It was the final straw.
Plopping onto her bottom, she held the injured digit to her chest and sobbed.
* * *
The door to Brian’s meager cottage slammed with resounding finality. Breathless he slumped against the wooden slats, mentally reliving the events of the last hours. “What a miserable bastard ye are, Brian Donnelly. A miserable bastard indeed.”
His head thudded uselessly against the wall.
Grief racked Brian until a piece of his heart twisted off and died. It hurt. It more than hurt, it was excruciating, a pain of the soul. The sort of bleeding wound that no amount of rest or doctoring could heal. Dear God, but he’d ruined Lydia. Ruined her and left her to the mercy of the wolves. Never had he seen Sir William so enraged, not that Brian blamed the man, if he’d caught a man in his innocent daughter’s bed… The word torture came to mind, immediately followed by murder, and Brian didn’t even have children.
Children! Brian’s heart clinched as Lydia’s words filtered through his mind, There could already be a child… Miserably he scrubbed a hand through his hair, pacing the single room in overt agitation.
“I’m such a fool.” Subconsciously Brian conjured the sight of Lydia’s naked body, flushed and rosy with passion, a heavenly glow in her amber eyes as they’d made love. God, but he loved her. She bewitched him in a way that was most certainly not natural. Tonight Lydia had bared his soul, seen every bleeding wound, and then a part of her had reached into him and begun a long overdue healing process. The girl held pure magic in the palm of her hands.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the shadowed interior of his small cottage. It seemed an age since last he stood on the creaking floorboards, truthfully a lifetime had passed in the last days, and his home felt strangely foreign. Brian sighed. Who was he kidding? No place would ever be home without Lydia. Why had it taken him so long to see it? Darkness pervaded every corner of the house, expounding on his misery.
He stumbled to the small wooden table beside his bed and lit a candle stub. The dim light did little to brighten his spirits as he trudged to the old trunk nestled against the foot of his wooden bed frame. He lifted the lid, the tangy scent of cedar wafting through his nostrils. Slowly he knelt, the memories he’d tucked so neatly away glaring up at him. At the top of the pile lay his old uniform, the very dress coat he’d worn the night he met Lydia. The gold buttons winked hauntingly in the candlelight. Ever so gently he peeled the red wool aside, revealing a milky white handkerchief, the initials L.M.C. embroidered in the corner. He lifted the delicate cloth smoothing a thumb over the silver thread.
Heaven help him, Brian’s heart nearly stopped, but the handkerchief still smelled like Lydia. After four years, three countries, and being stuffed in a cedar box her sweet lavender perfume still clung to the fabric.
A heavy sense of loss closed in on him, accompanying the sorrow. What a fool he’d been. If he hadn’t so persistently shoved Lydia away, the two of them could be in Scotland right now…
The door burst open, shattering the ancient iron deadbolt.
“Sir William!” Brian leapt to his feet, silently berating himself. Christ, he should have anticipated Lydia’s enraged father coming after him.
“You son of a bitch, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t beat you within an inch of your life?” The general stalked forward, meaty hands balled into fists, and it took all Brian’s conscious effort not to cringe. The man packed one hell of a punch.
“Just hold on a minute, Sir,” Brian placated. “Let’s talk this through.”
“Christ, Donnelly, how could you do this to me? After everything I’ve done for you, how could you go to bed with my own daughter?” Sir William’s face flushed beat red and a straggled snarl wheezed from his throat. “My daughter!”
Brian held out both palms. “I lov—”
“Shut up, Donnelly. Just shut up. I really don’t care.” The general stopped, closed his eyes and drew a shuddering breath. “I’m giving you one chance to make this right. One.” Sir William reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a folded sheet of paper, a superior gleam in his eye. “This is a promissory note worth 500 pounds.” He stepped forward, waving the note beneath Brian’s nose. “Do you smell that, boy? More money than you’ve ever dreamed of.”
Brian quirked a suspicious brow and folded his arms. “Lookin’ to pay me off, sir? Why?”
“My daughter is hard headed as they come, although I suspect you already know that, and I need your help to ensure she doesn’t go and ruin everything I’ve planned for her.” The general adopted the militaristic persona of a one negotiating the terms of surrender. It irked Brian to no end, though he said nothing, merely folded his arms across his chest and waited for Sir William to proceed. “You will write Lydia a letter explaining that you’re leaving the country and have no intention of renewing a relationship with her.”
“No,” Brian replied automatically, he’d not hurt Lydia any more.
“You will then get off my property,” Sir William continued as though Brian had not spoken, “keep your mouth shut about the whole of this affair, and stay the hell away from my daughter.”
“Or what?”
“I’ll kill you.”
“What if I asked fer your daughter’s hand instead?” The words surprised Brian even as he spoke them, but the surest sense of rightness swelled in his heart the moment he made the decision. Lydia would be his in every way. If only he’d come to the conclusion sooner.
Absolute silence met the sudden request, Sir William’s face utterly unreadable.
Brian’s heart hammered. “I assure you, Sir, that—”
“Assure me of what, Donnelly? That you love the girl? That you can provide for her.” Chastising laughter erupted from the general. He turned a slow circle, taking in the shoddy cabin’s interior. “Oh, yes, Brian, you’d keep my daughter in the lap of luxury I daresay. Marry her?” He shook his head, still laughing. “What a ridiculous notion. How long do you think she’d last living on love and air?”
Hadn’t he spoke the same argument to Lydia not an hour before? Devastation drilled through Brian’s core.
Sir William’s eyes softened ever so slightly. “You cannot deny that I’m right.”
The logic was irrefutable. Brian knew it. Loathed it.
“She deserves much better than you.”
Brian wiped a hand across his jaw. “Don’t I know.”
Sir William slapped the note into Brian’s chest. “You’re a good soldier, Donnelly. You won’t have any trouble obeying my orders.”
Brian’s eyes locked with Sir William’s, and for an immeasurable length of time he stared into the general’s face, clenching and unclenching his fists as though the action would somehow halt the unraveling of his soul. “No trouble, Sir,” he ground, ever the obedient solider. He reached up and grasped the promissory note. The paper burned his fingers, an acute reminder of his betrayal to Lydia.
“Good man,” Sir William gave a curt nod and stepped back. “There is a catch to cashing that note. My solicitor won’t release the funds without my approval, and I won’t give the word until I know you’re well out of town and my daughter is securely married. Travel to London and locate David Severs, he’s another solicitor in my employ, and will broker the funds transfer. Do you understand?”
“I understand that yer keepin’ me under yer thumb, and in yer line of sight. Just because the King’s English doesn’t roll off my tongue doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”
Sir William’s gaze narrowed. “I have eyes everywhere, Donnelly. It doesn’t matter if you do this my way or the hard way, you won’t get away with double crossing me.”
The reward posters which had haunted him and Lydia burned in his mind. Brian glanced down, gaze skimming across the note. More money than he’d known in his lifetime. He folded the paper, weighing it in his palm. This was the amount of money placed on his head dead or alive. He shook his head at the irony of it all. The paper felt… flimsy, hardly worth
a man’s life… and yet he’d just sold his soul for the sum of five hundred pounds. Brandon’s small face floated through Brian’s mind, with this money he could give the boy a far better start than he’d ever had.
“You win.”
“Smart man.” The general clapped his shoulder. “I’ll take that letter now, Donnelly.”
Brian looked up, roiling with the knowledge he was about to severe every last tie with the one woman he loved, and strode to the small table beside his bed. “As you wish.”
* * *
Rain continued to pound the abbey in waves, leaving Brian trapped in the cottage like a caged animal. Miserable scenarios ran circles through his mind—Lydia locked in her room unable to leave until the day she married the despicable viscount… A justice called to marry Lydia and the Northbridge that very day—unlikely considering the enormity of the storm, but desperation knew no bounds.
Overcome by stress and regret Brian finally ventured into the storm, intent on reaching the main house. To hell with Sir William’s demands, he and the general had some unfinished business.
Brian slipped into the house through the back kitchen door. No one but Mrs. Porter would see him and the older woman was more than trustworthy. He padded surreptitiously through the halls, toward Sir William’s study located in a secluded corner of the manse, taking extra care to avoid servants. If Brian didn’t find him there he would wait until the general ventured into the room. The look on the man’s face should prove classic.
“I am telling you, William, she is going to ruin everything,” Olivia’s voice drilled through the study door.
Brian snatched back, slipping into a narrow crevice beside the room, only someone looking directly into the space would spot him.
“If your daughter embarrasses the Viscount of Northbridge by giving herself to that Irish stable hand, your chances of becoming prime minister are through,” Olivia railed. “His lordship can never learn of her indiscretion.”
“Please, Livy, enough of this,” Lydia bit tersely. “The viscount is marrying me for Papa’s money, there is no need to worry that he’ll find fault with me or my reputation. I’m sure London is already gossiping madly about my kidnapping, if Lord Northbridge was planning to call off the wedding he already would have done. The nuptials will go off without a hitch in six days’ time rest assured.”
“So you’ve made your decision?” Implicit threat lurked in the deep thunder of Sir William’s words.
“Was there ever really a choice?” Lydia quipped in return.
To hear Lydia speak so blithely of the upcoming marriage was a knife to his heart. Not twelve hours before she had professed undying love for him. The voices grew hushed, Brian could only make out a word or two here and there. Unable to resist he crept out of his hiding place, to the door, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, his ears strained.
“Creating an opportunity for yourself?” Sir William’s words exploded with such force around the narrow corner Brian leapt half a foot. “For the love of God, Lydia, creating an opportunity for yourself would have been crawling into bed with a duke, not a stable hand.”
“If you mean to shame me further, Papa, there is no need. I won’t ruin your chances of political gain. As Viscountess of Northbridge I will be the picture of elegance, grace and the aristocracy.”
Dread settled hard in the pit of Brian’s stomach. Here was the proof that her innocence was gone. The death of every sweet imperfection making up his lovely Lydia. She would marry Northbridge and become another ton duplicate. Worse, it was his fault.
“You need not worry that I will be a poor reflection on you, Father. After all, each of us knows that is all any of this has been about. You. How does it feel to know you’ve sold your own daughter for political gain? Do you think Mama would approve? Or is she rolling her grave?”
Stunned by Lydia’s blatant accusation, Brian did not realize how far forward he’d leaned until he fell flat on his face in front of the closed study door. “Arrgghh,” he moaned, struggling to rise quickly—his ribs made valiant protest.
He was half way to his feet when the door swung open, a full yellow skirt catching his eye.
“Brian,” Lydia gasped, snatching backward as though burned.
Brian drew himself to his feet, unable to tear his gaze from the sadness glistening in her eyes. “Lydia,” he murmured, unconsciously holding out a hand.
Her broken gaze rested on his outstretched palm. She said nothing, only took another step back. Brian gulped, longing to ask if she was all right, if she regretted last night. “It is very, er, nice to see you this afternoon,” tumbled forth before he could think of anything more suitable.
“I wish I could say the same, Mr. Donnelly.” She inclined her head, turned, and swept away, the click of her heeled boots resonating through the halls.
Olivia blew into the hall, a flurry of peacock green and lace. “Do not walk away from me, young lady.” She raked a haughty glare the length of Brian before stalking down the hall after Lydia, lecturing the importance of propriety above all else.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Sir William growled. “You’re supposed to be miles away from here with 500 pounds in your pocket.”
Uncomfortably Brian faced the general’s rigid frame.
“If you’ve come to ask for my daughter’s hand again forget it.”
Brian flinched. “I’ve come to collect the boy, Brandon, so we can be on our way.”
Irritation lit the older man’s eyes. “The boy isn’t going anywhere, Donnelly. You’re free to go.”
Brian blinked, certain he’d misunderstood. “Pardon?”
“Do I stutter, man? Brandon is to stay at Wheaton Abbey.”
Brian released a hesitant breath, glancing warily about him. Naught but the finest linens and furnishings decorated Wheaton Abbey and Sir William had not gained this lavish lifestyle by being charitable. The general did nothing generous without something to gain in return. “May I ask why, Sir?”
“My daughter’s insistence,” Sir William supplied curtly.
That certainly sounded like Lydia, but Brian didn’t buy it. If the general would sell his own daughter for title and enhanced prestige he would not care one whit for a street urchin. “With all due respect, sir, I’ll be takin’ the boy with me now.”
Eyes of hard flint glared back at him. “Get out, Donnelly, before I decide to go back on our bargain and throttle you.”
“Not without Brandon.” Brian held firm, returning the general’s icy stare. “That boy is nothin’ to you, and I’m not fool enough to believe ye care what Lydia insists upon. Why do ye really want to keep him here?”
Sir William stalked forward, eyes flashing dangerously. “You’re a smart man, Donnelly, and I’ve always liked you so I’m prepared to be generous. You have one hour to get off my property before I shoot you.”
“Shoot me?” Brian challenged. “That may ruin yer plans to become Prime Minister.”
A bark of wry laughter escaped the general. “Half of Britain already believes you kidnapped my daughter against her will. It shouldn’t be too difficult to capitalize on that.”
“The magistrate knows differently.”
“That soft footed fop believes what I tell him to believe,” Sir William barked. A sliver of cold dread pitted in Brian’s stomach. “The same with Northbridge, and the same with my daughter.”
“Ye’re wrong about that, General. Lydia has a mind of her own and she’ll not marry Northbridge,” Brian growled matter-of-factly. “When Keith took her she was runnin’ away. Goin’ to her aunt in Scotland.”
Sir William’s gaze darkened dangerously.
“She’ll just run again if you force her to wed Northbridge. Mark my words, General, ye’ll lose yer daughter and be left to look a fool if ye don’t let her go.”
Kerplunk. Scrrraaape.
Brian’s head swiveled in tandem with Sir William’s. “The hell was that?”
Sir William strode to the study door a
nd slammed it. “Probably one of the servants.” He turned back to Brian with cold eyes. “Lydia will not run again, Donnelly, rest assured of that.”
“How can you be so sure? Perhaps she’ll even come lookin’ for me,” Brian needled. To think he’d once believed General Covington an honorable man.
“Let’s just say Brandon is my little insurance policy. She marries Lord Northbridge or the boy goes to one of those miserable orphan’s homes. You’d know all about that wouldn’t you, Donnelly.”
Cold chills traced the length of Brian’s spine. “You son of a bitch. I won’t let you hurt them.”
“If you ruin this for me,” Sir William growled, drawing a small pistol, training the weapon on Brian’s chest with deadly intent. “I’ll murder you and leave your body on the moors for the wolves.”
Instinctively Brian stumbled back, powerless to stop the world crashing down around him.
“Get out, Donnelly. Now! Before my patience runs out.”
Mind whirling, Brian stalked out of the study. Sir William would shoot him, of that he had no doubt, and he would be of no use to Lydia and Brandon with his brains spilled on the carpet. He yanked open the study door, nearly colliding with a servant as he rounded the corner. He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder.
“This isn’t over,” he muttered under his breath. “Not by a long shot.”
Brian strode coolly down the main hall to the door, grasping the handle and exiting the manse. Rain pummeled him as he jogged through the storm away from Wheaton Abbey.
Chapter Sixteen
Raindrops wept down the glass, the day’s stormy weather in perfect accord with Lydia’s mood. She rested her forehead against the chilly library window, battling the melancholy seeded in her soul.
A figure, hunched against the wind and rain, cut a swift path across the sweeping yards, traveling away from the Abbey. Lydia’s heart plummeted beyond what depths she’d believed possible. There was no mistaking the broad shoulders and confident carriage of the man battling the storm. Brian. He’s leaving me, and all for 500 pounds. Her throat constricted until she could scarcely breathe. Her father had taken great pleasure in relaying to her how easily Brian had been paid off. Lydia had little doubt Sir William had in fact threatened Brian the same as he had her, but it didn’t make the pain any more bearable. Her father had orchestrated his victory well. Despite her best efforts Lydia was still little more than a pawn in his end game.
Forget Me Not Page 26