meals with Marigold seemed to have seeped into him.
The only thing on his mind was how lovely Marigold was looking in that lavender gown, those curls on her neck, and how her shoulder softly brushed against his as he was leaving the room.
There was something terrifyingly novel about obsessing over such small things but not Johnny’s gang. Somehow, he was losing some of his concentration, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
As if summoned by pure willpower, the door of his study burst open, and in walked Marigold. At first, he was alarmed, thinking that she might have been attacked, so he stood up urgently. The fear was so severe that he didn’t even care that no one ever entered his study without knocking.
“Marigold! Did something happen?”
“Yes, and you will not believe what it was,” Marigold said with such enthusiasm that it was enough to calm him down.
Her eyes were radiant, almost sparkling, and there was a smile on her face that he had never seen before.
He almost didn’t recognize the young girl whom he had encountered in that alley.
But that was not true. He did recognize that fire burning underneath all that awkward, timid shell.
It was as if she were out of her cocoon.
“I will not believe what it was, but I am sure you will enlighten me on the matter.”
“Before I got to Lily’s, I met my mother on the streets.”
Brandon’s jaw tightened. He had a physical aversion towards that woman, and his reaction was always a deep frown and utter mistrust.
“She just came out of nowhere,” Marigold continued recounting the incident. “She cornered me on the street. It could be something that she picked up from Donny, now that I come to think of it.”
Brandon went around the desk and stood before her seriously, not appreciating the jest and wondering how his tortured, punished, poor wife found the courage to smile.
“What did she say?” Brandon was having a hard time keeping his reactions in check.
“She was not very original since she asked about the money.”
Brandon stared quite intensely, trying to figure out if Marigold was hurt and how he should finally take Claire out of her life.
“You should have been there, Brandon.”
“I kind of agree although I might not have been able to hold back, and attacking your mother-in-law out in public is usually frowned upon.”
Marigold chuckled, not missing how tense and protective he was.
“Well, I will have you know that I stood up for myself quite admirably.”
Brandon realized that there was something else drawing him to her right in this moment. It was not just the things that he had already found adorable. It was a radiance emanating from her from within.
“Pray do tell,” he said. “How did you respond to the bad witch?”
“Brandon!”
“You’re right, I am being unfair to witches.”
“I told her that there will be no money.” Marigold’s smile widened.
Brandon looked upon her with pride and admiration.
He couldn’t even start to comprehend how difficult it must have been all these years, fending for herself alone.
He prided himself as being her defender, her savior.
Seeing her stand tall before him, he realized he was just being a fool.
Marigold didn’t need a protector. She just needed a sword. And that he provided.
“Would it be too much to ask,” Brandon asked, “that your mother just accepted that and moved along?”
“Now, you’re just being unreasonable.”
“I thought so. So what is the, I am sure, breathtaking remark that your mother had on this statement?”
“Oh, she resorted to the usual. She threatened me. Threatened to ruin me.”
Brandon’s face distorted into something shadowy and dangerous. Claire did not know this, of course, but she was not dealing with just an elegant duke who only knew of gentlemen’s clubs and Parliament. His thoughts turned dark, thinking that he would need to take Claire out of Marigold’s life.
“And that’s when I told her,” Marigold chirped, “that I am the Duchess of Voss, and she has no power over me.”
Brandon felt his jaw slacken a little, and that was something that rarely happened to him since he made sure that no surprises were coming at him. But he had come along to accept that Marigold would be the one thing that would always have the ability to blindside him.
“Excuse me, you did what?” he asked very inelegantly.
“I told her that if she wanted to come at me, she should try, but we are not at the same station, and she should mind her behavior.”
“So in the middle of London on this lovely day, you walked down the street, met your mother, and chose violence. Very bold of you, Your Grace.”
“I just needed to remind my mother that the fact that I am the Duchess, the fact she so eagerly tries to exploit, is also the one that is making me more powerful than her.”
Brandon felt his chest swelling. Sure, there was pride, he had already established that, but there was something that felt dangerously close to awe.
This girl, who was tormented for years by her own mother, threatened by street gangs to be turned into nothing but a common woman, faced down her oppressor, looked her in the eyes, and won.
“You are formidable, Your Grace,” he said in a low tone.
“I was magnificent!” Marigold smiled.
He took one step closer and took her hand in his, his thumb tracing circles.
“You are full of surprises, Marigold.”
“I try to keep you on your toes, Your Grace,” Marigold teased.
“Is that so?”
“It is precisely so,” Marigold smirked. “Am I succeeding?”
Brandon took a step closer and took her chin between his thumb and finger. Their eyes met, playful and deep.
“You are doing a remarkable job,” he said.
“Good.” Marigold tilted her head. “It would have been terrible to see your mind grow dull.”
“My mind,” Brandon laughed softly, “has not had one single moment of peace since I married you.”
“That sounds suspiciously close to a complaint, Your Grace.”
“It is merely an observation.”
Marigold shook her head, and Brandon tightened his hand around hers.
“You,” he admitted, “have become a persistent distraction.”
“That is unfortunate. I was striving for mere annoyance,” Marigold said, her eyes shining.
“You have managed to become more of a menace.”
“A menace? How severe.”
“Catastrophic.”
Marigold laughed, that gurgling, golden thing that filled his study and somehow his life.
“Oh, Brandon. I merely stood up to my mother, and you are making it sound as if I conquered France.”
“I suspect France would surrender faster to you.”
“And here I was,” Marigold replied, “worrying that marriage had made you impossible to impress.”
Brandon drifted closer, his body almost flush against hers.
“You never fail to impress me, sweetheart.”
The atmosphere turned heavier, as it was almost every time that he was around her. He looked upon her face, flushed as she was from her enthusiasm and her laughter, and he really wanted to make her glow for a completely different reason.
He just could not control himself anymore. Could not stop. He really wanted to have her. All of her. It must have been evident in how he looked at her because her eyes softened too, her lids half-closed.
“You have done so well today, Marigold,” he said. “Such good behavior needs to be rewarded.”
He could feel the heat radiating from her body, and he saw the sudden flutter of her pulse on her throat upon hearing those words. His little wife knew exactly what kind of reward he had in store for her.
“Do you think so? Do you think I did well?” Marigold asked, almost breathless.
Brandon shifted even closer and cupped her face.
“You did very, very well.”
“Are you pleased with me?”
He looked down at her with his dark look. Marigold was doing this on purpose, spurring him on, claiming what she desired. And who was he to deprive her of that? Brandon leaned in, and his breath made small curls on her neck tremble.
“Yes, Marigold. I am very pleased,” he purred. “Do you want me to show you how pleased I am?”
“Yes. Yes, please.”
He traced his thumb along her lower lip.
“Come with me, sweetheart,” he said and offered her his hand.
Without hesitation, she let her hand nest in his. She was trembling slightly, but it was more anticipation than fear. Brandon led her out of the study and up the stairs towards his bedroom.
She followed at his heels, and they did not speak. They did not need to speak. And yet that silence between them was full. They reached his room, and he opened the door. He turned and pulled her in before closing it behind her.
“I am going to ask you this once, Marigold, and I want you to think before you answer.” He kept his distance, looking at her in the fading evening light that streamed through his curtains.
“I’m listening.”
“Are you ready, Marigold?”
Brandon needed to hear it. He would not even make a move until she said so. The question was suspended mid-air. It felt as if time had stilled as he waited for an answer. Marigold looked at him. It was the first time in his life that Brandon felt the utter need to be worthy.
Then Marigold took one light step, and Brandon tried to be patient and wait for her. If she was not ready, he was going to escort her to her room and wish her a good night.
“Finally!” Marigold said.
He laughed. He genuinely laughed, one of the rare laughs that he reserved for special occasions, such as his tiny little ladies becoming audacious.
“Is that a complaint or an accusation?” he asked.
“All I am saying,” Marigold placed her hands on his chest, “is that I have been ready for a while.”
“Then I am inexcusable for not attending to your needs.” He drew closer.
“And there is also the other part of our agreement that I have to abide by.”
Brandon frowned slightly. Something was clenching inside him once she brought up the agreement. It was as if this agreement was made a lifetime ago, before…
“Agreement?” He struggled to sound light.
“I am to provide you two things,” she said.
She drifted so close that she had to arc her neck to look him in the eyes. Her scent invaded his nostrils, and he momentarily forgot what they were even talking about.
“Information, I believe I have provided in abundance,” Marigold whispered, her breath warming his neck. “But I believe I am supposed to provide you with an heir as well.”
His whole body stiffened. His hands clenched into fists without him even thinking about it. His feelings were somewhere between anger and shame. Shame on himself that he had put this transaction between them, and anger that now she was referring to it at such a moment.
“We might as well get on with it,” Marigold chuckled.
He looked down at Marigold, ready to speak his mind, but her look was so filled with desire, her rosy lips half-open, her body thrumming. His own longing took over and washed everything else away.
He could not wait anymore. One hand slid down her body from her shoulders down her ribs until it settled to the dip of her waist, pulling her to him impossibly close. The other hand raised softly and slid to the back of her neck, tilting her head to the angle he needed.
“You know, sweetheart,” he said, diving into her eyes, “you have gotten a little impertinent on me.”
“Have I, Your Grace?”
“You let that mouth of yours run,” his tone became darker, “and now, I have a dilemma.”
His hands on her skin tightened, not painfully, just enough for her to feel him.
“And what is that dilemma?” Marigold stammered.
“I don’t know if I should reward you or punish you.”
The gasp that left Marigold’s mouth was one of the sweetest sounds he had ever heard. It was as if Marigold suddenly found herself in the same dilemma and she herself could not even choose.
His mouth descended, and his lips took hers with devastating force. He was not even asking; he was demanding that she surrender to him. He parted her lips with a possessive pressure, and Marigold moaned into his mouth. If he even possessed an ounce of restraint, that sound shattered it.
He anchored his hands at her waist and pulled her flush against him, not even a breath of air between them. Every little bit of her he devoured: her taste, her breath, and that startled gasp that undid him.
He walked her backwards toward the bed. Marigold steadied herself, fisting his shirt. When the back of her knees touched the bed, he twirled her around. Slowly, he began undoing the buttons of her gown. One by one.
“I’m going to see all of you today, Marigold,” he promised.
Each button earned her a kiss on the neck, and each time, Marigold shivered. Brandon smiled against her skin, seeing her completely giving in to him. He would make sure she did not regret it.
Not long after, the gown fell to the floor, and he made quick work of the rest of her clothes as well. He felt a kind of rush that he had never felt before. There she was, positioned in front of him, her back to his front, her fully naked while he was still dressed.
His hands started roaming. His lips continued to conquer the skin around her neck, close to her ear, down to her shoulder.
“You are so beautiful. Look at you.”
Brandon wrapped his right arm around her waist, flattening his palm over her stomach. His other hand rubbed lightly around her neck, pulling her firmly back. His thumb and forefinger caught her jaw to tilt her head back to his shoulder, and she opened her neck to his kisses.
Marigold let out a sharp gasp, and instinctively her spine arched into him as he worked his lips over her skin. Her one hand went round and touched his thigh, as if connecting them.
The fingertips of his hand went down her neck, over her collarbone, and down between her breasts. He could feel her erratic pulse thumping under her rib cage.
“So soft,” he murmured in her ear. “Your skin is so soft. I could lick it all day.”
A violent, low shudder rippled through her, and her fingers dipped into his skin, gripping him.
Slowly, his leg wedged between her thighs from behind.
Even through his clothes, he could feel the heat radiating from her.
Her own knees trembled, ready to buckle, but he supported her so closely that it was as if he wished they would become one.
If she were to fall, she would fall because he asked for it.
“Now, sweetheart,” he moaned in her ear, “let’s see how much trouble you can get in when properly encouraged.”