Her thoughts went against every belief and rule she’d been raised to believe, but she didn’t care. Before she was murdered at the hand of Felix Keith or successfully married off to the repulsive Viscount of Northbridge she wanted to be desired by a man who excited her, by a man she could love…
Now what to do about it?
“Look who’s awake.” He winked, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Are ye feelin’ better, lass?”
Her heart performed a flurry of silly flip flops. When he looked at her that way, with all the glowing adoration of the world reflected in his gaze, her heart did not just flip, it beat anew… for him. Lydia gulped, self-consciously dragging her fingers through her hair, pulling the full length over one shoulder. She must look a mess.
“I am thank you.” She took note of the ever darkening sky through the window and sat bolt upright in the bed. “How long have I been asleep and where have you been?” Alarm seized her. “You didn’t go to the town did you? Roark could still be there. How many times must I tell you it is not safe?”
“Lydia, Lydia, relax! I didn’t go to the town today.” He raised his hands defensively. “I only went outside to fetch fresh water. I swear it.” Brian strode across the room to sit beside her on the bed. “Besides I brought you a little something.” He held up a single purple blossom. “I couldn’t find a Forget-me-not, but this will do.”
Her heart skipped a beat. So he did remember the Forget-me-not. “Oh, Brian, this is lovely.” A little bubble of excitement fluttered through her as she reached for the plum-wine bloom. “It’s a—”
Brian pressed a finger to her lips, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. “I don’t care what the name of this flower is Latin or otherwise. Do ye ever stop to enjoy petals, lass?” He perched on the bed beside her his firm thigh pressed the length of hers, and touched the bloom to her cheek. “Feel how soft.” Her eyes fluttered as he slid the soft flower across her cheek. “And how lovely purple is with yer dark hair, matches your skin as well. Very fetchin’.”
Lydia’s heart tripped a beat faster. “Do you really mean that?”
“Mean what, love? That ye are the most fetchin’ lass in all of Britain?”
Her heart stopped beating all together, and not a single coherent word formed on her tongue. She nodded.
“Of course I do, and it does me good to see you lookin’ so much improved. Perhaps I’ll manage to return ye to your father and Lord Northbridge in one piece after all.”
Her spirits, soaring after his praise, plummeted with the mention of the engagement. “What if my father and Lord Northbridge are involved with Felix Keith? I know how well you think of my father, Brian, but he is not all that he seems. You don’t know him as I do.”
“Rest assured, Lydia, I’ll not let ye from my sight until I am certain that you are safe with them. But I truly believe Sir William is the man to help us through this mess. He would never let harm come to you.”
Slowly she nodded, wanting nothing more than to scream, I’m not going back! “What are you planning to do?” Somehow she managed to keep the tone even, her mind spinning, searching for the solution to her every problem and the means of delivering her every desire—Brian. Her father forever spoke of the need to create one’s own opportunities; evidenced by Lydia’s betrothal to Lord Northbridge. Perhaps this was not only her chance to run away, but to run away with her love.
“As you know I want to head back to Wheaton Abbey as quickly as possible,” Brian continued, oblivious to Lydia’s schemes, “but we will not be goin’ to yer home. At least not right away. I have a friend near the Abbey who may be able to help us.”
“Might I ask whom? Anyone I know?”
“Are ye acquainted with the Viscount Coverstone?”
She straightened, curious by the question, and intrigued by any opportunity to delay arrival to Wheaton Abbey. “Yes, very well. I didn’t realize you were also acquainted with him.”
A mischievous grin flashed across his mouth, twinkling through his eyes, he winked. “His butler, lass. I am well acquainted with his butler.”
“Oh, that does make more sense.” Lydia shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why would Lord Coverstone harbor us based upon the word of his butler? His lordship is rigid about propriety. He would never approve of giving us a place to stay, much less our traipsing across England without a chaperone whatever the circumstances.”
“I have it on excellent authority that his lordship rarely frequents this particular house as his wife prefers London or their other country estate. My friend should not have any difficulty hidin’ us for a day or two whilst we find a way to speak privately with yer father. And then…” his voice trailed off almost wistfully. For a long moment he was absolutely silent, his pale eyes fixed on hers, shimmering with an emotion so raw it must be forbidden. The knuckles of his right hand grazed her cheek as his gaze dropped to her mouth. How she ached for him to lean in and take her lips, kiss her once more…
Or, perhaps she should do it herself.
Never had she been so bold, but never before had she found a reason to be. Lydia had always been a take charge sort of girl—the one to organize afternoon tea or seating arrangements whether Olivia asked her to or not—and in the last few days she’d embraced that element of her nature on an all new level. Why not now as well? Brian’s lips were so close, mere inches from hers, and her mouth burned with the memory of his touch. Her tongue traced the inner fold of her lips.
“And then you’ll be free to run away again… or get married.” Brian’s voice was soft but the word married straggled from his throat.
A surge of confidence flowed through her. Wickedly she smiled, visually caressing his sinfully handsome face. An artist of Divinci’s caliber could hardly do this man’s perfection justice. Her gaze danced from his half-hazard curling locks to the boyish crinkles at the corners of his mouth and eyes. She wet her lips and leaned forward, brushing a lock of dark hair from his forehead. Her fingers itched to weave through the thickness. “Haven’t I been clear? I don’t want to get married.”
Brian went perfectly still, his expression unreadable, but his eyes… his eyes betrayed him. The green spheres bled with panic, and longing… and a desire that sent the butterflies in her stomach to raucous. His gaze fell to her mouth. “Perhaps ye have no idea what ye want,” he whispered hoarsely.
“I know exactly what I want,” she purred, sliding a palm up his well-muscled forearm, lips parting in silent summons. Playing the vixen was new to her, but love did strange things to people… Love empowered her.
Brian flinched, leaping clear off the bed. Sheer panic filled his eyes. “I should really be goin’.” He gestured in the general direction of the door, but remained rooted to the spot, eyes boring into hers with such intensity her insides quivered. “I need to… to…”
With a measured leisure Lydia did not feel, she rose from the bed advancing on him, strategically placing herself between Brian and the door. She quirked a suggestive brow. “What did you need to do?”
“I, er, uh, you—you need to rest, Lydia.” Hastily he stepped to the side. She quickly parried the move.
“Do you fence, Brian?” she asked as they continued the tet-a-tet—one step forward for one step back.
“Not well.” He continued circling, evading her advances. “Why do you ask?”
“Because this little dance of ours is a lot like fencing.” His back hit the wall. Boldly she pressed a finger to the middle of his chest. “Not just now, but always. You kiss me, I pull away. I make a move, you pull away.” She splayed a hand across the muscular width, his pulse hammering against her palm in frenzied tandem with her own. “What is going on between us?”
Brian stood statuesque, the only palpable movement the steady rise and fall of his chest. “Do not trifle with me, lass. You may very well regret it.” The warning was implicit, his facial expression hard, impassive.
“Regret what, Brian?” Heat resonated from his body sending tingles of awarenes
s shivering across her skin. “I wouldn’t dream of trifling with you.” She rose on tiptoe, brushing her mouth against his soft lips.
“What are ye doing, lass.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Seductively she smiled, linking her arms around his neck. “I want you to run away with me.”
The eyes nearly popped from his head. “No.” The word exploded convulsively from the depths of his body. “Ye cannot be serious.”
“I am deadly serious,” she affirmed, pressing her body against the heat of his sinewy torso. The broad width of his hands settled on her waist. Tremors of awareness shot through her, responding to the forbidden intimacy of the moment. The moist heat of his breath whispered across her face. His gaze fell from her eyes to her lips; automatically Lydia tilted her head, inviting him to kiss her and mayhap much, much more.
“Silly, girl,” he murmured, lifting a hand to her face and smoothing a thumb across her cheek.
That was not what she’d expected him to say. A niggling of cold dread dampened the fires scorching her body. “What do you mean?”
“Perhaps silly is the wrong word. Naïve is far more suiting. Ye’re a naïve little girl.”
“I am not naïve nor am I a little girl.” Instantly she stepped away, sensing an acute need to escape his immediate proximity. What had she gotten herself into?
Brian followed, slipping both arms around her waist, binding her to him. Their hips nestled together like lock and key. The air grew thick and hot between them, and the moment may have been sensual if not for the element of danger glowing in his eyes.
She jerked back but his hold proved unrelenting.
“Sure ye are.” A hand slid seductively up her back into her hair. Usually his touch proved exhilarating and caused her to lose all sense, but today the shivers skimming her spine were of alarm. “Ye believe because I’ve kissed you that I care for ye. In yer world a man does not take liberties with a woman he does not intend to marry. Is that what you expected from me?” The roughhewn pads of his fingers traced the column of her throat.
Panic and hurt flooded her mind. Tears blurred her vision, stinging her eyes. Every stolen kiss, forbidden thought or caress flashed before her mind’s eye. The callous words couldn’t be true. Vividly she pictured his eyes dark with ardor. He must care; she refused to believe otherwise, because, quite simply, her heart couldn’t take it. “I know you harbor some feelings for me, Brian, I have seen it I your eyes.”
A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I don’t know what ye’ve seen in my eyes, Lydia, but ye’re nothin’ more than a passing dalliance. Good for a bit of sport, nothin’ more.” His eyes, filled with passion just minutes before, were cold—or perhaps not quite cold, but indifferent, unreadable. “Ye didn’t really expect anythin’ lastin’ to come of us?”
A knife through the heart could not have cut her as deeply as those words. In that instant her heart hurt so much she could not even cry. Had she expected something lasting to come of them? Of course! Else she would not have asked him to run away with her. “Let me go!” She wrestled against his hold, desperate to flee his condescending gaze.
Brian held firm, drawing her closer. The hand twined through her hair pulled her head back and ever so slightly up forcing her to face him square in the eye. His breath raked hot across her cheek. “Let you go?” His tone, his eyes, his entire being mocked her. “But this is what ye wanted.” His head swooped down, pillaging her mouth with punishing fervor. A burly arm dipped beneath his knees as he scooped her against the heat of his chest.
Lydia knew she should stop him, that there was no love or passion in this embrace, but she had waited so long for this man’s touch… his kiss…she loved him. If this was the last she would know of her dream knight, what could it hurt to drink him in just a second more? She parted her lips in silent bidding. Brian answered with a crazed zeal. The exchanged continued to deepen, the friction of their mouths driving her to the edge of sanity. “Oh, Brian,” she moaned, vaguely aware of him moving toward the bed. Her pulse quickened, the blood roared in her ears, and suddenly she didn’t care if he wanted her or not. The sensations coursing through her body were purely… bewitching. Surely she could make him love her. Show him what lay in her heart, and how utterly perfect they could be together.
“Whoa!” Lydia cried out in surprise as the strength of his arms fell away and she crashed onto the feather mattress.
Brian leered down at her, breathing heavily, his gaze hot upon her. “Is this what ye want, Lydia? Is it really?”
Slowly she shook her head. “No,” she breathed, hardly believing the word herself. “No it isn’t. Not like this. Never like this. I-I thought…”
Brian’s gaze flicked coolly across her face. “Oh, lass, I’m so sorry.” The tone of his voice clearly stated he was not sorry. “Do ye not understand it matters not if I have kissed you? Not once, not twice, not ever.” Abruptly he leaned forward, arms braced on either side of the mattress, his face mere inches from hers. The heat of their bodies mingled in the dead space, a physical entity all its own. “Kisses mean nothin’, Lydia. Dances mean nothin’. The sweet endearments I may be inclined to whisper in your ears mean nothin’.”
She swallowed back the pain of his words. “I see. So when you tell me that I’m pretty?”
“I tell a lot of girls they’re pretty, Lydia. Ye’re nothin’ special to me.”
“Then why any of this charade, Brian? Why tease me and carry on if you had no intention of following through?”
A crooked, mocking grin touched his lips. “Just repayin’ the favor.”
“Favor?”
“Four years ago—”
“I don’t’ want to talk about four years ago,” Lydia spat. That particular argument had been rehashed enough. “Let it go.”
Brian drew back, crossing strong arms across his chest. His eyes narrowed menacingly. “Four years ago ye toyed with me. I’m merely playin’ games in return.” He raked a scathing gaze the length of her. “Pity to the man ye marry. Does His Lordship know ye have a habit of carryin’ on like a regular harlot?”
Lydia’s jaw flopped. “I have never behaved as a harlot,” she shrieked, leaping off the bed. The nerve. Threatening tears burned her vision, but she refused to cry in front of this man. He didn’t deserve to know how he affected her. That he’d broken her heart. The realization of Brian’s indifference hit hard. Years of hopes and dreams crashed down upon her, drowning in the black ocean of her soul. Crushed, Lydia swayed on her feet terribly off balance, and suddenly something… broke inside.
Brian was at her side in an instant, arms stealing around her.
“We should get ye back to bed.”
“Get your hands off of me you arrogant, condescending bastard!” She heaved against his chest, nearly toppling backward in the process. His arms did not budge. “I want you out of my sight.”
“Oh, aye, princess, and a moment ago you were throwin’ yerself into me arms.” Once again he scooped her against the broad width of his chest. Gently, almost reverently, he settled her onto the mattress. “I think bein’ sick addled yer brain, lass. I propose we forget this conversation ever happened, yes?”
Gone was the cruel man from moments ago. She had no idea what to make of the immediate about face and pegged him with her most withering glare.
“Come now lass don’t look at me like that.” The tenor of Brian’s voice changed, growing soft. “We both know ye’d never really consider runnin’ away with the likes of me.” He took a step back toward the door. “Ye like the idea of rebelling against yer father and the viscount, but they are yer future, not me. Have a care to honor them, Lydia. My duty is to return ye to yer father, nothin’ more. Now, ye’re goin’ home to get married and that’s final. I’ll hear no more of runnin’ away.” With that he reached the door. “Rest well, lass, we leave for the Abbey the day after tomorrow if ye’re strong enough.”
“How dare you lecture me on the importance of duty and loyalty?” She whipped a pillow
at his infuriating face, but he sidled through the doorway, and the projectile cushion bounced anticlimactically off the wooden panels. “Get back here!” She glared at the door, waiting for him to come back, to respond to her outburst... but he was gone.
Sobs racked her body with gale force. She had all but bared her soul to the man, practically offered herself on a platter, and still he wanted none of it. She’d never believed herself a beauty or as anything more than passably attractive, but when Brian looked at her… it was within her grasp to believe she was extraordinary if only in his eyes.
Foolishly she’d placed him high on a pedestal—no, not Brian, she’d placed an illusion of him on high—believed him different from all others in her life. Men were at liberty to choose which loyalties to support or believe in whereas women were expected to sit amiably by while every important decision was made for them. Hot tears continued to tip over her eyelids, irritably she brushed them aside. No one cared what her political views were, or what she would study at Cambridge if given the opportunity to go. Instead she’d been sold for a title at the age of fifteen as nothing more than a prize piece of livestock. It was actually rather humiliating. Lydia spun the simple ring on her finger. Not even Brian took her seriously. For all of their conversations he’d never learned anything of her life or motivation.
The wheels began to spin in her mind. She sat straight up in bed.
So… she was nothing more than a passing dalliance to Brian? Well, surely all famous romances began as little more than an innocent flirtation. An element of attraction existed between them, of that she was certain, else he would not have kissed her with such toe curling thoroughness. If she could nurture that attraction, bring Brian to appreciate her mind as well as her body…
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