Russell - A Bed of Brambles: Draymere Hall, #2

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

A Bed of Brambles

Copyright Sam Russell (2017) All rights reserved.

First Edition Printed 2017

Sam Russell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author https://russellromance.com/

Irresistible, tempting, tantalising

The kiss of wine-red blackberry

Plucked from tangled bramble

A pierce of thorn through fragile skin

Reckless juice-stained lips

A Bed of Brambles

Sam Russell

CHAPTER ONE

T HE JOHANNESBURG BAR was clubby with moody lighting and a heavy throb of pulsing bass notes. A searching blue strobe swept over Hettie, turning her copper hair purple. She squinted at the people around her, the group of ex-pats and bankers who had gathered to toast her departure.

Another drink! Cynthia, her friend and boss, called to the bartender.

Hettie gave a lopsided smile, her eyes heavy lidded. It wont work, drinking me senseless. I made Alexander a promise, and I am going home.

Alexander. Cynthias lips tightened. She leant in to talk over the pounding music. Im not giving up until your flight takes off, and probably not even then. You know youre better off here. You just havent admitted it yet. She waved her debit card at the bartender, then glanced back at Hettie. The horses will miss you. Theyll go into a total decline. Now stop propping up the bar and come dance.

Hetties laugh was earthy, her words slightly slurred. Youll have to give me a minute. If I stand up now, Ill fall over. Force-feeding me alcohol is dirty play. I never could keep up with you.

She stirred the olive in her cocktail. To stay, or to go? An image of Alexander slid into her woozy brain, the corner of his mouth turned up in that take-the-piss smile, and those blue, blue eyes that seemed to get darker when he looked at her. His strong hands, with their promise of so much pleasure... Warmth filled the pit of her stomach. If only he were there right now. She could have her job, the horses and Alexander.

Her thought-path stuttered as she tried to picture him in South Africa, uprooted from Draymere, disrupting her flat with his unsettling presence. Her body stirred at the recall of his, but her mind lurched from doubt to question. Would he leave Draymere for her? Would she really want him to? Why was she going back? Had he been faithful?

Hettie forced herself upright. She wouldnt let those thoughts take hold again.

The room swayed around her as she teetered haphazardly towards the dance floor, edging her slight frame through the press of people. Cynthias group was easy to find, and their wild abandon was tempting. The throng of bodies thrust her forwards. She felt a buzz of recklessness.

Fuck it. Tonight she was going to party and enjoy herself. She still had three days before she had to go back to the UK, to Draymere, to Alexander. She allowed herself to be swallowed into a masculine hug. Her eyes flickered over the mans familiar face. Bugger, she must be pissed. She couldnt remember his name.

Hello, gorgeous. He smiled down at her.

His breath tickled her neck, and his hands warmed the skin through the silk of her top. She breathed in his woody aftershave, the heady aroma of man. His stubble was coarse on her cheek. She tilted into his chest.

H ETTIES FINGERS FUMBLED for the snooze button to quiet the rude shriek of her alarm. How many times had she pressed it already? Dragging one eye open, she squinted at the numbers pulsing in and out of focus with the blood thumping through her head.

Bollocks, she was going to be late.

Reality hit with a painful throb as she grabbed her jodhpurs and hoody. Shed never been late for work in her life. Cynthia was going to love this.

S HE WAS RIGHT ABOUT that. She could tell Cynthia was crowing before she even said hello.

Well, well! The workaholic shows a chink in her armour! Im marking that up as a win!

Hettie hoisted a wheelbarrow from its resting place, clenching her teeth against the pain that shot through her skull. Its your fault. The boss cant blame me for being hung-over when shes the one who caused it.

No need to thank me. Call it a leaving present. Im allowed to be smug. I finally succeeded in loosening the ice queens chastity belt. You are alive below the waist! Id almost given up hope.

Her mucker-booted feet stopped on the brick path as Cynthia chuntered on. Memories rushed to the surface: a mans cotton shirt under her cheek, her arms curled around his neck. Lips, an embrace. What else?

She turned to face Cynthia. Shit. What did I do?

Cynthia laughed. Nothing any hot-blooded female wouldnt have done when shes footloose and free in the City of Gold, surrounded by shiny nuggets.

God, no. She pressed her hands to her temples.

A moment of pash, thats all. Do you really not remember? He cant have been very impressive! Hardly a cardinal sin, anyway, so dont get your knickers all in a twist

But Im not footloose, or free! How much pash? I do remember kissing him, but what...? Hettie dragged her fingers through her hair. Youd better tell me everything. Shit! Three days before I go back! How the hell do I face Alexander now?

You cant tell him what you dont remember. Cynthia hoisted her own laden wheelbarrow and pushed it towards the muck heap. She threw a final comment over her shoulder. And, of course, you dont have to go back and face him at all.

She stared after Cynthia but forced her feet to move into the shade of the American barn. Eager horses arched their necks, whickering for attention. Wide double doors at the end of the barn gave a view to the rugged brown and gold landscape stretching to meet a sky hinting at a temperate day and endless possibility.

She struggled to settle into the ordered and usually comfortable routine of her day. Physical work couldnt shut out the nagging guilt or the questions running through her head and the disquiet of knowing what faced her back at home now. She rested her cheek against the solid neck of a placid chestnut gelding as she fastened his head collar on. Her empty stomach churned queasily.

At least she could always come back.

A LEXANDER EASED OPEN the wire-mesh door. Hello, old girl, how are you tonight?

The aged collies tail shifted weakly as he stroked her greying head. Still stupefied from the after-effects of her anaesthetic, it was all the dog could manage. Alexanders voice was low and melodic over the hum from the overhead strip lights, his touch deliberately reassuring as he checked the dogs pulse beneath her dense coat and smoothed back the hair from her eyes. The wound from her surgery remained covered by bandages, and his attention wasnt entirely necessary. The veterinary practice nurses would check on her through the night and call him if needed.