Forget Me Not

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  The threat was implicit.

  “The boy will be stayin’ with me, milord,” Brian offered quickly. “There is no need to concern yerself further.”

  Without another word the viscount left the room.

  * * *

  The candle burned dangerously low casting dancing shadows over the creamy pages scattered across the desk. Twelve drafts and still the wording didn’t seem right. Lydia lifted the most recent version of her missive, agonizing over each of the words so carefully scrawled on the page. “I suppose this will have to do,” she murmured, her eyes flitting one last time over the letter.

  Dearest Brian,

  It is of the utmost importance that I speak with you at your earliest convenience. If you are agreeable meet me in the Blue Room tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock. Should a different time or place be necessary please notify me immediately.

  Best Regards,

  Lydia

  Before she could second guess herself for the thirteenth time, Lydia folded the note into thirds, heated a plug of wax and sealed it. The Blue Room, situated toward the back of the house, was little used and the ideal place to put her scheme into action. Three o’clock was the perfect time for a secret rendezvous as Olivia typically retired for a nap, and the rest of the household would be well into their routine or away from the house. Now all that was left was for the note to be delivered. Nervously Lydia glanced toward the door. She’d retired immediately after a quiet family dinner to plan, but was still a little apprehensive about her means of seeing the note to Brian’s hands. For one brief, perverse moment she debated ringing Molly to carry the note to him, but thought better of it. If the servants were wise to the correspondence gossip would fly. She couldn’t have that.

  Carefully she slipped from her bedroom. Looking right then left, she pulled the silk wrapper more tightly around her, and trotted quickly to Brian’s door, heart hammering. Darkness had enveloped the manor hours before and nary a soul stirred. Timidly she raised a trembling fist to knock on his door. “Blast,” she swore, losing her nerve. “Just do this, Lydia. Your entire future could rely on this letter.” Without another thought she pounded on the portal, shoved the letter beneath the door, and bolted for the haven of her chamber.

  She leaned against the mahogany panels inside of her room desperate to settle the frantic fray of her nerves. A door in the hall creaked. Her heart leapt into her throat. Brian must have found the letter. He could be reading her words even now!

  Would he meet her tomorrow? Dare she hope he would come to her call?

  * * *

  Brian stood in the deserted hallway contemplating the wisest course of action. He yanked Lydia’s note from his pocket and read it for the umpteenth time since he’d found it beneath the door. The night before had proved restless indeed. Merely knowing that Lydia was down the hall lying on a soft bed between silken sheets was enough to drive his desires to madness. The knowledge she’d been outside his chamber in the dark of night, slipping a note beneath the door had driven him to the brink. For the life of him Brian couldn’t imagine why she was begging an audience with him, but though he knew he should say no, he could not resist the opportunity to see her again. He missed her. Stuffing the letter back into his pocket, he strode toward the instructed meeting place. What could it hurt? Surely he could control himself in an open room in broad daylight. Brian rounded the bend to enter the blue room and swallowed, hard, seriously doubting his last thoughts.

  Lydia perched delicately on a plush chaise. She was alone, perusing a large leather volume. Fleetingly he wondered on the subject matter, perhaps land navigation? The desire to smile teased the corners of his lips. With the first step into the Blue Room he was thoroughly amused. Why would a place interiorly decorated with varying shades of pink be referred to as the Blue Room? He could probably find out, but decided he didn’t particularly care. Visually he caressed Lydia, and the way she perfectly matched the décor. The expansive length of her silken hair was dressed loosely atop her head with tiny spirals falling to kiss the soft flesh of her neck and shoulders. The tips of his fingers tingled with the memory of running along her smooth skin, and a jolt of awareness shot through him. Strangely he found himself envious of her hair for its proximity to her throat… and shoulders… he would give his left thumb to brush her cheeks as frequently as those silken strands did. He swallowed, dragging his gaze from the gentle column of her swanlike throat to the square set of her delicate and gracefully slender shoulders. She looked like a marble Greek statue only… better.

  Softly he cleared his throat. She turned, the graceful swan’s neck swiveling until those huge, swirling amber eyes washed over him. He nearly crumbled to his knees. Surely his heart stopped cold in his chest. Or perhaps not stopped, but shattered in the face of her perfect innocent beauty. “You asked to see me?”

  “Yes.” She smiled weakly. “I needed to return this to you.” She let the book rest open in her lap and lifted her left hand, gently tugging his simple ring from her fourth finger. For a long moment she held the piece, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. “In all the excitement yesterday afternoon I nearly forgot I was wearing it.”

  He gulped against the sudden drying of his throat and stepped hesitantly forward. Slowly he knelt before Lydia. Wrapping his hands around hers, he took the ring from her fingers and pressed it to her palm, closing her fingers back around the band. “Keep this, love, as a memento of our friendship.”

  The limpid golden-brown pools rose from their locked hands to fix on his gaze. “No, Brian, I could never take this. It was your mother’s, it is too special. It—”

  “It is mine to give and I want nothin’ more than fer you to have this. Wear it. Put it in a box. Do with this ring as ye wish. It is yours.” He slipped the band back onto her finger. It looked as though it belonged there, even fit as though made for her. “And Lydia,” he continued, trying to ignore the glassing of tears in her eyes, “should ye ever need me for anythin’ do not hesitate to ask. I’ll always come for ye.”

  Earnestly she sat forward grasping his hands. “Does that mean you will take that job with Northbridge? Stay close to me?”

  “Oh, Lydia, I don’t know what to tell ye. It all depends on what the future brings.”

  “But, don’t you want to be with me?” Sadness laced her voice, reaching up to touch her eyes.

  He released a haggard breath, knowing better than to be honest. “Aye, lass, I would be lyin’ to say no. I’ve tried to deny it, but I fear our lives are too different.”

  “Then take me with you.” She breathed, reaching out to brush an errant lock of hair from his brow. “Let me make your life my life. We could run away together. Now. Tonight. I am to be married in one week, but…” She let the sentence hang.

  For a single agonizing moment he could not halt his errant heart or head from jumping at the prospect. For one instant he actually considered absconding with her. Mrs. Brian Donnelly… Lydia Donnelly. The name fit as comfortably as the ring. Her beautiful face was pleading, bewitching, and he loved her with every breath in his body. But it was that love for her which left him at war with his own desires. His hands caressed the expensive silk of her gown. “Do ye not understand, Lydia? I can give ye none of this? You are deservin’ of all the riches in this world, and a man like Lord Northbridge can shower ye in anythin’ ye wish for.”

  The book slid from her lap as she scooted to the edge of the sofa. Intently she tightened the grasp on his hand. “I don’t care what the viscount can shower me with. It means nothing without you. I want you, Brian Donnelly, nothing and no one but you.”

  “Oh, Lydia,” he groaned, all self-control shattered. Sliding his hand along the back of her neck, he leaned in to press his lips to hers. In that moment the heaven’s parted and the angels sang. Light cast upon the dreary state of his emotions, flooded his very soul. Lydia kissed him back with abandon, parting her mouth in innocent eagerness. Her soft hands cupped his face, lacing through his hair, and he was lost. He
came off his knees, his arms slid around her, and he settled her back against the settee covering her with the length of his body. She felt so tiny and perfectly soft beneath him.

  She moaned something, it may have been his name, but the words were swallowed as he plundered her mouth, greedily taking every stroke of the tongue and breath she offered. His hand wandered down her throat to the swell of her breasts. Her rapid heartbeat drummed against his palm. Her lips were so soft and round and tantalizingly sweet he could be content to taste them and nothing else for the rest of eternity. There was no need for food or water, Lydia alone could sustain him. Without her life was empty… colorless… devoid even of the light. Lydia was his life.

  “Oh, love,” he groaned, trailing a path of steaming kisses along the tender flesh of her throat, “how beautiful ye are.” The tiny buttons and bows at the front of her gown lay at his fingertips, literally begging to be opened. Her breasts strained against the fabric, nipples hard beneath his thumbs. Dear God, he would die if he couldn’t have her, see her, sample the sweet flesh peaking over the lace of her gown.

  A warning rumbled in the hollows of his mind. He ignored it. Instead of pulling away from her as any wise man would he tugged loose the silken pink bow holding the top of her bodice together, watching the corners fold away from her flushed milky skin. Her breathing quickened though she made no move to stop him. Nimble fingers slid down to the small button below the ribbon swiftly unfastening it. A bit more fabric folded away revealing the sheer white undergarment and the last barrier between his lips and Lydia’s bare skin. Gently he kissed the hollow beneath her throat, and then the depression just above her breasts.

  Lydia gasped.

  He stilled, unsure how to proceed, and thoroughly shocked when her tentative fingers began to work at the fastenings of his shirt. The eroticism of her innocent fumbling was surpassed only by the touch of her smooth hands on his chest. All rational thought was lost to him. He made quick work of her bodice at last baring the tantalizing swell of her breasts to his gaze. The flesh was pink and smooth as porcelain. For a long moment he simply stared at her perfection, transfixed. A soft whimper floated from her lips, sending him into action. Slowly he leaned in to kiss her, fitting one palm around the curvature of her breast as their lips moved in smoldering tandem. Dear god, but he ached for her, physically hurt in ways he’d not known a man could feel.

  His hand wandered further down, hiking the heavy skirts up around her knees. He shifted to rise above her, trailing a hand up the delicious curve of her thigh. The naughty girl, he fought the urge to smile, was not wearing any stockings. She’d called him here wanting this. The knowledge broke through the last of his resolve. Lydia wiggled beneath him, fitting herself perfectly against his hips, tentatively her legs parted ever so slightly, inviting him in. His ribs protested as he arched above her, but it didn’t matter, he was ready for her, to plunge into her heat, ravish her, make her his own. Better she was his for the taking, a sliver of heaven on earth.

  Brian was no stranger to women. He’d known whores, widows, even genteel ladies, but he had no experience with innocents. Holding Lydia, teaching her the art of loving was better than anything he could have imagined. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this, she, was sure to be better than any previous conquest.

  Instantly he stilled, disgusted with himself. Conquest? How could he think of Lydia as a conquest? She was the woman he loved. He wanted to marry her. Make love to her every night, wake beside her every morning and then do it all over again. No more did Brian want the fairytale he’d clung to these long years. He wanted the Lydia Covington he’d fallen in love with over the last few days. The fear of loss he’d clung to all those years trembled in his mind. He gazed down into her eyes, wide and clouded with a mixture of passion and confusion.

  “Brian?” she questioned. “What’s wrong?’

  A clatter from the hallway drew him fully to his senses. What the hell am I doing? She deserved better than to be ravaged on a couch—taken and discarded. He pulled away from her throwing the edges of her wide open bodice together, and dragging the length of skirt from her hips to her ankles.

  “Wait!” She followed him up, sitting sideways on the settee, clutching the edges of her bodice with her left hand and catching his arm with the right. “Where are you going? D-don’t you want me?”

  The tremor in her voice, the pain of rejection in her eyes, was more than enough to gut him. His heart, the whole of his chest, clenched until he could scarcely draw a breath. “Lydia—” He grasped for the right words. “Ye are deservin’ of so much better than this.” He gestured to her compromising position on the sofa. Her cheeks flamed. “What I mean, lass, is that ye deserve better than the likes of me.”

  Tears glazed the surface of her eyes as slowly her head began to shake. “No,” she murmured, shaking her head with more vehemence. The tousled tresses slapped her cheeks. “How can you say that?” Fat tears spilled over her lids, trickling small rivers down her face. “I don’t understand what is wrong with me. I even did my own hair today.” She grabbed a wad of loose tendrils as though holding them out for him to see explained everything. “And I dressed myself without any assistance.”

  Just what did that have to do with anything? “Well, uh, that’s very nice.” Damn, he hadn’t meant for the words to sound so flat, so indifferent.

  “What is wrong with me, Brian? What? Why do you not want me?”

  Again he dropped to his knees before her at a total loss. “Lydia, no, please stop cryin’. There is nothin’ wrong with you. Ye’re beautiful and smart and any man would be a fool not to want ye.” He grasped for her hand but she jerked away from his touch.

  “So you’re a fool then?”

  “Aye, probably… Definitely,” he amended after looking into her sad, broken eyes. “But, lass, that is neither here nor there because—”

  “Because I’m not what you want.” She shoved him away, cheeks glowing redder by the minute. “Am I not self-sufficient enough? Or is it that I am not blonde? That must be it. My hair is boring and brown and I have boring brown eyes to match. We’ve already established that my breasts are not big enough.”

  “Christ, Lydia, keep yer voice down.” He threw a nervous glance to the open door.

  Her tirade proved insatiable. “I do not have perfect little dimples or blue eyes. I certainly do not kiss the way your little harlot does. What of Molly?”

  “Who?”

  “Does my maid kiss and touch you the way the harlot at the inn did? Is that why I am not enough for you?”

  “Oh, my Lydia,” he rasped, cupping her face as the perceived rejection became clear. “Do not ever believe ye’re wanting. Ye’re perfect. I tried to explain about the woman at the inn, but—”

  “Stop, Brian. I don’t want more of your excuses.” She heaved to her feet, fumbling with the front ribbons of her gown, but misjudged Brian’s proximity and toppled forward. He looped an arm about her waist, righting her position and pinning her to him. The position was awkward with Lydia standing and he on his knees. Lydia pulled against him, but he refused to let her go.

  “You will listen to me.” He enunciated every word in a manner that brooked no argument. She stilled, continuing to hold the unfastened bodice closed, but unwilling to look into his eyes. His heart broke for the red splotches and tear stains marring her lovely face. The fact he’d caused her pain ate away his resolve. In that moment he’d give her anything she asked of him. Slowly he rose, keeping a secure arm about her waist, linking her to him. Gruffly he grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “It matters not that I would ravage you here and now and gladly be shot in the back for it. It matters not a whit because—”

  A second, much closer, crash emanated from the hall.

  Lydia’s eyes widened suddenly. “Someone’s coming.” Her gaze darted from his face to the door.

  Startled, Brian wasn’t prepared when Lydia wrenched from his grasp, and tore from the room.

  Brian st
ared after her at a total loss for words, thought or action. The only certainty in his mind that he’d been within an inch of his dreams and let it all slip through his fingers. If someone had happened upon them… “It’s fer the best, Donnelly,” he muttered to himself, the words hollow. “Aye, and if ye believe that ye’re a goddamned fool.”

  Brian spent the next hour pacing the house and grounds in total frustration. At long last he sought refuge in the kitchen with the elderly cook. The alluring scent of apple pie drew him in. Mrs. Porter’s pie was near good enough to die for. It could cure any and all ailments, something about the crust. He’d pestered her time and again for the recipe, but she swore to take the secret to her grave. Yes, something to eat would be just the thing to lift his spirits.

  Popping his head around the corner leading into the kitchen, Brian inhaled deeply. “Do I smell fresh baked pies, Mrs. Porter?”

  The cook smiled, wiping flour caked hands on her stained, once white apron. “Brian Donnelly, if I ever need to find you I’ll just put a pie in the oven to bake. This was supposed to be for Sir William’s desert but would you like a slice?” She lifted a knife, cutting a generous portion of steaming pie from the pan, and setting it on the scarred table along the wall. “Now sit down and keep me company while you eat. Molly told me you were severely injured. If you need anything at all do not strain yourself just ask me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Brian instantly complied. Mrs. Porter loved to fawn over him. Apparently Brian reminded the widow of her late husband, also a retired Irish soldier. The woman was also forever dropping shameless hints in regard to her daughter Molly. No doubt the Molly Lydia had been so enflamed about earlier.

  Brian speared a sliver of soft apple and popped it into his mouth. Heaven… At the very least blissful distraction. He took another bite, savoring every spice, but as he neared the edge of the crust he realized the food was little more than a temporary balm.