Forget Me Not (29 page)

The door burst open, shattering the ancient iron deadbolt.

“Sir William!”  Brian leapt to his feet, silently berating himself. Christ, he should have anticipated Lydia’s enraged father coming after him.

“You son of a bitch, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t beat you within an inch of your life?”  The general stalked forward, meaty hands balled into fists, and it took all Brian’s conscious effort not to cringe. The man packed one hell of a punch.

“Just hold on a minute, Sir,” Brian placated. “Let’s talk this through.”

“Christ, Donnelly, how could you do this to me?  After everything I’ve done for you, how could you go to bed with my own daughter?”  Sir William’s face flushed beat red and a straggled snarl wheezed from his throat. “My daughter!”

Brian held out both palms. “I lov—”

“Shut up, Donnelly. Just shut up. I really don’t care.”  The general stopped, closed his eyes and drew a shuddering breath. “I’m giving you one chance to make this right. One.”  Sir William reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a folded sheet of paper, a superior gleam in his eye. “This is a promissory note worth 500 pounds.”  He stepped forward, waving the note beneath Brian’s nose. “Do you smell that, boy?  More money than you’ve ever dreamed of.”

Brian quirked a suspicious brow and folded his arms. “Lookin’ to pay me off, sir?  Why?”

“My daughter is hard headed as they come, although I suspect you already know that, and I need your help to ensure she doesn’t go and ruin everything I’ve planned for her.”  The general adopted the militaristic persona of a one negotiating the terms of surrender. It irked Brian to no end, though he said nothing, merely folded his arms across his chest and waited for Sir William to proceed. “You will write Lydia a letter explaining that you’re leaving the country and have no intention of renewing a relationship with her.”

“No,” Brian replied automatically, he’d not hurt Lydia any more.

“You will then get off my property,” Sir William continued as though Brian had not spoken, “keep your mouth shut about the whole of this affair, and stay the hell away from my daughter.”

“Or what?”

“I’ll kill you.”

“What if I asked fer your daughter’s hand in
stead?”  The words surprised Br
i
a
n even as he spoke them, but the surest sense of rightness swelled in his heart the moment he made the decision. Lydia would be his in every way. If only he’d come to the conclusion sooner.

Absolute silence met the sudden request, Sir William’s face utterly unreadable.

Brian’s heart hammered. “I assure you, Sir, that—”

“Assure me of what, Donnelly?  That you love the girl?  That you can provide for her.”  Chastising laughter erupted from the general. He turned a slow circle, taking in the shoddy cabin’s interior. “Oh, yes, Brian, you’d keep my daughter in the lap of luxury I daresay. Marry her?”  He shook his head, still laughing. “What a ridiculous notion. How long do you think she’d last living on love and air?”

Hadn’t he spoke the same argument to Lydia not an hour before?  Devastation drilled through Brian’s core.

Sir William’s eyes softened ever so slightly. “You cannot deny that I’m right.”

The logic was irrefutable. Brian knew it. Loathed it.

“She deserves much better than you.”

Brian wiped a hand across his jaw. “Don’t I know.”

Sir William slapped the note into Brian’s chest. “You’re a good soldier, Donnelly. You won’t have any trouble obeying my orders.”

Brian’s eyes locked with Sir William’s, and for an immeasurable length of time he stared into the general’s face, clenching and unclenching his fists as though the action would somehow halt the unraveling of his soul. “No trouble, Sir,” he ground, ever the obedient solider. He reached up and grasped the promissory note. The paper burned his fingers, an acute reminder of his betrayal to Lydia.

“Good man,” Sir William gave a curt nod and stepped back. “There is a catch to cashing that note. My solicitor won’t release the funds without my approval, and I won’t give the word until I know you’re well out of town and my daughter is securely married. Travel to London and locate David Severs, he’s another solicitor in my employ, and will broker the funds transfer. Do you understand?”

“
I understand that yer keepin’ me under yer thumb, and in yer line of sight. Just because the King’s English doesn’t roll off my tongue doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

Sir William’s gaze narrowed. “I have eyes everywhere, Donnelly. It doesn’t matter if you do this my way or the hard way, you won’t get away with double crossing me.”

The reward posters which had haunted him and Lydia burned in his mind. Brian glanced down, gaze skimming across the note. More money than he’d known in his lifetime. He folded the paper, weighing it in his palm. This was the amount of money placed on his head dead or alive. He shook his head at the irony of it all. The paper felt… flimsy, hardly worth a man’s life… and yet he’d just sold his soul for the sum of five hundred pounds. Brandon’s small face floated through Brian’s mind, with this money he could give the boy a far better start than he’d ever had.

“You win.”

“Smart man.”  The general clapped his shoulder. “I’ll take that letter now, Donnelly.”

Brian looked up, roiling with the knowledge he was about to severe every last tie with the one woman he loved, and strode to the small table beside his bed. “As you wish.”

*
             
*
             
*

             
Rain continued to pound the abbey in waves, leaving Brian trapped in the cottage like a caged animal. Miserable scenarios ran circles through his mind—Lydia locked in her room unable to leave until the day she married the despicable viscount…  A justice called to marry Lydia and the Northbridge that very day—unlikely considering the enormity of the storm, but desperation knew no bounds.

Overcome by stress and regret Brian finally ventured into the storm, intent on reaching the main house. To hell with Sir William’s demands, he and the general had some unfinished business.

Brian slipped into the house through the back kitchen door. No one but Mrs. Porter would see him and the older woman was more than trustworthy. He padded surreptitiously through the halls, toward Sir William’s study located in a secluded corner of the manse, taking extra care to avoid servants. If Brian didn’t find him there he would wait until the general ventured into the room. The look on the man’s face should prove classic.

“I am telling you, William, she is going to ruin everything,” Olivia’s voice drilled through the study door.

Brian snatched back, slipping into a narrow crevice beside the room, only someone looking directly into the space would spot him.

“If your daughter embarrasses the Viscount of Northbridge by giving herself to that Irish stable hand, your chances of becoming prime minister are through,” Olivia railed. “His lordship can never learn of her indiscretion.”

“Please, Livy, enough of this,” Lydia bit tersely. “The viscount is marrying me for Papa’s money, there is no need to worry that he’ll find fault with me or my reputation. I’m sure London is already gossiping madly about my kidnapping, if Lord Northbridge was planning to call off the wedding he already would have done. The nuptials will go off without a hitch in six
days’ time
rest assured.”

“So you’ve made your decision?”  Implicit threat lurked in the deep thunder of Sir William’s words.

“Was there ever really a choice?” Lydia quipped in return.

To hear Lydia speak so blithely of the upcoming marriage was a knife to his heart. Not twelve hours before she had professed undying love for
him.
The voices grew hushed, Brian could only make out a word or two here and there. Unable to resist he crept out of his hiding place, to the door, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, his ears strained.

“Creating an opportunity for yourself?”  Sir William’s words exploded with such force around the narrow corner Brian leapt half a foot. “For the love of God, Lydia, creating an opportunity for yourself would have been crawling into bed with a duke, not a stable hand.”

“If you mean to shame me further, Papa, there is no need. I won’t ruin your chances of political gain. As Viscountess of Northbridge I will be the picture of elegance, grace and the aristocracy.”

Dread settled hard in the pit of Brian’s stomach. Here was the proof that her innocence was gone. The death of every sweet imperfection making up his lovely Lydia. She would marry Northbridge and become another ton duplicate. Worse, it was his fault.

“You need not worry that I will be a poor reflection on
you,
Father. After all, each of us knows that is all any of this has been about.
You
. How does it feel to know you’ve sold your own daughter for political gain?  Do you think Mama would approve?  Or is she rolling her grave?”

Stunned by Lydia’s blatant accusation, Brian did not realize how far forward he’d leaned until he fell flat on his face in front of the closed study door. “Arrgghh,” he moaned, struggling to rise quickly—his ribs made valiant protest.

He was half way to his feet when the door swung open, a full yellow skirt catching his eye.

“Brian,” Lydia gasped, snatching backward as though burned.

Brian drew himself to his feet, unable to tear his gaze from the sadness glistening in her eyes. “Lydia,” he murmured, unconsciously holding out a hand.

Her broken gaze rested on his outstretched palm. She said nothing, only took another step back. Brian gulped, longing to ask if she was all right, if she regretted last night. “It is very, er, nice to see you this afternoon,” tumbled forth before he could think of anything more suitable.

“I wish I could say the same, Mr. Donnelly.”  She inclined her head, turned, and swept away, the click of her heeled boots resonating through the halls.

Olivia blew into the hall, a flurry of peacock green and lace. “Do not walk away from me, young lady.”  She raked a haughty glare the length of Brian before stalking down the hall after Lydia, lecturing the importance of propriety above all else.

“What the hell are you doing here?”  Sir William growled. “You’re supposed to be miles away from here with 500 pounds in your pocket.”

Uncomfortably Brian faced the general’s rigid frame.

“If you’ve come to ask for my daughter’s hand again forget it.”

Brian flinched. “I’ve come to collect the boy, Brandon, so we can be on our way.”

Irritation lit the older man’s eyes. “The boy isn’t going anywhere, Donnelly. You’re free to go.”

Brian blinked, certain he’d misunderstood. “Pardon?”

“Do I stutter, man?  Brandon is to stay at
Wheaton Abbey
.”

Br
i
a
n released a hesitant breath, glancing warily about him. Naught but the finest linens and furnishings decorated
Wheaton Abbey
and Sir William had not gained this lavish lifestyle by being charitable. The general did nothing generous without something to gain in return. “May I ask why, Sir?”

“My daughter’s insistence,” Sir William supplied curtly.

That certainly sounded like Lydia, but Brian didn’t buy it. If the general would sell his own daughter for title and enhanced prestige he would not care one whit for a street urchin. “With all due respect, sir, I’ll be takin’ the boy with me now.”

Eyes of hard flint glared back at him. “Get out, Donnelly, before I decide to go back on our bargain and throttle you.”

“Not without Brandon.”  Brian held firm, returning the general’s icy stare. “That boy is nothin’ to you, and I’m not fool enough to believe ye care what Lydia insists upon. Why do ye really want to keep him here?”

Sir William stalked forward, eyes flashing dangerously. “You’re a smart man, Donnelly, and I’ve always liked you so I’m prepared to be generous. You have one hour to get off my property before I shoot you.”

“Shoot me?” Brian challenged. “That may ruin yer plans to become Prime Minister.”

A bark of wry laughter escaped the general. “Half of Britain already believes you kidnapped my daughter against her will. It shouldn’t be too difficult to capitalize on that.”

“The magistrate knows differently.”

“That soft footed fop believes what I tell him to believe,” Sir William barked. A sliver of cold dread pitted in Brian’s stomach. “The same with Northbridge, and the same with my daughter.”

“Ye’re wrong about that, General. Lydia has a mind of her own and she’ll not marry Northbridge,” Brian growled matter-of-factly. “When Keith took her she was runnin’ away. Goin’ to her aunt in Scotland.”

Sir William’s gaze darkened dangerously.

“She’ll just run again if you force her to wed Northbridge. Mark my words, General, ye’ll lose yer daughter and be left to look a fool if ye don’t let her go.”

Kerplunk. Scrrraaape.

Brian’s head swiveled in tandem with Sir William’s. “The hell was that?”

Sir William strode to the study door and slammed it. “Probably one of the servants.”  He turned back to Brian with cold eyes. “Lydia will not run again, Donnelly, rest assured of that.”