He heard a rustle in her corner of the sofa and peeked at her sort of sideways, fearful of looking at her fully in case she intended to mock him or sneer or something. She’d reared back slightly and was staring at him with eyes as big and as blue as robins’ eggs. He felt the back of his neck heat up and pushed forward relentlessly.
“And I was an ass and a fool to believe you’d go to bed with me. As if I’m any great shakes. A woman like you could have her pick of all the men in the world. I can’t believe how arrogant and idiotic I was. You must despise me by this time, if you didn’t already.”
“Good heavens.” Her voice was small and breathy. Colin figured she was just winding up to let him have it with both barrels.
But she said nothing more. Again he peered at her from out of the corner of his eye, wondering why she wasn’t using this opportunity to rake him over the coals. Lord knew he deserved it. He pushed his glasses up his nose and braced himself.
Not a peep from Brenda. He finally dared turn his head and looked at her. He was alarmed when he saw her, for she had her hands clutched in her lap and her head bowed. He couldn’t tell if she was merely gazing at her clasped hands, trying not to laugh at him, thinking of choice insults to fling at him, or praying. He didn’t know, either, which he’d prefer she be doing.
Several minutes passed in silence. Colin got itchier and itchier as the seconds dragged by his body tense, his brain, screaming, waiting for a barrage of wordy weapons to hit him. At last he couldn’t stand the strain another instant longer. “Er, Brenda? Are you all right?”
She nodded and didn’t speak.
Good Lord, whatever was the matter with her? He tried again. “Brenda? I’m sorry I’ve been so awful to you. I don’t know what possessed me to be such an ass.”
She lifted her head and glanced at him At least she didn’t look as if she aimed to pick up the stone ashtray from the table beside her and bash him over the head with it. Colin thanked his stars for small favors.
“An ass?” Her voice was still soft—as soft as eider down and as lovely as a sunset. Her voice was as beautiful as the rest of her, faint traces of New York be damned. “No, Colin, you were never an ass.” Her head lowered again “I had hoped, when we first met, that you might have been willing to instruct me in some of the historic aspects of Indian culture. I guess you had better things to do.”
Once again his heart gave a large, painful spasm. “No,” he said hoarsely. “I had nothing better to do. The truth was that I didn’t believe you meant it. I guess I didn’t think anyone as beautiful as you could possibly be interested in academics.”
Her low chuckle was so ironic, it felt to Colin as if he’d been sprinkled with alum. “That’s been a problem for me ever since I was a little girl.”
She spoke matter-of-factly, but Colin could guess at the pain behind the simple statement. He couldn’t imagine himself, for instance, Colin Peters, being judged solely on the basis of his appearance. That society judged women thus struck him as immensely unfair, although he’d never much thought about it before. He gulped again, painfully. “I’m sorry. I hate knowing I was as unfair to you as all the rest.”
She shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m used to it.”
Which only made Colin, who’d always prided himself on being different from his fellow men, feel worse.
She went on. “I have to admit that it hurt, though, even though I’m not blaming you. I have such a powerful thirst for knowledge, you see. I never had the opportunity to attend school past the primary grades, and now I can’t ever seem to make people believe I mean it when I ask questions about the things that interest me.”
“If I’m an example, I’m sure that’s true. I didn’t think you meant it. I was an ass.”
She glanced at him and gave him a very small smile “Well . . . maybe.”
His heart turned over. God, she was wonderful. Why hadn’t he recognized it before it was too late? Was he one of those blind men who were fated to stumble through life not recognizing treasures until they slipped through their fingers? What an abysmal thought.
He had a sudden, painful vision of himself as a gray-haired old man, living with a gray-haired old woman just like him, stuck in a colorless union with no life to it—no humor, no glee, no fun, no interests other than what they read in books. He’d known couples like that, mainly retired professors and scientists and other academicians they’d grown used to each other but had never experienced passion together.
God, how depressing. He turned toward her suddenly. “Listen, Brenda—”
“Listen, Colin—”
They’d spoken at the same time, and both stopped instantly as soon as they realized it. Colin gestured with his right hand. “I’m sorry. Go ahead.”
She gestured with her left. “No, no. You go first.”
“No, really, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It was I who interrupted.”
“No. Please.”
She sucked in a deep breath. “Very well.” Then she shut her mouth, and it stayed shut for so long that Colin feared she’d forgotten what she’d intended to say.
When he saw that her cheeks had started burning, his eyes almost popped from his head. Obviously, she hadn’t forgotten. But what was it?
She spoke again, so suddenly it startled him. “Oh, Colin, this is so embarrassing. But—but— Oh, damn it. I’m so bad at this!”
He’d almost become accustomed to the use of the epithet which she didn’t really do very often, but it still jarred on his already ragged nerves. He didn’t speak, sensing they’d both be better off that way.
She burst out, “I’d love to go to bed with you.”
His mouth fell open.
Her head turned and she faced him fully lifting her chin. Her cheeks were now a brilliant pink, which on I enhanced her beauty, and her blue eyes sparkled like precious gems. “I know it’s shocking, but it’s what you wanted to hear, isn’t it?” There was a distinct flavor of defiance in, her tone.
Confusion held him speechless. On the one hand, yes, that was exactly what he wanted to hear. On the other hand it wasn’t. Not at all. Since this understanding was totally new to him, he couldn’t think of anything to say to her to save his life.
Suddenly she surged from the sofa with a swish of skirt and petticoat. “Oh, I’m making a botch of this!”
“No,” he said feebly. “Wait.”
She wheeled around and stood looking down at him, her arms straight at her sides, her fists clenched. “Yes, I am. Now you think I’m a wanton hussy, don’t you?”
“No, I—”
“Don’t you?” Her voice had risen. Darting a glance at the lump that was George, she lowered it. “You must. No woman who wasn’t of loose morals would offer herself in this humiliating way.”
Finally Colin managed to gather his muscles, if not his wits, together, and he rose from the sofa, too. He towered over her. She was so small and delicate and lovely. He hated himself for offering her such a scummy proposition as he’d done earlier. He couldn’t quite take in the fact that she now seemed to be accepting it.
“Brenda, I didn’t mean—”
“Oh, I’m making such a hash of this!” Again she swirled around. With her back to him, she lifted her hands and buried her face in them.
Colin felt terrible. “Brenda, I —”
She shook her head. “No, Colin, please don’t try to make me feel better. I understand. You don’t want me any longer.”
He gaped at her blond curls, a little messy now after the vicissitudes of the morning, unable to speak. She thought he didn’t want her any longer? Was she out of her mind? Was he out of his mind?
“This is the most mortifying moment of my life.” The words were muffled, as if she was choking back tears. “Please forgive me. If you can, try to forget I even spoke of it.”
Forget? How in the name of glory could he ever forget this? Colin gave himself a mental thump in the jaw to get his brain unstuck; it had frozen solid in shock
. “No, Brenda, please. You misunderstood me. I was—I was— I was just so startled.”
She huffed. Colin couldn’t tell if there were tears in the noise or not, but he feared there might be. Lord, how could he bungle everything so badly. every single time he tried? “Please. You’re wrong.”
“About what?”
“About me. About you. About everything.” He threw, up his hands, frustrated beyond bearing at his inability to articulate plainly. He’d never had this problem before in his entire life. Even when he was a boy, he prided himself on his clear thinking and declamatory proficiency. Then again, what would a boy know about a situation like this?
A watery chuckle issued from Brenda’s throat. Her hands still covered her face. “That’s no surprise to me.”
“Oh, Lord, Brenda, don’t you understand? I want you more than ever. I want you so badly, I can hardly stand it.”
Her arms dropped and she turned and peered at him oddly. “You do?”
“God, yes.”
She gazed at him blandly. “Oh.”
“But . . . but it shouldn’t be like this.”
She glanced around the parlor. “Um, I didn’t think we should do anything in here, Colin.”
He ought to be writing this down. While he was generally good at speaking, his true strength lay in the written word. How nonsensical he must sound to her. He’d sound even more nonsensical if he asked her to wait while he wrote out what he meant, since he couldn’t seem to say it coherently. “No, no, I didn’t mean that. What I meant was that you shouldn’t be giving yourself to me like this.”
“But . . . but you just said you still want me.” She looked so forlorn, it was all Colin could do to keep from grabbing her and making love to her right there and now.
“Aaaarrrgh.” He rammed his fingers through his hair. “No, I didn’t mean that.”
“No? You mean you really don’t want me?”
“No! I mean yes! Oh, dash it, Brenda, I want you terribly. But not like this.”
Her lovely face assumed a quizzical expression. Small wonder. “I don’t think I understand, Colin.” Small wonder about that, either.
“Of course you don’t. I’m not making any sense.”
“Well,” she temporized, “you’re certainly not making yourself clear.”
“I know.” He jammed his glasses against the bridge of his nose and then thrust his fingers through his hair once more. What was the matter with him?
She cocked her head to one side. “Would you like to think about what you want to say for a while, Colin? We’re going to be here for a few extra days, I imagine, since this accident will have delayed filming at least one day, and probably more. I don’t know about the set or if that big wooden thing was broken when it fell. Or even what they wanted to use it for.”
“I don’t need to think,” Colin told her bitterly. “I need to be flogged.”
A tender smile touched her lips. “I’ve thought so for long time now.”
“You must hate me.”
She shook her head. “I wish I did, but I don’t.”
“I don’t know why.”
“I don’t, either.”
The door opened behind them, making them both jump. Colin uttered a soft, “Damn.” Just when he’d been on the verge of sorting out his thoughts and declaring himself. Not that she’d even consider marrying him, but that was the only way he’d feel right about this—this offer of hers.
Unless she’d decided she merely wanted to have an affair with him. The possibility stunned him. Although he saw Martin and a white-clad nurse enter the room, the significance of their entrance didn’t register on his brain. He vaguely heard people saying words around him, but he didn’t understand any of them. His body and heart both received the signal when Brenda spoke, though. His senses would be able to pick her voice out of a chorus of thousands.
“Isn’t that right, Colin?”
He heard and understood that. It was Brenda who’d spoken. He hadn’t a clue as to what she referred, however.
He said, “Um . . .”
Evidently, Brenda noticed his condition and understood. She gave him a sweet smile and spoke to the nurse. “Colin and I were just saying that we wished the doctor had ordered a nurse to watch out for George, if only for a day or two.”
“I believe it was Mr. Tafft who requested my services.”
The nurse spoke with a lilting Irish accent. She had cinnamon-colored eyes, white-streaked red hair, apple-red cheeks, a cheery demeanor, and was as big as a barn. “Dr. Wilson is a terrible old curmudgeon, dearie. He’s not got a compassionate bone in his porky little body.”
“I noticed that,” Brenda said, laughing as she did so.
“So did I,” affirmed Martin. “That’s why I requested the services of Nurse Cleary here. I asked that she stay for two days.” He glanced worriedly at George. “If that’s not long enough, we can extend the time.”
“You’re a peach, Martin.”
Colin watched as Brenda hugged Martin. His hand bunched into fists, and he couldn’t account for his sudden mad compulsion to sock Martin in the jaw. There was no doubt about it: He had it bad. Martin was as good an egg as ever lived, and Colin could swear that he and Brenda were no more than friends to each other. But, good God, he was jealous of the man.
“I’ve got to go back out to the set now,” Martin said. He glanced at Colin uncertainly, as if wondering why Colin hadn’t yet spoken.
The look on Martin’s face jolted Colin into action. As if a goblin had goosed him from behind, he jerked forward and held out his hand “Thanks so much for hiring a nurse for George, Martin. I’ve been worried about him.”
Martin seemed to relax now that Colin was speaking to him “Good. Well, I hated knowing it was a Peerless prop that bashed the boy.”
“My, my,” murmured Brenda. “You’re such an alliterative bloke today.”
Chuckling, Martin turned to leave the room. “I’ll see you two later. Let’s dine together this evening. We can discuss the picture’s altered schedule.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Brenda, her manner having undergone a magnificent change. Only a moment or so ago, she’d been near tears. Now she sounded as cheery and good-natured as ever. Colin wondered if she really had her emotions under such superb control, or if she were only a brilliant actress.
Which made his doubts begin to gnaw at his intentions again. Dash it!
But, honestly, could one believe a woman with such an easy facility for manipulating her sensibilities? Did she ever mean what she said? How could one tell? What in the name of God was he thinking now? He was the one who couldn’t be trusted with his emotions—mainly because he pretended not to have any. Brenda was a joy. A wonder. A breathtaking female specimen. The fact that she could function in emergencies and not reveal her innermost secrets in front of the whole world was an attribute that should be applauded, not deplored.
“Dinner,” he said vaguely to Martin. “Sure. Sounds good.”
Martin left with a parting wave, eyeing Colin one last time, as though he were trying to ascertain his state of mental well-being.
Nurse Cleary set her embroidered bag on a table and went to inspect her patient, in which pursuit she pulled George’s blanket down, revealing him still fast asleep. Big purple bruises were more easily evident on exposed body parts than they had been before they’d had a chance to ripen.
Colin glanced over from where he stood, noted as many of his brother’s injuries as could be seen from this distance, and shut his eyes. It hurt him to see George like this.
The nurse tutted. “What happened to the poor lad?”
Thank the fates, Brenda explained. Nurse Cleary nodded and looked concerned and chuckled when appropriate. “Aye, I see how it was. The poor lad got himself knocked senseless and his arm busted. We’ll see that he rests and mends himself. We won’t let him do naught that might undo the doctor’s work, believe me” She used the plural we, although Cain had no doubt as to who would be doing
any restraining that might be necessary.
He believed her, too, even though she wasn’t speaking to him. The militant light in her eye made him feel a little sorry for George. Although, it must be admitted that George had demonstrated a particularly willful nature of late and might need some curbing during his recovery. Nurse Cleary would probably do him a world of good.
Still struggling to keep his nerves in check, he walked over to her, held out his hand, and hoped his assumption of ease passed the sharp-eyed nurse’s inspection. “Thank you very much, Miss Cleary. I’m sure George will profit by your diligence.”
She eyed him askance. “Aye? My, but you’re a silver-tongued talker, aren’t you?”
If the woman only knew. Unable to think of a suitable response on the spur of the moment, Colin remained mute and only smiled at her, thereby refuting her claim that he possessed a glib tongue. She looked as if she’d be able to check any of George’s more unruly impulses without much trouble. If he gave her too much sass, she could sit on him. Poor George would never be able to dislodge her. Not only was she as big as a barn, but she looked solid, as if the majority of her bulk was made of muscle.
“Oh, aye,” Nurse Cleary said, after enduring several seconds of Colin’s silence, “I’ll make him rest, you may depend upon it. And I’m sure he’ll be right as rain in a couple of days.”
“Fine.” Searching his brain frantically for something else to say, Colin came up empty, so he said, “Fine,” again, and smiled some more.
Brenda took mercy on them. “If you don’t need us in here any longer, Nurse Cleary, perhaps we should leave you to your patient.”
“Splendid,” said the nurse. “I understand from Mr. Tafft that the two of you have spent a nerve-wracking morning. Get along with you, then, and if you’ll take my advice, you’ll both go to bed and rest up for a while. No sense making yourselves sick over this young scamp.”
Beauty and the Brain Page 29