Forbidden

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Slowly, tenderly, he lifted a hand and wiped the tears from her face.

  "You're crying," he said softly. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

  Mariah dashed the tears away impatiently. "It doesn't matter" she said, dismissing their importance.

  "Yes, it does," he argued. "Probably more than it should. I don't like seeing you cry." He sounded disconcerted by the fact.

  "Brandon, please listen. Please—"

  "It's late," he interrupted, suddenly sounding exhausted and old beyond his years. "Go to bed, Mariah."

  "But—"

  "Please," he said in a broken whisper. "I shouldn't have burdened you with the sins of my past. I only wanted you to know. When I push you away, when I am rude and cold and unfeeling, it's because I feel how drawn I am to you, and you deserve so much more than the shell of a man I have become."

  "Brandon—"

  "Go, Mariah. Just go."

  It was no use. He would never listen to her now.

  Shaking her head, Mariah turned to leave. She felt as though her heart were breaking.

  As she reached the door, she looked back and saw that he was watching her, his face a mask of utter desolation.

  Without another thought, she ran back to him and threw her arms round his neck, pressing her lips to his.

  She could not kiss away his pain. Her touch couldn't make up for what he had suffered. What he still suffered. But that didn't mean she couldn't try. Try to show him that compassion still existed in the world and he was worthy of it. He obviously felt that he was undeserving of it. But he wasn't and she wanted to show him that.

  He held himself stiff for a second or two before, with a muffled oath against her lips, he wrapped his arms round her and lifted her clean off her feet.

  His lips were bruising, his arms crushing, his tongue demanding. The kiss, which she had only meant as a comfort, suddenly became something much more. Something wild and primitive and all-consuming.

  It was as though telling his tale had opened his soul to her. And hers was rejoicing in the fact. She felt as though she was becoming a part of him and he of her.

  It was the most intense, confusing thing she had ever felt, and she shook with the power of it.

  But it was over all too soon.

  He gently pushed her from him and gazed at her for a heart-stopping moment.

  Then, with a gentle kiss on her forehead, he let her go.

  "Goodnight, Mariah" he said softly.

  She couldn't speak, so she turned and silently left the room.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The storm had passed, both inside the house and out.

  By mutual unspoken agreement the conversation of that night, when he'd told her his sorry tale was not brought up again.

  But Mariah hadn't forgotten it. And she was determined to make this Christmas a happy one for that poor, tragic family.

  The days went on, and they fell into a blissful routine. Blissful in any case, for Mariah. The library was coming along magnificently, and since the wind and lashing snow had subsided, Mariah was able to spend some time in the gardens.

  She didn't venture too far since the snow was knee deep in places, but it did her heart good to get out and about.

  What did not do her heart good was the change in Brandon.

  After the other night, they had continued to call each other by their given names and though Mariah knew it was a shocking impropriety that didn't stop her.

  But the change in him was her undoing.

  He was kind, attentive, chatty, and even cheerful at times. Well, at least he tried to be cheerful. He joined her for meals. He even came to see her progress in the library and complimented her on her work.

  He rather moodily joined her on a tour of the house and listened to her list of ideas for redecorating. Pretended to listen, that was. But that didn't matter since at dinner that evening she presented him with a catalogue of notes on her ideas.

  He had laughed and accepted it graciously. There had been a moment of intense sadness for her when she realised that his mother would probably make her own changes, and Mariah wouldn't even be there to see it.

  But it was best not to dwell on that. Just like it was best not to dwell on the fact that she had gone from falling in love with him to being completely in love with him at the speed of a runaway carriage. Yes, she was a fool. But she was a fool in love.

  This morning, they sat enjoying a leisurely breakfast and Mariah was struck by the thought that if he were her husband, they would enjoy mornings like this every day. It was a fantasy that she was allowing herself to indulge in far too often of late.

  "What will you do today?" she asked him boldly, as though she had a right to inquire.

  "Since the roads are too bad to travel to my mills, I had thought to go as far as the village and set about finding workers to begin your changes."

  "My changes?" Mariah gaped at him. "Whatever do you mean?"

  "Well, my dear, some of your ideas are rather elaborate, which is not in the least bit surprising,"

  Mariah ignored his sarcasm just as she tried to ignore the fact that he had called her his dear. Was she becoming dear to him?

  "So I will need a carpenter at the very least. Plus, I need to find someone who can source paper-hangings and such like."

  "But, but — do you mean you are making all of the changes I suggested?"

  "Well, why not?" he asked grinning. It seemed he was enjoying himself immensely. "I read your notes — demands more like — and they all made perfect sense. You have obviously thought hard about it, and I'm grateful."

  "You are?" she asked, a little bewildered. Usually her helpful notes, which she distributed frequently to family and friends on a variety of topics, were viewed as interfering and unwelcome.

  "I am. For so many things," he said and his eyes glowed in a way that set her body on fire.

  He hadn't touched her since their talk, but she wanted him to — quite badly, in fact.

  She smiled in response and knew that her love for him must be stamped across her face. But she couldn't help it.

  A footman entered with more coffee, effectively breaking the spell, and Mariah glanced down at her plate feeling suddenly self-conscious.

  "What will you do today?" His soft inquiry started her. "Continue in the library?"

  "Well, I had thought to. Though, to be honest, since you've decided to keep everything, the work is practically finished. Will she like it, do you think, if she isn't that fond of books?" she asked of his mother, for whom he had obviously decided to keep the library, hoping to distract her from her grief.

  "I have no doubt she will love it," he answered with a cryptic smile on his face.

  Mariah frowned a little, feeling like he was hiding something but was soon distracted by a less than pleasing thought.

  "Actually, if the roads to the village are passable, I-I should really return home," she said trying not to sound too heartbroken by the idea.

  He didn't respond, and Mariah looked up to see him frowning at her.

  But then his face cleared and he spoke again. "Yes, I suppose you should. Though I do not want you driving the gig alone."

  She could argue that she was perfectly capable of driving it alone, but if it meant more time with him she was staying quiet. "You are probably right. Would you be so kind as to take me into the village with you when you run your errands?"

  "Of course. However, I — uh, I have just realised that I have a pressing missive that I must send off to Carson this afternoon, so my trip to the village may have to be delayed. Perhaps even until tomorrow. I hope you don't mind?"

  Mariah grinned at him, she couldn't help it. "I do not mind at all," she said, a burst of happiness exploding inside her.

  His answering grin set butterflies fluttering around her tummy.

  "Neither do I."

  Mariah spent the morning finishing her catalogue of books. The library was truly fascinating, and she hoped with all her heart that it would bring
Mrs. Haverton some joy and through her, some joy to her son. She hadn't been exaggerating when she said she was practically finished with it, though, and with a sigh, she closed the ledger on the last of her notes.

  To her mind, a gentleman could live extremely comfortably on the proceeds of the collections should he chose to sell but she was delighted that Brandon was going to keep it. In any case, he hardly needed the money. By all accounts he was rather wealthier than she had originally thought.

  She looked out the window and smiled at the beautiful vista before her.

  The winter sun was bright today, blinding her as it hit the pure white snow.

  Everywhere she looked there were footprints, some hers, dotted round the place but they didn't spoil the view. If anything it was nice to see footprints around the old manor house again.

  Deciding that a tramp through the snow would be just the thing, Mariah went and fetched her sturdy outdoor boots and heavy woollen cloak then set out on a long, meandering walk.

  She wasn't out long however, when a childhood memory caught her in is grip and she began making a snowman.

  Mariah was so taken with the task that she did not notice the time and she spent a happy couple of hours building a rather large specimen of snow.

  The problem now was that she could not reach the top to place his head on.

  She had just hefted it from the ground in a most unladylike fashion when the sound of a chuckle sent her spinning round.

  Brandon was grinning at her, looking carefree and happy. The sight made her heart soar.

  "Allow me," he said stepping forward to take the head from her hands. He stepped to the snowman and placed it easily on top before stepping back to survey her handiwork.

  "It's a little crooked," he said.

  "How dare you? He's perfect."

  "He?"

  "Yes, he. Mr. Snow."

  "You've named a man made of snow?"

  "Naturally," she answered as if it were perfectly normal to name piles of snow.

  "Are you done?"

  "Of course not, he needs a face and some arms."

  "He does?"

  "He does."

  Brandon gave a long suffering sigh though he was still smiling.

  "Very well then, let's get him finished before you freeze to death."

  Mariah was so elated at spending this time with him that she didn't question it and they both set about making him into the best possible snow sculpture possible.

  Mariah couldn't remember a happier time than she spent in the garden that afternoon. Their search for stones and twigs descended into a snowball battle worthy of Nelson himself, and Mariah had to admit a laughing defeat before they could continue with Mr. Snow.

  Eventually, as the sky darkened and her teeth began to chatter in earnest, she declared their creation finished, and they sauntered back toward the house.

  "You will come to the Christmas fete, won't you?" Mariah asked him through frozen lips that she suspected were turning blue.

  He looked down at her, and his face registered displeasure.

  "You are freezing, Mariah. We should have come in sooner."

  "Nonsense, I'm fine," she said with chattering teeth. "But the fete?"

  "I don't know," he said doubtfully, "what is it?"

  Mariah laughed.

  "What do you think it is?" she asked. "'Tis nothing painful, I assure you. Just some carolling, food, hot cider, dancing."

  "I don't dance," he said, suddenly sounding quite petulant.

  "Can you dance?" she asked.

  "Well, yes," he answered grudgingly, suddenly showing an intense interest in his Hessian boots.

  "Then you dance," she smiled.

  "I'll dance if I can dance with you," he said, lifting his eyes now and smiling.

  Mariah smiled shyly in answer. "I'm sure that can be arranged."

  The mood was somewhat ruined suddenly when Mariah stepped on a stone hidden beneath the snow and took a tumble. She reached out for purchase to stop her fall and grabbed hold of his coat. But since he wasn't expecting it, all she succeeded in doing was pulling him on top of her.

  They landed with a thump in the snow, and Brandon immediately reared up on his hands peering at her, his eyes lit with concern.

  She was and she found the situation most amusing. She burst out laughing, not caring that her hair was now being soaked by the freezing snow on which she lay.

  She looked up into his eyes and the laughter died on her lips.

  Good heavens, he was beautiful.

  Without thought to her actions, she lifted a hand and brushed a lock of hair from his brow.

  Her simple action was like a tinder to a fire.

  She watched, bemused, as his control snapped and he dove down, plundering her mouth with his.

  Mariah gasped at the welcome invasion, twining her arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

  He groaned and complied, rolling over and carrying her with him so that she lay atop him.

  Oh, God. Mariah could quite happily stay there forever.

  The kiss went on and on, and she knew that she wanted more. That if he were to ask for more, she would give it to him.

  The sound of a gentle throat clearing had them springing apart, and Mariah scrambled hastily to her feet.

  She turned and saw a woman whom she had never seen before eyeing them both with eager interest.

  "Hello, darling" she said to Brandon who was standing now with a look on his face like he was heading to the gallows. The woman was smiling, though the sadness in her eyes clenched around Mariah's heart.

  Dear Lord. This could only be his mother.

  "We decided to come early and surprise you," she said softly. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your, er, friend?"

  Mariah's cheeks flamed. The woman was his mother. And she'd just caught Mariah sprawled over her son.

  Mariah had made her escape as soon as possible without seeming rude, though she laughed, albeit hysterically, at the thought of being concerned about rudeness when she'd been attacking Brandon on the front lawn not thirty minutes ago.

  What on earth would his mother think of her now?

  As she waited for her bath to come, Mariah paced agitatedly up and down her room.

  Brandon had changed with his mother's arrival, reverting back to the surly, sullen man he'd been before.

  She tried not to be hurt by it but she was. Of course she was.

  He must be furious with her.

  She turned with a smile of relief on her face as the door opened, no doubt heralding the arrival of her hot water but instead a tiny person bounded into the room, a blur of golden curls and white dress.

  "Hello." The blur skidded to a halt and addressed her shyly.

  Mariah smiled at the gorgeous creature who had just burst into her room.

  "Hello, there," she answered kneeling down to the child's level. "I think I know who you are. You're Charlotte, are you not?"

  "I am," answered the little one, her cornflower blue eyes huge in her baby face. She was an absolute doll, and from Brandon's description of her, the very image of her poor mother. "But everyone calls me Lottie."

  "What a pretty name for a pretty young lady. May I call you Lottie?"

  Lottie nodded then tilted her head and studied Mariah closely. "I know who you are too."

  "Oh, you do?"

  "Yes, you're the damned nuisance that Uncle Brandon won't marry."

  Mariah felt as if she'd been doused in icy water. "I… beg your pardon?" she said in astonishment.

  Lottie shrugged in that marvellously uncaring way that children had and repeated it.

  "At least, that's what Uncle Brandon just shouted at grandmamma. I'm sure one of those words is naughty because Uncle Brandon always says naughty words when he's cross, and he's very cross now."

  "Lottie, will you excuse me?" Mariah said without waiting for an answer as she swept from the room.

  She reached the drawing room but paused outside as the battle th
at Lottie had heard clearly raged on.

  "You simply cannot cavort with a respectable young lady in full view of God knows who and not marry her, Brandon. It is simply not done."

  "Do you think I give a damn about what's done or not?" Brandon was yelling. "I am warning you, Mother. Let this drop. I will not be trapped in the parson's noose because of one meaningless kiss."

  "How can you say such a thing?" his mother demanded while outside the room, Mariah's heart broke in two. "After the way your sister—"

  "This is nothing like Daphne," Brandon bellowed. "I haven't touched her save for a few kisses, and nor do I intend to. How can you think I would do such a thing?"

  "I don't," his mother replied now in soothing tones. "But still, Brandon. The girl has a reputation to think of. Besides, I saw the way you looked at her and she you. Clearly there is some feeling between you. Some affection."

  Mariah waited with bated breath for his answer.

  Please God let him say he cares, she prayed fervently.

  "And if there was, what good would it do? You don't know her, Mother. She is young, vivacious, and full of life. She deserves more than a broken man, half living."

  "Just tell me one thing," said his mother softly. "Do you love her?"

  Mariah's heart galloped and she closed her eyes hoping against hope.

  His derisive laugh was like a dagger to her bruised heart. "Of course not."

  As quietly as she could, tears threatening more every second, Mariah turned and fled.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "Mariah, do hurry up for goodness' sake. The whole village will be there already."

  Mariah bit her tongue, something she hadn't had to do for weeks now.

  "I am coming, Mama" she answered as sweetly as she could though her teeth were clenched. The woman never stopped scolding.

  It had been four days since she had snuck from the manor house. She had some pangs of regret for sneaking from the house like a thief in the night, especially since his mother had been so lovely to her. But she couldn't face a goodbye, couldn't look at him again after what she'd heard. She'd been too cowardly to risk being in his company for fear that she would either cry and beg him to love her or rage at him for being unable or unwilling to do so.