Thief of Hearts (30 page)

The woman behind them coughed herself awake, and Brodie's hand went still. Anna stopped breathing entirely. A moment later, soft snoring began again. And then there was no ambiguity, no other way to think of it or describe it: Brodie had all four fingers spread across the top of her left breast, and he was working them down with excruciating slowness toward the small part of her that had long since gone tight and hard with longing.

It seemed that all her body fluids were rushing downward and pooling somewhere in the vicinity of her lap. Was it possible for a person to melt, literally? The idea of concentrating on the professor's words had become laughable. She tried to shock herself out of her treacherous inability to move by dwelling on the fact that she was allowing Brodie to do this to her in
Creighton Hall
, of all places, and that if anyone saw them she would be disgraced. It didn't help. She was still paralyzed, and her mind still flashed with lurid and thrilling pictures of what might happen next if she didn't stop him, and then after that, and after that…

Somehow she made herself turn her head, and it was a dim relief to know her neck muscles were still working. Brodie's hard profile was not a comfort. Unlike her, he seemed utterly engrossed in the distinction Dr. Comstock was making between gneisses and schists. His hand had almost located its goal. Very slowly he turned and looked at her, and after that whatever she was going to say or do eluded her completely. His eyes burned with a hot, bright light in the darkness, and in their pale depths she saw the naked mirror image of her own need. All her will deserted her.

She dropped her gaze to his beautiful mouth and imagined kissing him of her own free will, just leaning over right now and putting her lips on his and kissing him. Was she inching toward him? Was she going to do it? At that moment his fingers closed over her nipple, and a slow, exacting torture began.

Her eyelashes fluttered; her mouth went dry. Was he using two fingers or one finger and his thumb? Some peculiar part of her wanted to know. With an effort, she kept her head from lolling over backwards. She had never known about this direct path between the breast and the vitals. Sparks ignited where his fingers gently pinched, setting a fire low in her belly, spreading lower. It was only by a miracle that she didn't moan or cry out.

As though he knew it, he moved his hand then and slid it slowly, warmly, to the side of her neck. His fingers tangled in her hair. Her eyes closed. She missed his hand on her breast, but they were going to kiss after all. She wet her lips. Then the applause began.

Anna's eyes widened in near-panic when he took his arm away, and her body became light and cool and empty. He was clapping. Surly and reluctant, the blood began to flow again in her veins. She started to tremble. The lights came up. "That is the last time, Anna, the
very last time
I ever let you talk me into coming to one of these things," Jenny whispered furiously. Anna unclasped her shaky hands and pretended to be looking for something in her purse, certain that if anyone saw her face they would know everything. Her mind was a jumble of guilt and confusion and embarrassment, while her skin still tingled and crawled with frustration. Brodie helped her to stand with a hand under her elbow. She couldn't look at him, even when he draped her shawl across her shoulders and tied a loop in front with the two ends. He offered his arm but she pretended not to see it, and somehow she got herself out of Creighton Hall unassisted.

"Drink?"

"Thanks," muttered Brodie, taking the leather-covered flask Nell Vaughn handed him and upending it, while keeping one wary eye on the two women who walked ahead of them. The night was misty but mild; they'd decided to send the carriage back empty and walk home. Anna was quiet, and may or may not have been listening to the voluble outpourings of her more animated cousin. The whiskey bit into Brodie's gut with just the jolt he needed, but only temporarily. No sooner had the warm sensation dissipated than he was thinking about her again. Remembering how it had felt to touch and excite her, and suffering from a painful mixture of remorse and randiness. He ought to apologize, not just for tonight but for everything; after all, his goal in life for the last two months had been to seduce her. But hypocrisy, at least, was not one of his vices. To say he was sorry would stick in his throat like the lie it was. No, he
was
sorry, it was just that might as well be hones the would do it all again in a minute. He couldn't seem to keep his hands off her. Part of it was her prim, ladylike ways and the pure pleasure he took in making her forget them. But it wasn't just that, it wasn't only that he liked the feeling of having power over her. The truth, strange as it sounded, was that he needed her. He wanted to soften her, to draw out affection and approval from her, make her care for him. He needed her to steady him. He wanted her strength.

"Listen, Nick, let me have twenty quid, will you?"

"What? Oh, sure." Brodie drew out his pocket-book and handed Neil the. bills. The sight of so much cash in one place still amazed him. "That enough?"

"Right, thanks. It's just till the end of the month."

"Don't worry about it." The request surprised him. Anna had said Neil had plenty of money. He came from somewhere in Norfolk and his family was rich. Other than that, no one knew much about him. He didn't work; he'd shown up in Liverpool late last year, made a few friends, and stayed on because he had nothing better to do. He disappeared occasionally but always came back, full of stories about the high life in London or Brighton or Ascot.

Up ahead, Jenny was hanging back, waiting for them to catch up. When they did, she hooked arms with Brodie and Neil and skipped along between them, laughing, shaking her coy ringlets, full of some gay story Brodie didn't listen to. Anna went ahead, small and resolutely alone, swinging her closed umbrella like a scythe. He wondered what she was thinking, and what words he could possibly say to make her his friend again. In spite of everything, they had been friends, from time to time. The odd adventure they'd embarked on together made them allies of a sort, and sometimes he believed she saved him from embarrassing mistakes not only for the sake of the scheme but because she wanted to protect him. Because she was too decent to want to see anyone humiliated, even him. As rotten as he'd been to her.

He saw that she'd stopped under a huge shade tree beside a streetlamp, half a block up the hill ahead of them, with the lights of the city spread out behind her. She was resting her back against the tree, waiting for them to catch up. "There's Anna in her stopping place," Jenny observed at the same moment, still tripping along between them.

"Her what?" asked Neil.

"Her stopping place. You explain it, Nick."

Brodie said quickly, "No, you."

"It's where she always stops to catch her breath," Jenny obliged. "She's got weak lungs. She spent practically her whole childhood in bed. The doctors say she's better now, but no one really knows for sure if she's well. Nick?"

He'd stopped walking. He started again when Jenny pulled on his arm, looking up at him curiously.

He didn't speak until they reached Anna's tree. He took her by the arm and told the other two to walk on ahead without them. They did, as Anna started to protest. He seized her other arm too and loomed over her, blocking the way. "Why didn't you ever tell me?" he said in a strident undertone, pulling her close.

"Tell you what?"

"That you were sick!"

She stared in astonishment. "I'm
not
sick."

He felt like shaking her. He refrained when it came to him that this hot anger was for him, not her. He gentled his hands but didn't release her. "Jenny just told me."

"Told you what?"

"About your illness. She said this was your stopping place, where you rest on the way—"

"Oh, that." She shook her head, dismissing the subject. "It's nothing. I'm well now." His eyes were so fierce in the dim yellow light from the streetlamp, his features so grim, she found herself wanting to reassure him.

"What happened to you?" he demanded, moving his hands to the sides of her face, holding her with ferocious tenderness.

She never talked about it. She said it as simply as possible. "There was a fire in our house when I was a little girl. My mother was killed. Two of the servants as well. My lungs were damaged, and I wasn't able to have a normal childhood. But now I'm completely healed. Truly I am."

Brodie remembered what Jenny had said, and kept it to himself that that might only be Anna's opinion. When she tried to pull away again, he let her go. She leaned back against the tree and stared at him solemnly. He felt a heaviness in the chest, as if his own lungs were aching in sympathy. "Annie," he murmured, "I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"For everything. Mostly for what happened in Florence when I… "

He trailed off, but she knew exactly what he was referring to. The last thing she wanted from him now was pity. "You mean that if you had known I was an invalid as a child, you wouldn't have attacked me that day in the woods? But otherwise you would have?"

He ground his teeth. "No, that's not what I meant."

"What, then? Does it make it all right that tonight I was
sitting down
when you mauled me?" She turned her face away, afraid she would cry. Hypocrisy wasn't one of her vices, either: she couldn't put her heart into denouncing him for doing things that had given her such intense pleasure.

"I apologize for that, too."

She whirled to face him. "Why do you do it?" she cried, in desperate earnest.

Brodie gave a disbelieving laugh before he realized she was serious. "Not because of Nick," he told her, his voice gone hoarse. "You were wrong about that. It's you I want, not my brother's wife. You."

Their eyes locked, but only briefly. What she saw in the pale depths of his was too potent, too tough; she couldn't bear it. She jerked her gaze away and swept past him, starting up the hill at a half-run. He caught up to her in a second and slowed her steps forcibly, pulling on her arm. When she realized he wasn't going to say anything more, she stopped struggling and matched his gait, knowing he had set this slow, careful pace for her benefit. They went the rest of the way in a tense silence.

They found Jenny and Nell on the front porch, drinking lemonade. They said a quick good night and went inside, leaving them there. Anna had never acted as anyone's chaperone before, and had to consider the propriety of leaving her cousin alone with Neil Vaughn. Oh, heavens, she scolded herself a second later, it was only the front porch, what could possibly…But that speculation came to a violent halt when she recalled with demoralizing accuracy what had taken place in another public place not an hour ago.

"You're back," said a voice from the drawing room.

"Hello, Aunt Charlotte. Yes, we decided to walk, it was so mild. The lecture was… " She searched for the right word.

"Uplifting," Brodie suggested. Ah, now, damn it, he was doing it again, right after he'd made up his mind to stop teasing her.

Anna turned her face away, and saw her father. "Oh, Papa, you waited up," she exclaimed, going to him. He was in his wheeled chair, and Miss Fitch was sitting on the sofa beside him. Anna put her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

Thomas Jourdaine patted his daughter's hand absently and mumbled, "Hello, hello. Hello."

"Papa, did Stephen speak to you today about Horace Carter?"

"Stephen? Stephen?" The light brown eyes looked blank.

Anna shot a look of alarm at the nurse.

"He's tired tonight," Miss Fitch explained, standing. There was reproach in her tone. "We expected you an hour ago."

"I'm sorry, we—"

"Nick!" Thomas called out suddenly, imperiously.

Brodie was by his side in three strides. "Yes, sir." He leaned over so that his face was on a level with the old man's.

"Nick," Thomas repeated, smiling. One hand reached out and touched Brodie's cheek, gave it a playful cuff. "Cut it all off, eh? Ha ha! Cut it all off." The hand dropped back to his lap and his eyes closed. He was asleep.

Anna folded her arms around herself and watched her father's nurse wheel him out of the room. Presently her aunt's voice brought her out of a cold reverie.

"A note came for you this evening, Anna. It's here beside me." Her hands were full of needlework; she gestured with her head to the small table by her chair.

Anna picked up the letter, resting on top of the latest
Englishwoman's Domestic Magazine
, and recognized the hasty scrawl on the folded slip of paper. Brodie followed her, and pretended an interest in the words Aunt Charlotte was embroidering with pink thread on a square of white linen. "'Virtue is like a rich stone,'" he read aloud. "'best plain set.' Ah yes. So very true."

"Bacon, you know," said Aunt Charlotte, smiling smugly.

Bacon? frowned Brodie. What did it have to do with bacon? "Where do you think you'll hang it?" he asked, glancing about. "This room seems pretty well finished." In fact, he couldn't see a square inch of bare space left anywhere. Everything was clutter and ornaments and flaring chintz covers.

"Under the globe, I think, beside the windows."

Which were always closed and curtained, with a monstrous aspidistra in front to block out the last of any stray light that might find its way in and fade the damned upholstery. At least it was a relief to know that Aunt Charlotte, not Anna, was responsible for the fabulous quantities of needlework and embroidery decorating the house, much of it useless, most of it ugly. What a mausoleum the place was. And at night, he'd discovered, the servants went around, for reasons he couldn't even begin to guess, covering all the furniture up with huge sheets, only to take them all off again in the morning. What could be the purpose? He'd have to ask Anna.

"Aunt Charlotte."

They both looked up, startled by the brittle sound of Anna's voice.

"This letter is from Milly. Is it true that she came to see me tonight and you sent her away?"

"Sent her away? Not precisely. I advised her not to wait, as I didn't know just when you'd return."