Forget Me Not (22 page)

“Molly, you are excused.”

Shock registered in Molly’s reflection. “Beg pardon, Miss Covington, but your hair is only half done.”

Lydia reached for a pin on the vanity. “Molly, I assure you I can manage perfectly well on my own.”  She held up a swatch of hair and stabbed the pin into place. If she could prove to Brian that she needed none of this extravagance in her life, he would want her.

Molly bowed her head and slipped quietly from the room. With effort Lydia ignored the knowledge Molly was now off to practice her wiles on Brian.

Standing before the full length gilded mirror in her quarters, Lydia admired her handiwork.
Not half bad
, she surmised, patting a fly-away back into her coiffeur. Mayhap not as fancy as Molly’s work, but certainly more than passable.

With a heavy sigh Lydia turned to the door. It was time to face her father and the viscount. Desperately she hoped Brian would be present to back her story about Felix Keith. Sir
William would no doubt have difficulty believing his friend had conspired in her murder. She no longer feared her father having involvement in the ghastly crime she’d witnessed. The shock in his eyes had proved his innocence in the matter to her.

With her left hand she reached for the door handle but stopped short. The ring. She’d promised Olivia to return it to Brian with all possible haste, however…

Mischievously, she slipped the ring from her finger, setting it in a small box on her nightstand. She smiled, a scheme already forming in her mind.

Chapter Thirteen

“This is an outrage!” Sir William bellowed.

Lydia suppressed a secret smile, pleased to see her father so furious over her
well-being
. Her gaze slid to the other men in the room—Brian, Lord Northbridge, and the magistrate, Jonathan Messing—gauging their reaction

“To think Keith had the audacity to stand in this very room and offer me comfort over the loss of my daughter, not to mention aide in finding her, only to be the one responsible for her disappearance in the first place. I will kill the bloody bastard with my bare hands for this. Donnelly!”  He gestured broadly to Brian seated on the far side of the lavish parlor. “You’re not going anywhere, not until that madman and all of his cohorts are captured.”

“Yes, sir,” Brian’s response was automatic, like a soldier following orders.

“If I may interject,” the viscount interrupted, raising his brandy glass, signaling a servant to refill it. “How do we know Mr. Donnelly is not one of Felix Keith’s men?  According to Donnelly himself Keith casts a wide net of those loyal to him.”

All eyes turned to Brian who shrugged indifferently. “With all due respect, My Lord, it would hardly seem plausible for me to be sittin’ here in the parlor admitting the transgressions of my employer. Moreover, if I was workin’ fer Keith Lyd—Miss Covington would not be among us.”

Lord Northbridge glowered over the rim of his too full brandy glass. Brian returned a mildly amused stare, and settled back against in the plush green cushions. Lydia could have applauded.

“He is absolutely right.”  Sir William nodded, continuing to pace the room. He turned without warning to the magistrate. “I want this man’s reputation exonerated immediately.
Yesterday
. Brian Donnelly is one of the best goddamned soldiers ever to serve under me. I trust him with my life, and more importantly I trust him with my daughter’s life.”

Lydia studied Brian’s face carefully, but his visage remained totally devoid of emotion. The two of them had spent the last hour regaling her father, the magistrate, and Lord Northbridge of the murder she’d witnessed, their subsequent kidnapping, and finally their hell-raising jaunt through England. The well edited version of the escapade, anyway. Even her illness was not included in the telling. Lydia was primarily relieved to note Olivia was not in attendance. Apparently her stepmother had been called to the kitchen to address an urgent matter. The older woman would have been near an apoplectic fit by the end of the tale.

“Has anyone seen or heard from Keith?” Brian questioned.

Sir William shook his head. “Not since yesterday, and once word of your return spreads I’ve no doubt he’ll make himself scarce.”

“I will personally see to it that a full scale manhunt is mounted across Britain.”  The magistrate looked gravely from Sir William, to Brian, and finally to Northbridge. “You have my word.”

“Excellent.”  Lord Northbridge nodded brusquely, quaffing his liquor. “Now that Miss Covington is safely returned and we know who kidnapped her, I see no reason why the wedding arrangements should not be reinstated posthaste.”

Lydia nearly choked on air. Pleadingly she looked to her father, but was unable to catch his eye.

“I agree. As soon as Felix Keith is in custody and my daughter is sufficiently recovered from her ordeal we will set the date. We’ll have to allow time to invite the guests back. I really want to make a splash,” Sir William rubbed his hands together, eyes aglow at the prospect.

The viscount shrugged before finishing his brandy. “I am certain we are more than capable of keeping Miss Covington safe now that we know to watch for Felix Keith. This marriage has been delayed on far too many occasions. The original agreement was for the vows to be spoken when she was sixteen years old.”  Northbridge rose, a childish sneer on his face.
“She is now twenty. It is time to honor the betrothal agreement. I need mon—” He stopped short. “I need an heir.”

Lydia shuddered at the mention of an heir. She waited with bated breath for her father’s response. The marriage should have taken place near four years ago, but the nuptials had first been delayed by the death of His Lordship’s father and the subsequent one year mourning period. Then war with France and Sir William’s deployment had further thwarted the vows. Running was not an option unless Brian chose to go with her. After her misadventure with Brian, Lydia recognized how foolish her first attempt had been—not that she’d ever admit such to Brian. Perhaps she could try speaking with her father, explain her feelings about the marriage…

Sir William nodded. “The wedding will be rescheduled one week from today.”  Her father did not even have the decency to throw an apologetic glance in her direction.

“Papa, wait—”

“Not now, Lydia,” he cut impatiently.

Lydia’s heart plummeted. No one questioned Sir William, and deep down she knew he would never entertain the idea of releasing her from the contract.

Lord Northbridge speared her with his beady eyes. The heat of his gaze positively lecherous, as though he wished to burn the clothes from her flesh. The gaping stare left her feeling terribly exposed…
dirty.
Unwittingly she curled her arms defensively about her middle, and flicked her eyes to meet his. A sudden wave of nausea churned her stomach. Pure intensity shown in the viscount’s gaze.
Was it desire?
  Possibly, but no kindness reflected back at her. Glittering at the surface of his eyes she saw only raw lust and perhaps an element of resentment. Did he know she’d been about to denounce him?

Frightened she broke the contact of their eyes. Lord Northbridge would not be a kind husband or a gentle lover for that matter. She gulped, mentally cringing away from the viscount’s ruddy cheeks, paunchy middle, and flaccid hands. Her gaze flew to Brian hoping he’d noticed the silent exchange.

He hadn’t. Instead Brian stared grimly down at his hands, continuing to avoid eye contact with her. It was difficult not to compare the two men, though really, there was nothing to compare. Where the viscount was soft Brian was firm and toned of both body and mind. Northbridge’s complexion was pasty and flushed while Brian’s was bronzed and healthy. Lord in heaven, but Brian looked incredible sitting across the room, his dark hair carelessly tousled and crisp white shirt stretching across his broad chest and shoulders. Brian held a nonchalant command presence. The aura one might expect a duke to portray, but rarely witnessed. Even in the company of her father, betrothed, and the magistrate the mere sight of Brian heated her blood—her entire body. A heat she would never experience if she didn’t find some way to halt the proceedings in one week’s time.

“Very good. I will see to it the announcements are posted with all haste.”  Northbridge flipped his snuff box open, took a pinch, and ambled toward the door. “Oh, and one other thing, Miss Covington,” he addressed Lydia verbally for the first time since she’d entered the parlor, his gaze chilling. “You have one week to see that urchin to an orphanage or I’ll see that he is taken care of myself.”

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.”