Forget Me Not (13 page)

It occurred to him the sensations flowing through his veins were an awful lot like… love. And not the fairytale love he’d been struck with at first sight. Tentatively he reached out to brush an errant strand of chocolate hair from her face.

“Mmmm, Brian.”  The soft moan was barely audible, and she did not appear to wake. “I love you.”  A dreamy sigh escaped her lips as she rolled to the other side.

Brian panicked, stumbled back a step and tripped over the wooden chair, landing squarely on the hard wooden seat.
Oh, no. No. No!
No!  Horrified, he rested his head in his hands.
I did not need to hear that.
Not now. Not yet. Not
ever. I love you
was a phrase he had no desire to hear uttered from any woman’s lips, especially hers. Lydia Covington was the one
woman who could wreck him if he so allowed it, and for all his faults, Brian liked to think he was not that stupid.

If
he loved her—and that was a pretty big
if—
it was an entirely manageable condition as long as she didn’t love him in return. Unrequited love may be a nightmare—the nightmare he’d been living the last four years—but it wasn’t dangerous. Reciprocated love was hell. Burning, bleeding hell. Mutual love terrified him. If Lydia were to sit up, look him straight in the eye, and in a moment of pure lucidity say,
I love you,
he would be totally wrecked. Yes,
wrecked
because then he would be forced to consider that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t the spoiled London miss he’d always believed her to be, and that perhaps Lydia was everything he could ever hope for in a woman, in life. Undoubtedly he would find himself dreaming, hoping, and then every protective barrier he’d erected around his heart would threaten to crumble. Venus’s promise of love everlasting was so tempting…  It would be so easy to be drawn in…

He couldn’t take the chance. Love was a cruel emotion. One Brian had more experience with than any one soul should come to know. Whatever muse prompted men to sing love’s praises was a bitter entity indeed.

Although, if that were true, why did he feel whole for the first time in his life gazing down at Lydia?

*
             
*
             
*

Lydia’s eyes opened to the sight of Brian stepping through the bedroom door, a jaunty grin adorning his handsome face, and she could have died just to look at him.

A jumble of hazy, disjointed memories filtered through her mind…  She remembered being so cold and begging for a warm blanket, certain she was about to die. Brian had saved her life, of that she was certain. Vaguely she recalled how gently he’d cradled her in his arms, stroked her face, and spoken softly in her ear. The memories swirled to a single point of clarity in her mind. Over the last days the fanciful notion of infatuation with a fairytale knight had grown into full fledge love for the real, imperfect man before her. Her palms grew slick, her heart hammered, and she knew the headiest sense of
falling
if he so much as smiled. This must be love.

Faced with the knowledge that the very fiend she’d dreamt of shooting Bri
a
n had been, or may even still be, in Sharpsburg, coupled with the reality she should already have married Lord Northbridge, Lydia shirked all desire to maintain her ladylike façade. She wanted to breathe with the fire Brian ignited within her. She longed for him to be as affected as she. Did Brian experience the keen jolt of awareness whenever their gazes met?  Wistfully she sighed, thinking of the kisses they’d shared. He must feel something of the same for her.

Her thoughts went against every belief and rule she’d been raised to believe, but she didn’t care. Before she was murdered at the hand of Felix Keith or successfully married off to the repulsive Viscount of Northbridge she wanted to be desired by a man who excited her, by a man she could love…

Now what to do about it?

“Look who’s awake.”  He winked, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Are ye feelin’ better, lass?”

Her heart performed a flurry of silly flip flops. When he looked at her that way, with all the glowing adoration of the world reflected in his gaze, her heart did not just flip, it beat anew… for him. Lydia gulped,
self-consciously
dragging her fingers through her hair, pulling the full length over one shoulder. She must look a mess.

“I am thank you.”  She took note of the ever darkening sky through the window and sat bolt upright in the bed. “How long have I been asleep and where have you been?” Alarm seized her. “You didn’t go to the town did you?  Roark could still be there. How many times must I tell you it is not safe?”

“Lydia, Lydia, relax!  I didn’t go to the town today.”  He raised his hands defensively. “I only went outside to fetch fresh water. I swear it.”  Brian strode across the room to sit beside her on the bed. “Besides I brought you a little something.”  He held up a single purple blossom. “I couldn’t find a
Forget-me-not,
but this will do
.”

Her heart skipped a beat. So he did remember the
Forget-me-not.
“Oh, Brian, this is lovely.”  A little bubble of excitement fluttered through her as she reached for the plum-wine bloom. “It’s a—”

Brian pressed a finger to her lips, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. “I don’t care what the name of this flower is Latin or otherwise. Do ye ever stop to enjoy petals, lass?”  He perched on the bed beside her his firm thigh pressed the length of hers, and touched the bloom to her cheek. “Feel how soft.”  Her eyes fluttered as he slid the soft flower across her cheek. “And how lovely purple is with yer dark hair, matches your skin as well. Very fetchin’.”

Lydia’s heart tripped a beat faster. “Do you really mean that?”

“Mean what, love?  That ye are the most fetchin’ lass in all of Britain?”

Her heart stopped beating all together, and not a single coherent word formed on her tongue. She nodded.

“Of course I do, and it does me good to see you lookin’ so much improved. Perhaps I’ll manage to return ye to your father and Lord Northbridge in one piece after all.”

Her spirits, soaring after his praise, plummeted with the mention of the engagement. “What if my father and Lord Northbridge are involved with Felix Keith?  I know how well you think of my father, Brian, but he is not all that he seems. You don’t know him as I do.”

“Rest assured, Lydia, I’ll not let ye from my sight until I am certain that you are safe with them. But I truly believe Sir William is the man to help us through this mess. He would never let harm come to you.”

Slowly she nodded, wanting nothing more than to scream,
I’m not going back!
  “What are you planning to do?”  Somehow she managed to keep the tone even, her mind spinning,
searching
for the solution to her every problem and the means of delivering her every desire—Brian. Her father forever spoke of the need to create one’s own opportunities; evidenced by Lydia’s betrothal to Lord Northbridge. Perhaps this was not only her chance to run away, but to run away with her love.

“As you know I want to head back to Wheaton Abbey as quickly as possible,” Brian continued, oblivious to Lydia’s schemes, “but we will not be goin’ to yer home. At least not right away. I have a friend near the Abbey who may be able to help us.”

“Might I ask whom?  Anyone I know?”

“Are ye acquainted with the Viscount Coverstone?”

She straightened, curious by the question, and intrigued by any opportunity to delay arrival to
Wheaton Abbey
. “Yes, very well. I didn’t realize you were also acquainted with him.”

A mischievous grin flashed across his mouth, twinkling through his eyes, he winked. “His butler, lass. I am well acquainted with his butler.”

“Oh, that does make more sense.”  Lydia shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why would Lord Coverstone harbor us based upon the word of his butler?  His lordship is rigid about propriety. He would never approve of giving us a place to stay, much less our traipsing across England without a chaperone whatever the circumstances.”

“I have it on excellent authority that his lordship rarely frequents this particular house as his wife prefers London or their other country estate. My friend should not have any difficulty hidin’ us for a day or two whilst we find a way to speak privately with yer father. And then…” his voice trailed off almost wistfully. For a long moment he was absolutely silent, his pale eyes fixed on hers, shimmering with an emotion so raw it must be forbidden. The knuckles of his right hand grazed her cheek as his gaze dropped to her mouth. How she ached for him to lean in and take her lips, kiss her once more…

Or, perhaps she should do it herself.

Never had she been so bold, but never before had she found a reason to be. Lydia had always been a take charge sort of girl—the one to organize afternoon tea or seating arrangements whether Olivia asked her to or not—and in the last few days she’d embraced that element of her nature on an all new level. Why not now as well?  Brian’s lips were so close, mere inches from hers, and her mouth burned with the memory of his touch. Her tongue traced the inner fold of her lips.

“And then you’ll be free to
run away
again… or get married.”  Brian’s voice was soft but the word
married
straggled from his throat.

A surge of confidence flowed through her. Wickedly she smiled, visually caressing his sinfully handsome face. An artist of Divinci’s caliber could hardly do this man’s perfection
justice. Her gaze danced from his half-hazard curling locks to the boyish crinkles at the corners of his mouth and eyes. She wet her lips and leaned forward, brushing a lock of dark hair from his forehead. Her fingers itched to weave through the thickness. “Haven’t I been clear?  I don’t want to get married.”

Brian went perfectly still, his expression unreadable, but his eyes… his eyes betrayed him. The green spheres bled with panic, and longing… and a desire that sent the butterflies in her stomach to raucous. His gaze fell to her mouth. “Perhaps ye have no idea what ye want,” he whispered hoarsely.

“I know exactly what I want,” she purred, sliding a palm up his well-muscled forearm, lips parting in silent summons. Playing the vixen was new to her, but love did strange things to people…  Love empowered her.

Brian flinched, leaping clear off the bed. Sheer panic filled his eyes. “I should really be goin’.”  He gestured in the general direction of the door, but remained rooted to the spot, eyes boring into hers with such intensity her insides quivered. “I need to… to…”

With a measured leisure Lydia did not feel, she rose from the bed advancing on him, strategically placing herself between Brian and the door. She quirked a suggestive brow. “What did you need to do?”

“I, er, uh,
you—
you need to rest, Lydia.”  Hastily he stepped to the side. She quickly parried the move.

“Do you fence, Brian?” she asked as they continued the tet-a-tet—one step forward for one step back.

“Not well.”  He continued circling, evading her advances. “Why do you ask?”

“Because this little dance of ours is a lot like fencing.”  His back hit the wall. Boldly she pressed a finger to the middle of his chest. “Not just now, but always. You kiss me, I pull away. I make a move, you pull away.”  She splayed a hand across the muscular width, his pulse hammering against her palm in frenzied tandem with her own. “What is going on between us?”

Brian stood statuesque, the only palpable movement the steady rise and fall of his chest. “Do not trifle with me, lass. You may very well regret it.”  The warning was implicit, his facial expression hard, impassive.

“Regret what, Brian?”  Heat resonated from his body sending tingles of awareness shivering across her skin. “I wouldn’t dream of trifling with you.”  She rose on tiptoe, brushing her mouth against his soft lips.

“What are ye doing, lass.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”  Seductively she smiled, linking her arms around his neck. “I want you to run away with me.”

The eyes nearly popped from his head. “No.”  The word exploded convulsively from the depths of his body. “Ye cannot be serious.”

“I am deadly serious,” she affirmed, pressing her body against the heat of his sinewy torso. The broad width of his hands settled on her waist. Tremors of awareness shot through her, responding to the forbidden intimacy of the moment. The moist heat of his breath whispered across her face. His gaze fell from her eyes to her lips; automatically Lydia tilted her head, inviting him to kiss her and mayhap much,
much
more.

“Silly, girl,” he murmured, lifting a hand to her face and smoothing a thumb across her cheek.

That
was not what she’d expected him to say. A niggling of cold dread dampened the fires scorching her body. “What do you mean?”

“Perhaps silly is the wrong word. Naïve is far more suiting. Ye’re a naïve little girl.”

“I am not naïve nor am I a little girl.” Instantly she stepped away, sensing an acute need to escape his immediate proximity. What had she gotten herself into?

Brian followed, slipping both arms around her waist, binding her to him. Their hips nestled together like lock and key. The air grew thick and hot between them, and the moment may have been sensual if not for the element of danger glowing in his eyes.