by Sharon Green
Bryan fanned himself with his hat, teeth clenched in an effort to stay in control. Last night he hadn't been able to stay in control, and he'd used the girl with more wild abandon than he'd had any intention of doing. It had been like making love in the midst of a thunderstorm, with lightning striking all around them. Afterward she'd shown nothing of anger or outrage or pain or fear, but when did she ever? Most of her feelings were "none of his business," and she'd shown how much control of herself she had, even in the face of complete horror.
Which might also explain why she'd seemed to respond to him this morning. He'd awakened to find her in his arms, her gloriously naked body pressed to his, and a touch of his finger had found her as ready as he. He was inside her even before she awoke, and her eyes had fluttered open as she voiced a moan. He'd taken the sound as a moan of pleasure before wrapping himself in the ecstasy of stroking hard and deep, but what if it hadn't been? What if she hated what was being done to her, but refused to admit what she would consider a weakness? Was she accepting what he did to her as the price to be paid if she wanted to reach their common enemy?
Being tortured by questions like those was what had kept Bryan from saying the one thing he most wanted to: that he loved her, and wanted her to stay with him forever. The words burned and ravaged inside him, demanding to be let out, but coward that he was, he didn't dare speak them to her. What if she heard them and then let her disgust show on her face? What if she laughed at so ridiculous an idea, a brute trying to overstep himself? The pain would be more than he could live with, and life itself would be empty with all hope irretrievably gone.
And then there was the possibility that she might pretend to consider what he'd said, but would instead take herself off at the first opportunity. That she would then be gone would mean nothing beside the possibility that the enemy might be able to reach her, without first having to go through him. He couldn't let that happen no matter how he felt, no matter how much harder it was growing to keep silent. Often a man finds an end to cowardice, but her safety and happiness had to come first, even before the vengeance he'd been seeking for five years of his life.
Those dark thoughts brought Bryan down so fast, he plummeted all the way into depression. She'd been distantly pleasant to him this morning at breakfast, but they hadn't exchanged a single word of serious discussion since the day before. If she hated him even more now it was his fault, for losing himself with her like that. She may have goaded him into it deliberately, but had probably only been trying to see how far he could be trusted. And he'd shown her, yes, he certainly had.
Bryan was lost so deep in his thoughts that he was startled when the coach began to slow. The image of highwaymen flashed through his mind, then he remembered the four fighters riding behind the coach. They were trained to be alert for the presence of longbowmen and sharpshooters in the forest, and nothing else would have a chance against them. Then he saw the inn, and realized it was time to stop for lunch.
"I'm glad we're not stopping at that roadhouse from the other night," Rianne commented as they pulled up in front of the inn. "Even if my appetite was up to the memory, the food was worse than you could easily believe."
"I hadn't realized you'd eaten anything that night," he said, just to be saying something. He was hungrier for her attention than he had ever been for food, and would even have enjoyed being threatened.
"Well, I didn't eat much," she admitted. "Angus was the one who passed judgment on the stew, and from what he said I wouldn't have been happy to try it. But you'll probably be pleased to know that he doesn't think the same about the meals in your service. When I said good-bye to him and Cam this morning, they assured me that the next time I saw them they would probably be fat."
"A fighting man can't do his best on scraps and leavings," Bryan said, then opened the coach door and climbed out. A liveried man was there with a step stool for the lady's use, and Bryan offered Rianne his hand as soon as the stool was in place. When she accepted his assistance with a smile, his agitation simply increased. He'd been wrong about wanting to hear anything at all from her. What he didn't want to hear about was her feelings for a man who wasn't him. For two men who weren't him. Under the circumstances jealousy was ridiculous, but Bryan couldn't help feeling a pang at the thought that Rianne cared for those two more than she cared for him.
They took their time over lunch, enjoying the food as Bryan had known they would. He'd stopped at the inn before, which was a bit farther along the road to London than the roadhouse Rianne had mentioned. Most of the meal passed in a companionable silence that Bryan was beginning to recognize and appreciate. The girl didn't chatter like most women, saving her breath for when she actually had something to say.
With lunch over and the horses taken care of, they resumed their journey. His driver and four fighters had eaten in the common room, and were probably still chuckling over the sincere way in which the innkeeper had urged him to come again. While his men were there taking their meal, no one had dared even to cough too loud. A disturbance in there might have bothered the gentleman and his lady in the next room, which meant the gentleman's escort would stop any disturbance before it had a chance to start. The inn hadn't been so peaceful since the last time Bryan had stopped there.
The motion of traveling after the excellent meal caused Bryan to nod off for a while, but he didn't realize it until he came awake suddenly at Rianne's gasp. Once again thoughts of highwaymen came, but for the second time he was wrong. His wife was staring out her window at a sight much more imposing than mere outlaws.
"We'll be crossing that in just another few minutes," he told her with a small smile. "It's even more fascinating from close up."
"But what is it?" she asked without taking her eyes from what they approached. "It looks like a bridge, but how can it be?"
"It's not a bridge, it's the bridge," Bryan said with a grin. "London Bridge, and people actually live and work in those houses and shops. I've heard it said that if one of those buildings fell, the entire section around it would go down as well. Do you see how some of them are braced with heavy timbers of wood?"
She nodded in distraction, for the moment too busy staring to speak. They were turning onto the wide span of the bridge proper, and that was when the clattering began. Horses' hooves and coach wheels against the worn wood of the bridge sounded loudly and it was scarcely possible to imagine what the noise was like in the houses and shops. They weren't the only ones using the bridge, not at that time of day.
"Those are mostly shops of pin and needle makers," Rianne said, her voice raised over the clatter. "There are people walking on the street over there, but it's so narrow and ugly-looking. And look at those arches of wood. They're attached to the houses on each side of the bridge, like ribs holding a body together. Why would someone have a house or a shop here?"
"Why not?" Bryan asked in turn. "If your house is really your home, does it matter where it is? And those shops do a thriving business, with all the customers they get from the St. James district. The ladies there don't mind coming here, as long as they can get their pins and needles cheaply."
"It all looks like it's about to fall down," she said, and Bryan could hear sadness in her voice. "I hope it doesn't, but if it does I'm glad I got to see it first."
She fell silent again, staring morosely at the rickety one- and two-story buildings. She seemed to be worrying about the survival chances of the magical town-on-a-bridge, and Bryan could understand that. He also had a tendency to be delighted by the unusual, and for that reason said nothing about the latest rumors he'd heard.
People were worried about the houses and shops collapsing, and there was talk of pulling them all down. There had been talk like that before with nothing happening, but every time the subject was raised it had more supporters. One day the complaint would have enough supporters to see the thing done, and the day might not be too many years in the future…
Eventually the bridge was behind them, and then, too, many of the streets
of an ever more crowded London. The St. James district was still bearable, but only just. Bryan far preferred emptiness and room around him, but in a city like London that was just about impossible to find. His house on the north side of the district was small when compared with those on most of his estates, but it was something else he had to put up with. Not that he needed an unreasonably large house. London itself and its standards of the proper tended to make him cranky.
"I think what I need is to camp out for a while," he muttered to the street they clip-clopped through. "All alone, with nothing but a bedroll; maybe even in the rain. If that doesn't set things in their proper perspective, nothing in this life will."
"Are you speaking to me?" Rianne asked, this time drawn away from a fascinated study of stone buildings and cobbled streets. "If you are, I didn't hear what you said."
"I was really talking to myself," Bryan answered with a sigh. "This city has a habit of making me talk to myself. How do you like what you've seen so far?"
"I don't know," she replied, looking troubled. "From everything I heard about London, I was picturing - I don't know, maybe the thoroughfares of Rome with gilded palaces to each side. The buildings on the other streets were all so close together, and the streets themselves so crowded. If I didn't see thirty people in one place, I didn't see any."
"That's because it's the middle of the afternoon," he said with a smile for her country point of view - which he happened to share. "Tonight, when people go out to the theater, and to restaurants, and to clubs - and to other entertainment - you won't believe how many you see. But we'll probably stay in tonight. You have to be tired from the trip, and tomorrow you'll want to go shopping."
"Why will I want to go shopping?" she asked, looking at him strangely. "What do you think I'll need that I don't already have?"
"I find it impossible to believe that any woman alive needs to be given a reason to go shopping," he stated, undoubtedly producing a strange look of his own. "Are you sure you're real, and not a figment of my imagination?"
"If anyone should know whether or not I'm real, you're the one," she returned sharply with a bit of color to her cheeks. "And I see no reason to go out and spend all your money, Mr. Machlin. You're hardly likely to have enough time to recover the value in trade, so it would certainly not be fair. If I find I need something, I'll pay for it with money of my own."
"Money of your own," he echoed as she turned away from him, still not quite sure what had set her off. He certainly hadn't meant to force her into stating that she would not be with him for much longer. He would have preferred to forget about that likelihood, at least for a while. And what was all that about money? Did she still think he couldn't afford to take her shopping?
The question kept him occupied long enough for the coach to reach his drive. As they approached the house he could see a horse tied to the ring post on the other side of the steps, one that looked very familiar. By the time they stopped he was certain he knew who his visitor was, and it was no visitor. If Jack Michaels was there, luck was also with him; rather than needing to wait, he could begin intensifying the search immediately.
His staff, as usual, was alert. No sooner had they rolled to a stop than there were four housemen at the coach door, one with a step stool and all of them calling out a greeting. Everything was ready for him and his new wife, and they all wanted to offer their congratulations on his marriage. They were also there to unload the trunks, which would take something of an effort.
Once again he turned to help his wife out of the coach, but although she allowed it there was no smile given to him along with her hand. He was determined to figure out what he'd said or done, but as soon as she was on the graveled ground he was hailed from the still-open front door.
"Bryan, man, it's so good to see you back," Jack's voice called, and then the man himself was coming quickly down the stairs. His outstretched hand and wide grin was aimed at Bryan, but his grin soon switched to Rianne. "And in the company of such a beautiful lady. No wonder you took the plunge."
"Rianne, I'd like to present John Michaels, a friend and associate of mine," Bryan said, realizing that Jack wasn't simply being gallant; he seemed to be seriously attracted. "And, as you guessed, Jack, this is Rianne Lockwood Machlin, my wife. I'm glad you managed to be here at this particular time. I have a few things for you to do."
"I know," Jack returned, now taking the girl's hand and bending over it. "I was here yesterday when your man arrived. Mrs. Machlin, it's a true honor and pleasure to meet you. I would have preferred to meet you before this lucky dog did, but it's still a pleasure."
Bryan saw the smile he hadn't gotten being bestowed on Jack Michaels, and for the first time took a really good look at his friend. Jack wasn't as tall and broad as himself, but he was tall enough and strongly built. Brown hair that tended to curl, brown eyes that sparkled when attractive ladies were present, a handsome face whose charm was usually enhanced by a smile or a grin - It suddenly seemed like a good idea to get right down to business.
"We'll talk in my study, Jack," he said, trying to recapture the man's attention. "We've had a long trip, and my wife will certainly want to freshen up. We - "
"As a matter of fact, your wife would prefer to join you two gentlemen," the girl interrupted immediately. "If Mr. Michaels was here yesterday when your messenger arrived and is here again today, he may well have something to tell you already."
"I don't believe it," Jack exclaimed with another grin. "Intelligent as well as beautiful. She's absolutely right, Bryan, I do have something to tell you already. It was pure luck finding it out, of course, but we don't need to mention that. In addition to the luck I was also brilliant, and that we can mention."
"Why don't we mention it sitting down with drinks in our hands," Bryan said, taking Rianne's arm. "After that trip I can appreciate a seat that doesn't jounce."
Bryan led the way inside, and just as he'd expected, Jack followed quickly where Rianne was taken. Jack was obviously infatuated with the girl, probably his seventh or eighth infatuation that month.
His friend Jack Michaels was a younger son of a very well-known and wealthy family, who was given a generous income to stay away from that family and do nothing that would bring their name to common tongues. That was the reason he'd adopted the name of Michaels, and lived in what he considered a modest style. His generous income usually didn't stretch to cover that modest style, so he was also usually in need of money. His acceptance in all the "right" circles had made him valuable to Bryan during the years of his search, so Bryan supplemented Jack's income on a monthly basis whether there was anything for Jack to do or not. He'd also found the man discreet and trustworthy - in his own strange and unusual way.
Bryan's study was the first room to the left off the large circular entrance hall. Harris was there to open the door and light a lamp, and then the elderly servant poured drinks for the men. Rianne had asked for tea, and had been told with a smile that it was already on the way. Harris had ordered it brought just in case the new lady of the house should want it, and received an answering smile of thanks in return. The tea was there by the time the men had glasses of whisky in front of them, and as soon as the housegirl had poured for her mistress, the two servants left quickly and quietly.
"I have to admit I don't understand where you find such perfect servants," Jack said to him as soon as the door was closed. "Even my father has his share of clunkers, but no matter where you are you're surrounded by perfection. In what part of the world did you find the secret to accomplish that?"
"As a matter of fact, I found that secret right here in London," Bryan answered with a smile. "When I first went out on my own, no one knew me. I was able to take service with one of the bigger Houses so as not to drain my starting initial capital, and there's nothing like seeing the situation from the other side of the silver. I pay only slightly better wages than everyone else, but that small difference lets me have my pick of the best people available. And not only is Harris scrup
ulously fair with the staff he manages, if one of them has an unexpected problem he lets me know about it. That way I can supply the help they need before the problem gets out of hand. My taking care of them means they do the same for me."
"Looking at your people as people," Jack said with a laugh. "The idea is positively revolutionary, but I don't expect it will catch on. Most of us don't want to know what it's like on the other side of the silver. But that's our loss. Let's get on to a subject that's gain."
"Yes, that stroke of luck you mentioned," Bryan said, leaning back in his desk chair with glass in hand. Jack and Rianne sat in the deep leather chairs on the other side of the desk, and she'd removed her gloves and hat.
"Yesterday was the day of the month I usually stop by your house to see if there is anything I can help with," Jack said without going into detail about the monthly financial help Bryan gave him. "I hadn't been here long when your man came galloping up, then burst in to say you and your new wife would be arriving the next day. Your staff went into an immediate flurry, everyone running in all directions as though the place was under two feet of dust with apple cores in the corner of every room. As far as I could see the place was already spotless, but - "
"Jack, please," Bryan interrupted, in no mood to humor his friend's tendency for tangents. "I'm glad you admire my staff, but can we please get on with it?"
"Of course, of course," Jack agreed in his usual pleasant way. "Well, I saved your man a trip, because he also had that letter for me. You listed the names and addresses of four men you wanted to know more about, but believe it or not, one of the names was already familiar. Reginald Tremar. You'll never guess where I know him from."
"Either your favorite club, coffeehouse, or brothel," Bryan supplied with a sigh. This was going to be a long story no matter what he said or did.
"None of them," Jack gleefully informed him. "I said you'd never guess. The man is some sort of official at the Bank of England, where my allowance is deposited every quarter. I've never spoken to him, but I pass his door going to and coming from my own man. Once I saw Tremar coming out of his office with the most attractive young lady, which made me wonder. He's not what one would describe as a handsome, outgoing man."