Must Have Been The Moonlight Read online

  Perhaps she’d been too absorbed in her own life, her own mission to save the world because she’d been so inept at managing hers. Maybe she’d just wanted to make her path the same way her brothers had. At one time, she’d been content with her goals and her dreams. Content with the erroneous belief that she had the wisdom to manage her own destiny.

  At least until she’d met Michael.

  Major Michael Fallon, who didn’t know the meaning of playing fair, who was as domineering as any of her arrogant brothers.

  Indignant, she thought of Michael’s own scapegrace tribute to morality. Why would a woman ever consider marrying? She would take a man’s name and, in return, he would control her life, forever. He could take her children, have a mistress, and vote—all in one day if he chose. If she behaved properly, he would toss her that rare bone on which she could blissfully gnaw.

  Brianna knew she held very little that was truly hers, but her heart was hers alone to give away.

  A noise in the doorway turned her head.

  Carrying his pith helmet, Michael had stopped on the threshold of her personal, private sanctuary. “May I come in?” he asked.

  Longing and uncertainty twisted itself into a tight knot in her stomach as he gazed at her. Wearing his uniform, he looked too bloody desirable, when she had knotty hair and swollen eyes. “How did you find me?”

  He dipped beneath the doorway. “Your maid directed me.”

  “If Christopher discovers that you’re—”

  Michael shut the door and clicked the lock. “I’m not interested in anything your family has to say. Will you let me talk to you?”

  “I’m surprised that you feel the need to ask, Major.”

  He scraped a chair around the table and sat down in front of her, his knees spread, his elbows resting on his thighs. “I thought it a prudent way to begin, after this morning.” Amusement touched the words, but only as far as his opening salvo. “I didn’t kill Omar.”

  Brianna’s gaze moved to his face. “It doesn’t matter—”

  “It does to me.” Michael tried to gauge her thoughts and could not. Brianna put weight into words. He knew that whatever he said now would be taken as his measure forever. “I’ve been a bloody proficient soldier for twelve years, Brianna.” He studied his hands. “As you can see, I’ve not shown myself to be as fine a diplomat, not in any area of my life. But I didn’t kill Omar. It’s important to me that you believe that.”

  For an instant Brianna held him with the force of her gaze, her eyes wide. “I believe you, Michael,” she said.

  He was suddenly aware that he’d needed her belief in him. That he’d come here today with every intention of forcing her hand any way he could. He was not a gentle person, but as he sat in front of her, he felt only an urgency to grapple with her fear. Without a doubt, a future with her had completely seized his thoughts, and the knowledge that she possessed the ability to tear him up inside offered no measure of relief to his state of mind. It was a novelty to his enormous psyche, for the man that he had become since leaving England did not suffer incertitude.

  Aside from the fact that he knew damn well the reasons for her discontent with matrimony, in this arena he was resolved that she would lose. Brianna was bright, independent, and adept at keeping men in their places. She was also as beautiful as moonlight, generous to those she loved, and passionate. The glimpses of that passion proved more powerful than her sweetly curving body. She’d given him herself. And instilled in him a belief that there could be something more inside him than what he had. He didn’t want to force her hand. He didn’t want a martyr in his bed. He needed a responsive woman willing to stand at his side.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her.

  She answered him with a nod. Already she was recovering from that morning.

  “You know why I’m here,” he said. “I’m asking that you not come to me by force, Brianna.”

  She didn’t reply. But neither was she ignoring him. His gaze dropped to the small portraiture in her hand, which she made no effort to conceal. Michael slipped it from her hands.

  The subject of the photograph was a man he’d not seen before. Instinctively, he knew who it was.

  “Why did you leave England?” she asked.

  Michael drew in his breath, sat back in the chair, and knew he probably looked as disgusted as he felt. Brianna had a right to know. But how did one tell his future wife the filthy details of life? When the past was gone and irrelevant? When it didn’t matter to him anymore?

  He was not one to allow himself to feel vulnerable, and after today he would never discuss the matter again, but he felt safe in doing so now. Her presence was a powerful compulsion to bear his soul.

  “My father disinherited me,” he said flatly.

  Sitting forward, he turned his hands over. A white scar ran the length of his knuckle to his wrist. His father who made sure that he would never return to England. “I was twenty, and a fool in love with a woman I couldn’t have. At least that was part of the problem.” He looked at Brianna. “I caused one of the biggest scandals in history. If your family had been part of the ton twelve years ago, your brother would not be so eager to see you married off to me.”

  “Because you were in love and behaved foolishly?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who was she?”

  The pale light made her blue eyes nearly liquid. Being the obvious romantic that she was, she clearly empathized, and he might have played on that sympathy if he’d been innocent. He wasn’t. He’d deserved some if not all the blame that had been leveled against him.

  “Caroline and I grew up together. Her properties bordered my family’s. She followed me everywhere, and eventually she became part of the coterie, so to speak—the gang, being my brothers and hers. I fell in love with her when I was twelve. When I was eighteen, I’d decided I was going to marry her. Unfortunately, my brother had his own plans. Two years later, while I was at Eton, Caroline’s father, the Duke of Bedford, announced her betrothal to Edward. I went to my father, never realizing how cold-blooded he was until he’d twisted my dreams to his own political advantage. He wanted Caroline’s dowry for the family coffers and Bedford’s powerful alliance in parliament. It was as simple as that. She was to marry Edward. I was to accept the decision for the good of all.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I never forgave my brother for going behind my back to have her. A week before the wedding, I met Caroline at the summerhouse on my property. When my brother discovered us, he called me out. I nearly killed him. Afterward, my father disinherited me, and I left England to join Gordon in China. That is my sordid past.”

  “Are you still in love with her?”

  He set the photograph in his hands on the table. “Are you still in love with Stephan Williams?”

  She shook her head, finally turning the photograph facedown on the table. “No,” she whispered, and dragged in her breath. “Is the investigation over?”

  “It is for me.” He pulled her into his lap, holding her close as he smoothed the damp hair off her face. “My career would have ended anyway. You were the one real thing to come out of all of this, Brianna.”

  She turned her head away. “What do you know about me, Michael?”

  His long fingers came alongside her jaw and turned her face to his, and his gaze seized hers with a reality of all they had yet to share, yet knew intimately. “I know that you like the sunrise and the way the air smells in the morning. You love roses, and miss the rain.” He’d repeated the same words she once told him, long ago in the desert, before he kissed her for the first time. Before he’d taken her to the dahabeeyah, and everything about that day changed the center in his life. “You’ve marched with ladies of suffrage. Most recently, you’ve had a publication banned in England and found yourself exiled to Egypt. And you think that I have the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen.” He finished by saying. “They’re not quite blue. They’re—”

  “Gray, ashen, st
ormy?” she whispered. “At least you still have all of your teeth.” She gently touched where her brother had smashed him in the jaw that morning. Her chest rose in an exhalation.

  “What about love, Michael?”

  Tilting her face, he pulled back to look into the deep blue of her troubled eyes, and knew without a doubt that what they’d shared was better than love. “You could be carrying my child, Brianna. I’d be gone before you knew for sure.”

  “What if I’m not?”

  “Then there’s the matter of your innocence to consider.”

  “Please don’t, Michael.”

  “You’re still compromised beyond all hope.” He said the words against her lips, only the amusement in his eyes betraying his tone. “You have proven beyond a doubt that no good deed goes unpunished.”

  “Oh!” She tried to sit, but he held her easily. “I should have kept silent today and let them cart you off in chains for all the reward my nobility has bequeathed me.”

  “And there’s this, Brianna.” His mouth covered hers.

  He sensed hesitation in her response, parted her lips under his and let his hands slide over the sumptuous silk of her robe, molding her softness to his harder frame. Their tongues tangled, and he drank in the unraveling sigh that touched his lips as her fingers sank into his hair.

  The kiss deepened, and he spread his hand over her wrapper, spanning the back of her rib cage, berating himself for allowing the wave of desire to flood him. This time when he pulled back to meet her smoky, luminous gaze, something far more carnal filled his eyes as he held her in his arms and remembered what it was like to fill her.

  “You don’t fight fair, Michael.”

  “I never claimed I did, amîri.”

  No one could ever accuse Brianna Donally of cowardice, she told herself hours later as Gracie finished the final touches on her hair. Excited servants had filled her room, but Brianna sent them all away, confused by the strange flutter in her stomach.

  “This is a very happy day for us all, mum.” Gracie slipped a pin beneath the waterfall of curls. “You’ll be leavin’ for Alexandria in a few days to catch the packet to England. That will give us enough time to pack your belongings and have a gown or two made for the English clime. January in London is cold, mum. This year is worse than normal.”

  A knock sounded on the door behind her.

  Brianna turned her head when Christopher entered. He stopped as he surveyed her sitting at the dressing table. With a nod, he dismissed Gracie. He was a formidable figure dressed in black, with a white shirt and a neatly turned cravat.

  Her fingers interlaced in her lap, Brianna turned away from the door and stared through her veil at the faintly tilted blue eyes so unlike hers that it seemed as if a stranger looked back at her. She’d dressed in a gown of pale blue watermark taffeta that she’d once worn at a festive Mayday celebration.

  “The contracts are signed, Brea.” Christopher set down the papers in his hand. “It is done.”

  The words sounded so final. Her hand spread them in front of her. She looked at each page, seeing nothing but the bold signature at the bottom of each below Christopher’s, and finally below hers on the last page. Her heart beat a strange tattoo in her chest.

  Though she’d glimpsed a portion of Michael’s tenderness these past weeks, Brianna didn’t know the other man beneath the name, the image of the man embodied by the bold scrawl—the aristocrat, James Michael Fallon Aldbury, the tenth Duke of Ravenspur.

  With him, she knew that there would never be any holding back for the sake of self-preservation. She sat still, her breathing even, conjoined to her thoughts. Her heart in chaotic flutter.

  All day, she’d endured growing trepidation, aware of the melodrama of her feelings, yet, unable to quell the escalating uncertainty. First, that Michael would recognize his mistake and abandon her. Now when she realized that he’d not deserted her, that he truly meant to marry her, uncertainty grew into something visceral. After tonight she’d be his wife in truth, with all that it entailed.

  How could she ever be equal to that?

  “Does he know he’s wedding an heiress?”

  “He doesn’t want your shares of D and B.”

  She lifted her veil and looked at her brother’s reflection in the mirror.

  “Maybe he recognizes your need for autonomy in some matters, Brea.”

  The elation that she’d expected to feel didn’t materialize. Maybe her autonomy rested on her ability to bring something into this marriage.

  Christopher sat beside her on the bench, his shoulder touching hers, his back to the mirror. He braced his elbows on his knees. She folded her hands. For a moment neither spoke.

  “I’ve wired Ryan and Johnny to expect your arrival in a few weeks.” He seemed to study his hands. “Alex will be going back to England with you. Fallon and I are in accord with getting both of you out of Cairo.”

  She turned her head. Her brother’s gaze gentled over her face. “As for me,” he added, “I’ll get to England before my son is born if I have to swim.”

  “Your son?” She laughed quietly. Men were so arrogant.

  Yet, she knew he’d have to be afraid to do something as drastic as sending Alex away. Nor had she considered the possibility that Michael might still be in danger. Or that the danger could extend to her and Alex. But someone had attacked Michael last night, then framed him for Omar’s murder. And those questions remained unanswered.

  “I don’t want you going downstairs thinking that you’re alone, Brea. You haven’t asked me to give you away. Not that I blame you—”

  She wrapped her arms around her brother’s solid form and clung to him—the oldest and the youngest in the Donally clan. Fourteen years divided them. She loved him with her whole heart. “And deny you this moment?” She laughed through her tears. “You’ve been waiting for this moment since I was twelve, I’m sure.”

  His low chuckle rumbling in her ear, he embraced her, the beat of his heart heavy against his chest. “Fallon is lucky to have you.” Awkwardly, he adjusted the veil over her head, his eyes touching hers through the pale gossamer. “Our mother would be proud of you, Brea. You’re just like her.”

  Brianna remembered very little about her mother. She looked down at her dress. Christopher stood and held out his hand to her. “I think we’ve kept Fallon waiting long enough.”

  The butterflies that fluttered in her belly did so now out of alarm. She let Christopher lead her out of the room, turning just once to look back before she straightened her shoulders and moved forward.

  Brianna descended the stairs, but slowed at the sound of voices. “Brianna.” Alex swept out of the parlor. “You are beautiful.” Looking radiant in saffron silk, Alex took her hands. “The minister is here.”

  Brianna knew a priest would marry them later.

  Abdul was suddenly standing before her. Brianna looked into his brown crinkled face. She would probably never see him again. She took both his hands. “This is for each of your wives, Abdul.” She rose on her toes to kiss his cheeks. “I have enjoyed our acquaintance.”

  “As have I, Sitt Donally.” He salaamed and stood aside.

  Gracie handed her flowers of white jasmine and, with tears in her brown eyes, told her that she looked beautiful. Brianna was suddenly feeling very much like a bride. The few servants gathered in the corridor belonged to Christopher’s household staff. They made a path for them as her brother walked her toward the parlor. Caught by the charged hush that began to fall over the room, Brianna stopped in the doorway.

  Her breath caught. Dressed in full mess uniform, Michael stood beside the minister near the veranda doors. Through the gossamer whiteness of her veil, she looked directly into his silver eyes, more blue than gray in the sunlight. More day than night. Like the mists over the lake of dawn that bound her to the promise of a future that seemed as vast and unfamiliar as it was frightening.

  They spoke their vows outside on the veranda beneath an ancient Cyprus tree, standi
ng in warm squares of sunlight, surrounded by the smells and scents of an exotic world. Then Michael was lifting her veil and she was raising her face to meet his kiss. Her fingertips whispered across his muscled shoulders where the sun had warmed his back. She was conscious of the taste of peppermint, the pulse of his heart and the beat of hers. He pulled back and her eyes opened to the intensity of his silver gaze. The man who had been her lover was now her husband.

  Chapter 14

  “May I get you more coffee, your Grace?”

  Michael lifted his gaze. The wind sent a salty spray over the lower deck of the Northern Star. He sat with his long legs stretched out in front of him, his pith helmet lying low over his eyes as he watched his wife tend to her mare. An empty mug sat in the space next to him at the table. Even his great coat could not keep the icy wind at bay. Lady Alexandra and Gracie had retired an hour ago. Michael had promised Donally that he would see his wife safely home to England. It was not a pact that he took lightly, no matter how angry her ladyship had been at the arrangement her husband had made.

  “Black, if you will,” Michael said, leaning to look around the steward as Brianna removed her cumbersome cloak and set it on a table. A length of her dark hair had fallen from the bun at her nape.

  The ship swayed and the royal-blue-clad steward caught his balance. Coffee sloshed from the pot onto the table. “I’ll return with a new cup, your Grace,” he said.

  The deck had emptied in the last hour as the seas strengthened. Brianna rode the awkward sway of the ship as she made her way to the rail. He’d been watching her the last hour, and awaited her surrender to the inevitable. His wife was simply incapable of losing a battle. Any battle.

  Barely visible in the mist above him, the great funnel, one of two that stretched the length of the deck, sent a plume of smoke into the sky. “Is there anything else you need, your Grace?” the steward asked Michael over the noise, handing him the steaming coffee.