Forget Me Not (5 page)

Her stomach floundered and then tripped over her heart. Just listening to him talk, even if he was insufferable, held her enraptured. Such a rogue. It was what had drawn her to him at the country ball all those years ago…  With the thought of the country ball, so came the reminder that Brian did not remember her. Her anger faltered leaving little more than a lonely ache in its wake.

Oh, but it wasn’t fair. Men like Brian Donnelly probably had women fawning over their every word and smile. Gorgeous, perfectly blonde women like Cressida Riverton.

Internally Lydia groaned.

Just thinking of Cressida left a sour taste on her tongue. All the nasty little jibes…
Fortune hunter… Social climber…
Such was the perception of the ton regardless of who, or rather, what her father was, and Lydia was left in a perpetual state of societal limbo. She was not a member of the aristocracy—at least not as of now—and yet her father’s political station and wealth pulled them a step above working class. She was an outcast. All she wanted was to escape. To escape, pick up a new life, and simply… be free…

Men like Brian were free to make their own decisions and way in the world.

And just what was Brian’s story? He struck her as a roving soul of sorts. The type who never said or did quite what was expected, and while the fact was anything but appropriate, it was extremely refreshing… not to mention irresistible. He obviously had some education, he’d held an officer’s commission after all, but he was anything but an eloquent, courtly gentleman. All she really knew was that he’d served in the Army, knew her father, had saved her life, and lastly did not remember her. The knowledge was a stab clean through the heart and suddenly she felt quite ordinary again, no, Brian Donnelly was sure not to remember her. Or perhaps he did remember her and simply didn’t like her… The thought was rather depressing.

She stared at him again, studying him with rapt attention. Perfection personified. He looked surprisingly young relaxing in the glow of the afternoon sun, but for all her study nothing of his regard for her could be discerned…

“Yes?” he asked, eyes still closed.

Her jaw flopped open. How had he known?  Did he have a sixth sense?  Thoroughly embarrassed she harrumphed back into the grass, fury renewed, and crossed her arms firmly over her chest. Several minutes of silence passed and she made absolutely certain to look everywhere but the man lying in the sweet smelling field beside her. At the very least she didn’t look at him directly. His sixth sense did not seem able to detect her peripheral perusal.

At long last Brian rolled cautiously to his knees.

“All right, Miss Lydia, I think we’re safe for the moment.”  He held a hand down to her. She promptly ignored it and stood herself, brushing long blades of grass from her breeches. He smirked away her snub, seeming to enjoy flustering her. “Be on yer guard, lass, those men will be on the hunt for us, ye can bet they won’t be goin’ back to Felix Keith until we’re good and dead.”

Out of the haven their grass shelter had provided the events and reality of the last hours came crashing back around her, crushing any semblance of calm. Fear swirled in her mind, and she folded tight arms across her chest as though for protection. She turned to Brian. “Who exactly is Felix Keith?  I’ve known the man my entire life and last night I watched him kill a man.” 
Poor Lucas
. Tears swam in her eyes as the threads holding her world together unraveled. “And where are we?”  Her eyes bobbed about the clearing and she paced a few steps toward the woods they’d run through. Or… had they come from
that
direction… 
Bother! 
“We’re lost.”.

“Lydia.”  Brian caught her arm and tugged her back to stand before him. He settled his large hands on her upper arms
and offered
a reassuring smile. “Do ye always worry about everything at once?”

In spite of herself she gave him a wobbly smile. “Yes. My stepmother never ceases to wonder that my head does not explode. She believes I think too much.”

“Ah, there is no such thing as too much thinkin’, Miss Lydia.”  Gentle fingers tipped her chin, his gaze soft upon her. “Don’t let anyone tell ye different.”

The musical lilt of his brogue soaked her in a magical calm. As she looked over his face, all anger was forgotten. His eyes were hypnotic, entrancing, and it was more than the pale hue contrasting vividly with his dark good looks, or the wrought intelligence glittering on the surface. There was something hidden in their depths, a secret she keenly felt compelled to solve.

Shivers prickled across her flesh emanating from her spine, Brian Donnelly unsettled her in a fashion that was most certainly not proper. All the man need do is look at her and she tingled from the tips of her fingers to the tips of her toes. Awareness of all else ceased. All she knew was
the heat of his hands, the rustle of the breeze through his hair. She was acutely aware of just how tall he was, her head barely reached his shoulder, and of the intensity reflected in his gaze.

Brusquely he stepped back, dropping his hand from her arms as a shield flashed over his eyes masking all of the affection and intensity she’d seen just seconds before. The moment shattered. “First things first.”  He turned to face the southern edge of the trees. “We need to decide which direction to travel. I’d wager our best bet is to head south.”

“Do you think we’re near the Scottish border?”

“Aye.”  He nodded seriously. “I’m not sure how far north we’ve traveled, but judging by the set of the sun I’d say we were in that cart a good eight hours. We need to stay off the main roads as much as possible, but I’m confident we will run across a village or farm before too long and find out just where we are. Don’t worry, lass, I’ll have ye safely back to Wheaton Abbey in a day. Two at most.”

“You can’t think I’m going back to Wheaton Abbey,” Lydia scoffed, voice rising in panic. “Felix Keith is there, and for all I know my father is involved with this murdering business.”

“If not home then where did ye plan to be goin’?”

“Scotland,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Edinburgh to be exact. I have an aunt there.”  A sense of direction had never been one of her strong points, and she turned a slow circle, attempting to gain her bearings.

“Scotland?”  Brian threw his head back in a bark of hearty laughter. “Ye can’t still be serious about runnin’ away.”

She leveled him with her most withering glare. “As a matter of fact I am.”

“The hell ye are.” He shook his head, wiping an amused smile from his face, and sobered. “If ye haven’t noticed, Miss Lydia, men are hunting you. Hunting us. Like animals.”

She turned away from him, striking off in the direction she took to be north. “All the more reason for me
not
to return to
Wheaton Abbey
.

Brian caught her arm, spinning her back to face him. “I can hardly believe yer father has any part in this. And I’ve no doubt Sir William is extremely worried about ye. Ye must return home to assure yer parents that yer safe.”

“Spare me the lecture.”  Lydia shrugged. “I wrote a letter. I’m sure Sir William will understand once he finds it, he sent me plenty over the years explaining why he couldn’t be home.”

“And just what are ye goin’ to do for money or supplies, lass?”

A hand flew to Lydia’s throat. “I am not without funds—” she stopped short. All her money and jewelry was gone, stolen in the attack. Stubbornly she jutted her chin. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”  She jerked out of his grasp, backing away.

“Oh, really?  And is that why we are in this mess?  Because ye’re capable of lookin’ out fer yerself. Christ, lass, ye’ve nearly gotten us killed twice in the last hour. Last night, if I hadn’t come along—”

“If you hadn’t come along, Lady Jane and I would be free and clear on our own.”

Brian rolled his eyes. Heat crept into her cheeks. The irritation lining his features made it clear he didn’t take her seriously. She would give anything to wipe the smug disregard from his eyes.

“Just go away! I never asked for your help.” Again she showed him her back, marching into the trees. “You are free of any obligation.”

“It doesn’t matter if ye asked fer me help or not, Lydia. We’re in this together like it or not.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” she shot over her shoulder. “Go away.”

“Lydia, stop this madness.” He ordered. “I cannot just leave ye here. An innocent girl such as yerself won’t last a day alone.”

Innocent girl? 
She bristled and continued walking. “I’ll be fine. I’m traveling to my aunt remember.” 
Heavy handed brute.
The last thing she needed was yet another man telling her
what to do and how to think. Getting over the fantasy of Brian Donnelly wouldn’t be near as difficult as she’d imagined now that she’d had a taste of the real man.

Brian caught up and walked backward in front of her. “Ye won’t be fine. Please listen to reason.”  He splayed his palms before her, imploringly. “No one is goin’ to help a young woman travelin’ alone dressed in
that
.”  He flicked his gaze the length of her boy’s attire. “And if ye’re not attacked and
raped
by highwaymen, ye’ll likely starve to death.”

Raped? 
Lydia gulped, heart pattering faster, she’d not considered that.

Brian reached forward, squeezing her upper arms warmly, almost affectionately. “Ye see, lass, these things must be thought through. Planned out. After our little jaunt through the woods yer white as a sheet and shakin’ like a leaf.”  His tone softened, capitalizing on her hesitation. “Let me help ye.”

The words battered the stubborn wall surrounding her mind. Brian spoke reason, but now that she’d finally found the strength to take hold of her own destiny she didn’t want to think sensibly.

“Very well.”  She looked Brian dead in the eye. “Would you help me runaway?”

Chapter Three

Profound shock embedded every facet of Brian’s face. “Err—shh—what?”  He tripped over a log and fell into a heap on the ground. “No. Out of the question.”

Lydia stood over him, hands planted firmly on her hips. “Why not?  If you’re so intent on keeping me safe, why not see me to Scotland?”

Brian glared as though she’d lost her mind. “Would ye kindly drop the charade?  You and I both know ye have no real intention of runnin’ anywhere.”

Incredulous, Lydia’s jaw flopped open. “You don’t believe me?”

“No.”  He stood, dusting the grass from his trousers, a muscle working testily in his jaw. “No I don’t. I believe ye would entertain the notion of runnin’ away, perhaps run yer horse about in the woods for a few hours to appear missin’, but do not insult my intelligence by insistin’ ye’d be so daft as to forsake yer very future.”  He bowed mockingly at the waist. “
Milady.
”

“Do not call me that!”  Heat flared in her cheeks, though his jab struck a chord of truth deep within her. Fervently she shoved it away.

“And why not?  Ye are to be a viscountess.”

“Not if I can help it,” Lydia grumbled.

“Would ye really have me believe ye’d leave it all behind?  The money, the clothes, the status?  I think not, Miss Lydia.” All semblance of good humor fled. “The poor little rich girl doesn’t want to be a viscountess. The poor little rich girl who has—”

She stepped abruptly toward him, jabbing an indignant finger into his chest. “Do not pretend to know anything about my life.”

“Ha!  I don’t have to pretend, Miss Lydia, I know. I know ye’ve never had to work for a bloody farthin’ in yer life. I know little girls are prone to romantic fancy.”  Sharp anger gilded his tone, he folded brawny arms across his chest, glowering down at her. “You are spoiled and selfish and have not a clue about life’s hardships.”

Lydia blanched, willing the blush creeping down her neck away.

“As of this moment,” he said, with a firm militaristic efficiency, “ye are my responsibility and ye’re goin’ back to the Abbey if I have to carry ye half way across England to get ye there. Once we’re back I don’t care what ye do. Runaway, get married, argue with yer parents. I. Don’t. Care.”

“Then why not let me go now?” she spat, biting her cheek to stem the onslaught of threatening tears. “You don’t care,” she mimicked caustically, turning away.

“
God
damnit
, Lydia!”  Brutally he grasped her arm. She winced, and he loosened the hold without releasing her. His eyes bore into her, imploring, as though to read her thoughts, see into her soul. “Have ye listened to a word I’ve said?  Not all of us were born with silver spoons in our mouths. I happen to
need
the job workin’ for yer father. If I return without ye, that’s it, I’m out.
And
Sir William will probably kill me with his bare hands.”  The hand dropped from her arm, his voice growing soft. “Would ye do this fer me, lass? 
I
need
your
help.”

Brian needs me? 
Lydia paused. No one had ever needed her before. She was a fixture around Wheaton Abbey, a ghostlike entity meant to smile sweetly at her father’s political guests, but in all be seen not heard.

She keenly sensed being maneuvered, but just the same, the anger and belittlement faded away. Truthfully her father would never forgive Brian if he returned to the Abbey without her. Sir William was perfectly amiable as long as everything was done exactly his way.

“And what of your aunt,” he continued. “Goin’ to Scotland could put her in danger as well.”

Her breath caught. Aunt Madeline was Lydia’s last living connection to her mother. If anything happened to Maddie… “Very well.”  Gustily she sighed. “I’ll return with you to
Wheaton Abbey
. But don’t expect me to stay for long once I’m there.”  Olivia and her father would likely lock her away and see her married by nightfall the day she returned. The thought was wholly disheartening.

The corner of his lips quirked.

Damn him
, she’d been within an inch of freedom. An inch!  “Do not laugh at me.”  She shot a warning finger in his direction.

He held his hands up, warding off her attack. “I’m not laughin’. What ye do once yer home is your prerogative. Truce?”  And then he smiled. The warm melting smile belonging to her Captain Donnelly. Every hope and dream rushed to the forefront of her mind, and warmth rushed through her veins.

“Agreed.”

“Excellent. First things first.”  He nodded seriously and turned to face the southern edge of the trees. “We need to decide which direction to travel. I’d wager our best bet is to head south. I’m not sure how far north we’ve traveled, but judging by the set of the sun I’d say we were in that cart a good eight hours perhaps longer. We need to stay off the main roads as much as possible, but I’m confident we will run across a village or farm before too long and find out just where we are.”

“Perhaps find some clothes or shelter… and food.”  As though on cue, her stomach grumbled testily. Dejected, Lydia eyed their rustic surroundings she did not find battling the elements to return to a place she’d nearly been murdered the least bit appealing. “You don’t seem overly concerned by our predicament, Mr. Donnelly.”

“No need worryin’ over that which we have no control.”  His tone was matter-of-fact. “Now, I hear a stream just across the way if you’d like a drink.”

Her ears pricked tuning to the soothing babble of a brook drifting along the breeze. Her spirit lifted. Eagerly she licked parched lips, and took Brian’s proffered hand. Relief flooded her senses, though she didn’t want to admit it was because he was right… that deep down she’d had no real intention of running clear to Scotland. She shoved the thoughts away, concentrating on
Brian. He made everything sound so simple. Despite their circumstances she was relaxing. Suddenly being lost in the woods with the knight of her dreams didn’t sound so bad after all.

*
             
*
             
*

Poised by the stream combing slender fingers through the length of her hair Lydia resembled a woodland nymph. Sunlight filtered through the treetops bathing her in luminescent, dancing rays. Red and blonde undertones enhanced the vast dimension of her hair and he hungered to bury his hands in the soft waves. As a man starved Brian absorbed every curve of the perfection before him. She stood with eyes cast downward angling away from him. The white boy’s shirt draped loosely across her figure, and the boy’s breeches accentuated the luscious curves. With her arms raised, working the hair behind her head, the thin fabric stretched taut over the swell of her bosom showing a hint of the raised nipples beneath. His eyes traveled down, taking in the arc of her waist so tiny it begged for a man to fit his hands around it, to the flare of her round hips. She was perfect.

Her golden brown eyes, soft and radiant, lifted without warning to lock on his. His heart stopped cold in his chest, the passage of time ceased, and he knew the all too familiar sense of being sucked into the vast oblivion of her eyes. God help him he wanted her, had to remind himself to breathe for his entire body forgot even the most basic of functions in her presence.

When he looked into those honey butter eyes naught but the sweetest innocence reflected back to him. For years he’d told himself that coming face to face Lydia Covington—the woman he’d never manage to banish from his dreams—would shatter what remained of the illusion of her. Instead all desire intensified. Her hard headed vulnerability made it all the worse. After their brief encounter years before he’d tried over and again to convince himself the sense of falling in love was nothing more than an orphan’s romantic fancy, but to no avail. Watching her now the ache in his loins, be it from love or lust—with lust being the far more logical of the two—grew unbearably. If she proved to be the wanton flirt she’d behaved as four years ago he’d never manage to return her to Sir William intact. The act of such self-control would be deserving of sainthood. He was not prone to such acts.

“Brian?”

The combination of her sweet lilting voice and watching her perfectly plump lips form his name drove him to the brink… mind, body… perhaps even his soul was affected by the mere sound of her voice.

“Brian?  Is everything all right?”

“We should be goin’,” he barked gruffly. Executing a crisp about face, he marched straight through the icy stream. If the winter runoff chilling the waters didn’t dampen the heat and throbbing in his trousers, nothing would.
By Christ I’m in trouble.

“What will we do next, Mr. Donnelly?”

“Would ye stop callin’ me that?” he
barked testily. “My name is Br
i
a
n.
Brian
. Ye used me Christian name not thirty seconds ago. Please continue to do so. I hate to be called mister or sir.”

“Very well,
Brian,
” she overemphasized so sarcastically he could imagine her eyes rolling. “Now, will you please tell me what you plan to do next?”

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, chancing a glance in her direction. “I’ve not figured it all out yet,” he replied, glad for the distracting chatter. “I would like to travel as discreetly as possible back into central England. We don’t know who to trust and I’ll not take any chances with yer safety.”

Lydia fell into stride to the left and slightly behind him. He could
feel
her there.

She sighed gustily, and by damn he could feel that too. “Do you have any idea what is going on at Wheaton Abbey?  You spend considerably more time there than I do, and I just cannot seem to wrap my head around any of what’s happened to us. I’ve never been shot at before.”  The last was little more than a whisper.

Brian glanced back to her, and unwittingly his heart softened. Lydia had calmed considerably after the chance to drink from the stream and splash water on her face, but the poor girl still looked stricken. Her milky skin was a shade too pale, her eyes drawn and tired. The world as she knew it had been thrown into upheaval. It struck him suddenly just how fragile she was… fragile and completely vulnerable. Lydia needed him in a way none ever had before…

Oh, but he didn’t want to see her that way. Didn’t want to see her susceptibility or perceive her as delicate and breakable. Once that door opened he’d start to care, and not just about seeing her safely home, but about
her
. He didn’t want to care about her. Not anymore. All he wanted was to remind himself that she was nothing but an exceptionally spoiled chit—her insistence in running away proved that—who’d found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But, in this moment, gazing into the warm liquid pools of her eyes his mind wouldn’t listen to reason.

Lydia watched him expectantly. “Is there a reason we’ve stopped walking?”

“Pardon?” 
Stopped?  What was the girl talking about?  They hadn’t sto— 
Brian tore his gaze away from her face to glance around the wood. Instead of walking in a southerly direction just in front of Lydia he had in fact stopped and turned to face her.
Hell, Donnelly, you’re a blithering idiot!  All the lass need do is look at you and you can’t manage to walk and talk at the same time.
“Er, I was just, uh, checkin’ to be sure we’re headed in the right direction.”

She gave him a queer look, tilted her face to the sky, and finally looked back to him. “Are we headed in the right direction?”  More than a hint of skepticism laced her tone.

“Of course. Shall we keep movin’ then?”  He held out an arm, cursing his green behavior, and fell into stride beside her. “Now, to answer yer question—” 
What had she asked him about?  
“I’m not entirely certain what happened at the Abbey last night, though I am comin’ to believe Felix Keith is more dangerous than I have given him credit for in past dealings. Crooked as the moon is sure he is, but I never thought him to be more than a petite, hands off, sort of criminal.”

“What sort of past dealings?”

“I came to work fer your father a little over nine months ago in his stables. Keith was a frequent visitor. At first I didn’t think much of it, but as time went on I realized how much of the staff seemed to answer to Keith. After a couple of months I saw Keith paying a few of the men I worked with though I never knew for what.”

“Did you never ask?”

“Too many questions can cause a world of hurt, Miss Lydia. I’ve learned it often behooves a body to keep his eyes open but his mouth shut.”

“Oh.” She seemed to contemplate the statement. “Did it work for you?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “Three months ago I was approached by Roark about an opportunity to work for Felix Keith. Roark waved a heavy purse beneath me nose and said that Mr. Keith paid well for loyalty. I asked what type of loyalty, but in order to find out I was required to complete a series of tasks, and be deemed worthy of Mr. Keith’s employment. Needless to say I forwent the opportunity.”

Her gaze locked seriously with his, worry dampened her eyes. “Do you think my father or the viscount could be involved?”