Nola Read Online Free Page A

should have.
    Brandon knew
when someone was being deliberately obtuse and simply glared at the other man.
    Roger, who had
never in his life known Brandon to inquire after any woman - it was always the
other way around. Quite a few women - or mothers of eligible maidens - had come
to him as a way to get to Brandon. He intended to savor the power of this
moment as long as he could, looping his thumbs into his unfashionably broad
lapels; he'd come to this party as a town crier, completely with an extremely
loud bell.
    "Well, let me
see what I can remember about her." He gave Brandon a sidelong glance, and knew
that he was closer to a true beating than he'd been in decades. Brandon wasn't
the kind of man to be toyed with, although Roger always liked to push him a
bit, since no one else seemed willing to. Brandon had been a champion boxer at
Exeter Academy, and Roger knew that he'd pursued his physical abilities more so
than any other man of quality that Roger'd ever heard
of. He might have been long in the tooth to be a bachelor, but he was at the
top of his game physically - and, just at his size, Brandon was a force to be
reckoned with, forget his ability to beat pretty much anyone to a pulp.
    "I believe the
woman in question is Nola Hughes, daughter of Ephraim Hughes and Julia Beckham
Hughes. Made his money in livery stables, I believe. Not even nouveau riche,
really. Merchant class money, at best."
    "Good." Brandon
was heartily sick of the simpering females that were inevitably paraded before
him. It seemed the older he got, the worse that embarrassment became. He'd been
taking refuge on the patio - despite the cold - just to get away from the constant
stream of giggling females their mothers insisted on throwing at him. He'd only
come into the ballroom to try to find his Aunt and bid her good night before he
left.
    As it was, he
knew he wasn't going to leave that quickly now, not with someone that
interesting in the offing. Middle class and an original - maybe she'd have the
gumption he wanted in a wife. Perhaps she even had a brain - although he knew
that some things were too much to ask for nowadays. Women were to become wives
and mothers, and few families saw fit to educate them much past their ABC's.
    And yet, now,
here she was in his bed, fighting herself as he touched her body in any way
that pleased him - and pleased her, at least for the moment. She was such a
shy, reticent little thing, despite her blatant flaunting of convention, and
the dichotomy intrigued him to no end. He'd found he liked forcing her past her
natural inhibitions from the very beginning, and the more he did it, the more
interesting it became to him. He'd never felt like this about any other woman.
It had been two days, and he hadn't let her out of the bedroom, and he didn't
intend to for quite some time.
    She had been so
wonderfully virginal on their wedding night. There was something more there
that niggled at him, and he promised himself that he would investigate it as
soon as he'd sated himself with her, but he'd been lost from the first moment
he'd found her in their bed, apparently completely scandalized that he would
come into what she'd thought was her bedroom, and hers alone.
    He'd disabused
her of that notion quickly, but she'd flown out from under the covers towards
the robe that hung over her vanity chair, but he'd caught her wrist and stopped
her midway, tugging her back to stand in front of him, and reaching for the
neckline of her gown, ripping it to the floor in one ridiculously easy motion.
    The look in her
eyes at that moment - even just remembering it now made him hard as a spike.
Fear, yes, uncertainty, but with a big dose of outrage that was what he'd
always felt was missing. This woman wasn't going to just lie back and think of
England - or rather the refilling of the family coffers or how to redecorate
the bedroom. This woman, beneath the expected apprehension, was bloody well
pissed at him.
    And he loved it.
    Even now, as