Forget Me Not (14 page)

She jerked back but his hold proved unrelenting.

“Sure ye are.”  A hand slid seductively up her back into her hair. Usually his touch proved exhilarating and caused her to lose all sense, but today the shivers skimming her spine were of alarm. “Ye believe because I’ve kissed you that I care for ye. In yer world a man does not take liberties with a woman he does not intend to marry. Is that what you expected from me?”  The
roughhewn
pads of his fingers traced the column of her throat.

Panic and hurt flooded her mind. Tears blurred her vision, stinging her eyes. Every stolen kiss, forbidden thought or caress flashed before her mind’s eye. The callous words couldn’t be true. Vividly she pictured his eyes dark with ardor. He must care; she refused to believe otherwise, because, quite simply, her heart couldn’t take it. “I know you harbor some feelings for me, Brian, I have seen it I your eyes.”

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I don’t know what ye’ve seen in my eyes, Lydia, but ye’re nothin’ more than a passing dalliance. Good for a bit of sport, nothin’ more.”  His eyes, filled with passion just minutes before, were cold—or perhaps not quite cold, but indifferent, unreadable. “Ye didn’t really expect anythin’ lastin’ to come of us?”

A knife through the heart could not have cut her as deeply as those words. In that instant her heart hurt so much she could not even cry. Had she expected something lasting to come of them?  Of course!  Else she would not have asked him to run away with her. “Let me go!”  She wrestled against his hold, desperate to flee his condescending gaze.

Brian held firm, drawing her closer. The hand twined through her hair pulled her head back and ever so slightly up forcing her to face him square in the eye. His breath raked hot across her cheek. “Let you go?”  His tone, his eyes, his entire being mocked her. “But this is what ye wanted.”  His head swooped down, pillaging her mouth with punishing fervor. A burly arm dipped beneath his knees as he scooped her against the heat of his chest.

Lydia knew she should stop him, that there was no love or passion in this embrace, but she had waited
so long
for this man’s touch… his kiss…she
loved him. If this was the last she would know of her dream knight, what could it hurt to drink him in just a second more?  She parted her lips in silent bidding. Brian answered with a crazed zeal. The exchanged continued to
deepen, the friction of their mouths driving her to the edge of sanity. “Oh, Brian,” she moaned, vaguely aware of him moving toward the bed. Her pulse quickened, the blood roared in her ears, and suddenly she didn’t care if he wanted her or not. The sensations coursing through her body were purely…
bewitching
. Surely she could make him love her. Show him what lay in her heart, and how utterly perfect they could be together.

“Whoa!”  Lydia cried out in surprise as the strength of his arms fell away and she crashed onto the feather mattress.

Brian leered down at her, breathing heavily, his gaze hot upon her. “Is this what ye want, Lydia?  Is it really?”

Slowly she shook her head. “No,” she breathed, hardly believing the word herself. “No it isn’t. Not like this. Never like this. I-I thought…”

Brian’s gaze flicked coolly across her face. “Oh, lass, I’m so sorry.”  The tone of his voice clearly stated he was
not
sorry. “Do ye not understand it matters not if I have kissed you?  Not once, not twice, not ever.”  Abruptly he leaned forward, arms braced on either side of the mattress, his face mere inches from hers. The heat of their bodies mingled in the dead space, a physical entity all its own. “Kisses mean nothin’, Lydia. Dances mean nothin’. The sweet endearments I may be inclined to whisper in your ears mean nothin’.”

She swallowed back the pain of his words. “I see. So when you tell me that I’m pretty?”

“I tell a lot of girls they’re pretty, Lydia. Ye’re nothin’ special to me.”

“Then why any of this charade, Brian?  Why tease me and carry on if you had no intention of following through?”

A crooked, mocking grin touched his lips. “Just repayin’ the favor.”

“Favor?”

“Four years ago—”

“I don’t’ want to talk about four years ago,” Lydia spat. That particular argument had been rehashed enough. “Let it go.”

Brian drew back, crossing strong arms across his chest. His eyes narrowed menacingly. “Four years ago ye toyed with me. I’m merely playin’ games in return.”  He raked a scathing gaze the length of her. “Pity to the man ye marry. Does His Lordship know ye have a habit of carryin’ on like a regular harlot?”

Lydia’s jaw flopped. “I have never behaved as a harlot,” she shrieked, leaping off the bed.
The nerve.
Threatening tears burned her vision, but she refused to cry in front of this man. He didn’t deserve to know how he affected her. That he’d broken her heart. The realization of Brian’s indifference hit
hard
. Years of hopes and dreams crashed down upon her, drowning in the black ocean of her soul. Crushed, Lydia swayed on her feet terribly off balance, and suddenly something… broke inside.

Brian was at her side in an instant, arms stealing around her.

“We should get ye back to bed.”

“Get your hands off of me you arrogant, condescending bastard!”  She heaved against his chest, nearly toppling backward in the process. His arms did not budge. “I want you out of my sight.”

“Oh, aye, princess, and a moment ago you were throwin’ yerself into me arms.”  Once again he scooped her against the broad width of his chest. Gently, almost reverently, he settled her onto the mattress. “I think bein’ sick addled yer brain, lass. I propose we forget this conversation ever happened, yes?”

Gone was the cruel man from moments ago. She had no idea what to make of the immediate about face and pegged him with her most withering glare.

“Come now lass don’t look at me like that.”  The tenor of Brian’s voice changed, growing soft. “We both know ye’d never really consider runnin’ away with the likes of me.”  He took a step back toward the door. “Ye like the idea of rebelling against yer father and the viscount, but they are yer future, not me. Have a care to honor them, Lydia. My duty is to return ye to yer father, nothin’ more. Now, ye’re goin’ home to get married and that’s final. I’ll hear no more of runnin’ away.”  With that he reached the door. “Rest well, lass, we leave for the Abbey the day after tomorrow if ye’re strong enough.”

“How dare you lecture me on the importance of duty and loyalty?”  She whipped a pillow at his infuriating face, but he sidled through the doorway, and the projectile cushion bounced anticlimactically off the wooden panels. “Get back here!”  She glared at the door, waiting for him to come back, to respond to her outburst... but he was gone.

Sobs racked her body with gale force. She had all but bared her soul to the man, practically offered herself on a platter, and still he wanted none of it. She’d never believed herself a beauty or as anything more than passably attractive, but when Brian looked at her… it was within her grasp to believe she was extraordinary if only in his eyes.

Foolishly she’d placed him high on a pedestal—no, not Brian, she’d placed an illusion of him on high—believed him different from all others in her life. Men were at liberty to choose which loyalties to support or believe in whereas women were expected to sit amiably by while every important decision was made for them. Hot tears continued to tip over her eyelids, irritably she brushed them aside. No one cared what her political views were, or what she would study at Cambridge if given the opportunity to go. Instead she’d been sold for a title at the age of fifteen as nothing more than a prize piece of livestock. It was actually rather humiliating. Lydia spun the simple ring on her finger. Not even Brian took her seriously. For all of their conversations he’d never learned anything of her life or motivation.

The wheels began to spin in her mind. She sat straight up in bed.

So… she was nothing more than a passing dalliance to Brian?  Well, surely all famous romances began as little more than an innocent flirtation. An element of attraction existed between them, of that she was certain, else he would not have kissed her with such toe curling thoroughness. If she could nurture that attraction, bring Brian to appreciate her mind as well as her body…

With a little persuasion he would be panting at her heels. A smile tugged her lips. If not, tormenting him with her wiles was sure to be a good bit of fun.

Chapter Nine

Brian’s head was still reeling from Lydia’s proposal as he slipped through the backdoor of Henry’s cottage the following morning. To his mind the crisp morning sunshine was entirely too cheery, black thunderheads would far better suit his mood…  Except for the fact that thunderheads would remind him of the storm which had stranded he and Lydia in the cabin; and then he would think of the subsequent night with her sleeping form curled around him; and if he dwelled on that overly long…

Oh, Hell! 
He raked a hand through his hair. “You’re a fool, Donnelly.”

Agitatedly he stalked the perimeter of the property checking for any evidence of Roark closing in, and hoping a little exercise would clear his sleep deprived mind. With the constant threat of discovery looming, he dared not sleep. Not that he would have slept anyway. Try as he might he could not shed the image of Lydia plying him with those huge, innocent bedroom eyes. The lure of her naivety had proved so unnerving. It had taken every shred of self-control not to surrender, and ravish her on the spot. By the grace of God alone he’d clung to his wits and denied her. Denied himself.

Lydia’s upper story window drew his gaze like a beacon. Without cognizant thought he found himself staring at it as though able to divine her image through the bricks. Every time he blinked he saw her standing beside the bed in naught but her see through shift. Her ethereal beauty, nay, her very aura had the power to strike him dead in his tracks. Bring him to his knees. He sighed out the weight of his soul. That girl would see him to the grave.

The knowledge he’d hurt her gutted him. He’d passed an exceedingly restless night propped in a chair outside her bedroom, listening to her cry. Even now the memory of Lydia’s sobs haunted him. He should apologize. Explain that he hadn’t meant it…

No.
What was wrong with him?  Rejection was the only way to protect his heart—his very soul. The temptation to take her, sate himself with her body, tested the bounds of his
self-
control
. Only the knowledge that Lydia wanted more kept him at bay. Lydia wanted forever, and forever was the last thing Brian would commit to a woman. Without doubt she hated him now, and that was how it must be between them.

He needed to remember she was a typical rich, spoiled chit; the sort who thought of nothing but themselves. Whatever came of their flirtation she would leave him in the end just as everyone else in his life had. It was better simply to be alone than to have had and lose a life rendering love. This was the concept he lived by.

Brian set off in the direction of the well, planning to begin heating water for her bath. If the hot water was prepared when she awoke it would undoubtedly land him back in her good graces. When crossed she was a devil and a half, and he was more drawn to her flushed with anger than lying wanton in his arms. A vision of her shooting daggers at him the night before flashed through his mind.
Gorgeous
. In any case, he knew better than to inspire more arguments between them or he’d never manage to control his mounting desire. At this point he hoped she would have the strength to wash herself. No, that wasn’t entirely true, Brian would love to bathe her, run his hands along her bare, wet flesh, watch runs of soap bubbles trail rivers along her breasts…  The lord only knew what trouble he’d be in if he saw and touched her that way. The mere thought of her submerged in the steaming water caused his body to react in a most uncomfortable way.

With concerted effort he shoved the vision of a naked, wet Lydia out of his thoughts, and turned his attention to the dawn around him. Under any other circumstances the morning would have been perfect. The rising sun cast rays of warmth along his face and neck erasing the lingering chill of night. The grass, wet with dew, squished beneath his feet and a squirrel scolded him from a tall tree just ahead. He smiled in spite of himself, turning his face to the sky, and breathing deep the sweet summer perfume swirling on the breeze. Perhaps thunderheads were not so fitting of his mood.

A rustling alerted Brian to a presence behind him, a presence that could not belong to the squirrel still scolding him from the tree. Perhaps the mangy dog returning?  Biding his time he listened keenly to the barely audible squish growing ever nearer. Definitely human.

Without warning Brian spun. A young boy stood close, so Brian easily snared him about the waist. “What have we here?”

“Le’ me go!”  The boy, no more than seven years old, beat ferociously against Brian’s chest and legs. A heel made sharp contact with Brian’s shin, he winced, but refused to let the scamp go. “I weren’t doin’ nothin’.”

“Nothin’ but lookin’ to pick me pocket is all.”  Holding firm, Brian stooped to the boy’s eye level. “Too bad for you I learned not to keep any valuables in my pockets a long time ago.”

The boy’s chin jutted stubbornly. “Was not pickin’ nobody’s pocket, mister.”

“Right,” Brian scoffed, “and I’m Saint Dismas.”

“Who?”

“The patron saint of…” Brian shook his head, and looked reproachfully at the lad. “Never mind. What would yer mother think of ye stealin’?”

“Have to have a mother to care now, wouldn’t I.”

Brian’s heart clenched as he looked into the boy’s huge gray eyes. Reflected in their depths was a sadness he knew all too well. Grubby, ill-fitted brown trousers hung from the lad’s waist stopping just above the ankle, both of his shoes split at the outer seams, and the shirt had also seen better days. Brian suspected his appearance at this age had not been much better. “Where do you live then, lad?”

“
Nowhere
.”

“How can it be that ye live nowhere?”  Brian knelt to the boy’s eye level. “Not even ghosts live nowhere.”

The boy shrugged. “Suppose I am a ghost?”

“I’d suspect the bruise ye left on me shin would prove ye’re real enough.”  He winked attempting to draw the boy out. “Do ye have a name?”

The lad ground his teeth as wide mistrusting eyes bore into Brian’s. “Brandon.”

“All right, Brandon,” he smiled again. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Brian.”

Solemnly Brandon nodded.

“Who cares for ye then?”

“Told you, I don’t need nobody.”

“I see.”  Brian nodded with equal solemnity. “You wouldn’t happen to be a hungry for a bite to eat?  I could surely use the company.”

The boy’s gaze drifted from Brian, to the cottage, and back again. He licked his lips, the hollows of his cheeks more pronounced with the gesture. “I could eat.”

“All right then.”  Brian kept a careful hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “Help me carry this water to the house and I’ll see what we can find.”

Once in the house Brandon situated himself close to the door his wide eyes darting around the visible rooms.

“Don’t worry, lad, there’s no one here to harm you.”  He dumped the water into a kettle on the stove and set about making two sandwiches from what was left of Harvey’s dry cured bacon, cheese, and a loaf of bread. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you were lurkin’ in Henry Wallace’s mill yard for whilst we eat.”  He took a seat across from the boy.

Brandon tore into the sandwich like a starved animal. “Nobody’s been here fer weeks,” he mumbled around monstrous bites of bacon and cheese. “Figured no one would notice if’n I slept in the barn.”

“I see. Well, for as long as I’m here lookin’ after me wife you are welcome to sleep in the extra bedroom.”  Brian couldn’t run the risk of Brandon heading to town and outing their presence, the reward was a tempting sum. Moreover Brian knew what it was to be alone, and couldn’t turn his back on the rogue child. “I’ll ask you not to take anythin’ from this house though. The man who lives here is a very good friend of mine.”

Brandon shrugged indifferently loudly smacking the crumbs from his lips before reaching for the last crust of bread on Brian’s plate. “What’s wrong wit yer wife?”

“She has taken ill.”  He pushed the plate toward the scamp, chuckling at his voracious show of appetite. “There is more where that came from if yer still hungry.”  Brian reached behind him to pluck the last of the bread loaf from the counter, and plopped it onto the table. “Eat up, lad, put some meat on those bones.”  He crossed his arms over his chest and sprawled back in the chair waiting for Brandon to finish. “What about yer father, son?”

“What father?” he muttered rhetorically, yanking a battered tweed cap low over his eyes.

Brian cocked his head. “So is he dead or are ye a bastard?”

“Don’t rightly see wha’ difference it makes.”

Brian nodded. “What’s yer last name then, lad?”

“Don’t know, mister.” Brandon flashed a jaunty, sarcastic look. “Why don’t ye tell me yours?”

“You’ve a very smart mouth, Brandon, has anyone told ye that before?”

The boy shrugged indifferently for what must have been the umpteenth time that morning and Brian elected to hold the montage of questions at bay, understanding Brandon would not be inclined to confide in him as of yet. “Finished?”

Brandon nodded, wiping a sleeve across his mouth, and belched.

“We’ll be teachin’ ye some table manners as well. Come along then.”  Brian jerked his head toward the stairs. “I’ll show ye to yer bunk.”

“Don’t trust me down here alone?”

“Nope. But I reckon you don’t much trust me either.”

The shadow of a smile haunted Brandon’s lips. “I’d reckon ye’re right ‘bout that.”

“We’re even then.”  He held a hand toward the stairs. “After you, lad.”  The pair mounted the stairs in tandem, and Brian sighed audibly with relief when the sight of Lydia sleeping quietly met his gaze through the open bedroom door. He turned to the smaller bedroom door. “This will be your room…” His voice trailed off as he realized Brandon was no longer with him.
Instead the boy stood just inside of the room where Lydia lay sleeping. “Come along, Brandon, leave me wife be.”

“She’s pretty, but she sure as hell ain’t yer wife.”

“Excuse me?”

“You ‘eard me. I know she ain’t yours. Her face is posted on e’ery door from ‘ere to kingdom come, and you’re the kidnapper.”

Brian froze, the words
goddamn it
lodged in his throat. If the kid ran out to talk they were done for.

“Mmm…” The gentle hum lifted from the bed. As if on cue Lydia yawned and rolled with catlike leisure and grace to her back. “Who’s face?”

“No one’s face, love.”  Brian entered the room and crossed it in two strides, shooting Brandon a withering glare. Hopefully Lydia would keep up the pretense of good relations despite his callous rebuff. “How are ye feelin’?”  Irritably he waved Brandon out of the doorway. The boy didn’t budge, but came to stand at the foot of the bed, smirking.

“Quite revived.”  She began to sit, he propped a pillow behind her back dreading the cascade of questions sure to come. Her gaze fell instantly to Brandon. “I say who might this be?”

“The name’s Brandon, Miss.”

“Brandon, what a lovely name.”  She flashed what was undoubtedly the most melting motherly smile Brian had ever seen, and folded prim hands above the quilt. “It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Lydia.”

The boy beamed in return, his stern demeanor crumbling beneath the warmth and acceptance radiating from her honey eyes. “‘Tis a pleasure to meet you as well, Miss, ye’re the prettiest girl I e’er seen.”

A tinkle of laughter burst from her mouth. “Aren’t you a charmer in the making?  Now, how is it you came to be here with us?”  A questioning eye flicked to Brian.

“Caught him pickin’ me pocket this mornin’,” Brian grumbled.

“Oh, now we can’t have that.”  Lydia clucked her tongue disapprovingly, albeit with motherly disapproval. “Why would you need to pick anyone’s pocket?”

“I was hungry,” he said matter-of-factly.

“My goodness, that is truly awful.”  Lydia’s eyes widened with alarm and she fixed an accusing gaze on Brian. “Did you feed him?”

“Of course.”  He raised his palms in defense. “What do ye take me for, some sort of heathen?”

“No need to get surly, Brian.”  Lydia’s gaze moved back to Brandon. “We have much to discuss about your situation, young man, but for the moment please tell me what you were talking about on the stairs. Whose face is posted from here to kingdom come?”

Brian immediately moved to intercept the question. “No one, love, it was—”

“Yours,” Brandon supplied instantly.

Sweet Jesus,
Brian groaned inwardly.

“My face?”  Utter shock laced her features.

The lad nodded.

“On what sort of posters?”

“Reward posters, Miss Lydia.”

“What?” She paled considerably. “Brian, were you not going to tell me this?”

“Doesn’t appear that way. I’d wager—”

“Would ye shut up, Brandon?  I
hav
e
n
—”

“Do not tell him to shut up.”  Lydia rankled, shooting a pointer finger in his direction. “Why haven’t you told me this, Brian?  My life is in danger and I think it is very much my right to know who is posting reward posters and why!”