Thief of Hearts (38 page)

But she broke her promise. She awoke from a dream that she was naked, serving tea and cakes to the Middaughs in her aunt's drawing room. They were scandalized. "I'm fainting!" cried Constantia, covering her eyes, but Anna was powerless, trapped, inexplicably doomed to serving tea in the nude forevermore. Awake and staring, she felt Brodie's hand on her breast. There was no moonlight now, and the dark, heavy truth descended on her in full force and without mercy: she was lying in her father's bed beside a man who was not her husband. Still, when his sleeping fingers twitched, she felt an instantaneous pull in her loins and an urge to turn to him.

Footsteps, the rattle of a tray in the corridor. Anna leapt up, knocking Brodie's arm aside. "Wait," he mumbled to her speeding back as she raced naked across the room and into the dressing room, just as Pearlman knocked quietly and pushed open the door from the hall.

In the bathtub, she washed her toes dispiritedly and lay back in the sudsy water, moaning. Muscles whose existence she'd never even suspected were aching in the oddest way. Rather than recall all the interesting ways in which she'd acquired her aches and pains, she forced herself to confront the dreadful suspicion that she had fallen in love. It would be mortifying to admit that she had given herself to a man she did
not
love, and yet she'd have settled for that, gladly, over this other, much more horrible possibility. The thought of Brodie leaving was already so painful, she could hardly bear to think of it. If she loved him, she reasoned, it would be a hundred times worse. Although she couldn't imagine it being any worse. She covered her face with her hands and recalled last night's compelling order of events. For a few seconds she entertained the notion that she'd gone to him because she'd been desperate with jealousy over Jenny. But it was no comfort, because it wasn't true. She had gone to him because she'd wanted him.

She could see only one thing to do. If it wasn't already too late, she had to put an end to this weakness, this physical enslavement to Brodie, because it would cripple her later, after he went away. Was that brave or cowardly? she wondered unhappily. Probably neither; just self-preserving. Would he be angry? She'd explain it so that he understood. If he really cared for her, he would see she needed to protect herself. She didn't want to hurt him, she would rather hurt herself! but it seemed the best, the most sensible course. And if they both tried, surely they could…

All at once the door burst open, she hadn't locked it; no Jourdaine would violate a closed bathroom door and Brodie strode in. She let out a shriek and closed up in a ball. Then blushed, knowing she looked ridiculous.

"Feeling dirty, Annie? Couldn't wait to get clean?"

His snarling ferocity bewildered her. "That's not" She broke off and jumped when he slammed the door shut with his foot. "What are you doing in here? Would you please get out so I can—"

"No." He came closer, knelt beside her. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm…What do you mean?"

"What are you
hiding
?"

She blushed again, but didn't unwind from her tight crouch in the bathtub.

He reached for her right hand, which was gripping her left shoulder, and started to pry her fingers away. She squealed and batted at him, splashing bath water everywhere. There was a tap at the door and Judith came in, carrying an armful of underclothes. She saw Brodie and braked to a halt, gaping.

"Get out," he snapped, standing up.

"No! Stay, Judith."

"I said get out."

"Stay!"

Brodie put one hand on Judith's shoulder, spun her around, and gave her a firm shove out the door.

Anna went purple with shock. "Damn you!"

It stunned them both.

Brodie's pale eyes narrowed; his mouth thinned to a grim line. He stuck his head out the door and called down the hall, "You're fired! Two weeks pay and a surly reference, that's all you get!" The second slamming of the door rattled the windows.

Anna's fists balled with fury. She gave a choked cry when he bent down and hauled her to her feet, hands under her arms, drenching himself. He stuck one booted foot in the tub and pressed her back against the wall. His mouth cut off the beginnings of a fine tirade and his slippery hands slid everywhere, rough and urgent, exciting her effortlessly. She felt the cold sting of the tiles on her buttocks, the heat of his body against her breasts and belly. Slowly his kiss turned unbearably sweet, and the sound of her name on his lips melted her. Her wet arms crept around his shoulders.

"You can't get away from me," he growled against her lips. "You're not allowed to show a man salvation and then yank it out from under him like a rug."

"Please," she whimpered, "you don't understand."

"I understand everything. But I'm not letting you get away with it, I don't care how scared you are. Christ, Annie, I want you right now, and you'd let me. You would, and we both know it. But I've got a meeting with Dougherty and I can't be late. But if I didn't, I swear I'd lie down in this tub and make you lie on top of me, and then I'd make you come and come and—"

"Stop! Stop, oh God!"

He pulled her hands away from her ears. "You're going to sleep in my bed again tonight, and every night until they come and drag me away."

"No!"

He took her hands away again, and pinned her wrists behind her back. "Like it or not, and for as long as it lasts, you're mine." He kissed her fiercely, pulled his dripping boot out of the tub, and left her alone.

"There you are, Anna. Where have you been all morning?"

"Oh… in my room."

Aunt Charlotte peered at her curiously, then went back to making unnecessary last-minute changes to the table setting.

Anna fingered a linen napkin for a moment, then asked in an offhand way, "Have you seen Jenny this morning?"

"Didn't you know? She left quite early and unexpectedly."

"Left! Where did she go?"

"She went to visit Helen Terry in Manchester."

"Helen? But—"

"The girl's been asking her to visit since they left school last year. Jenny was tired of saying no, and decided this morning to just go and get it over with."

"Oh. Did she leave word, or say anything to you about… "

"About what?"

"Nothing."

Her aunt stared at her over the water goblet she was holding up to the light. "You don't intend to wear that to luncheon, I hope."

Anna looked down at her green dress. "This? I... Why not?"

"Have you forgotten the vicar is coming?"

"The vicar! Oh… "

"What is the matter with you today, Anna?"

She gave a little helpless laugh. "I don't know," she said, truthfully. "I can't seem to keep my thoughts together, I'll run up and change."

She moved listlessly down the hall toward the foyer, dragging her fingertips along the wainscot. At the foot of the staircase, she heard a noise at the front door. When she turned, Brodie came through, and stopped when he saw her. Streaming sunlight through the stained-glass window tinted his skin a beguiling rose and set the dark red in his hair on fire. His tall, straight body was beautiful, his face beloved. But it was the quiet, waiting hope in his eyes that undid her. Without a thought, she raced to meet him, her arms outflung, face radiant. She cut off his relieved laughter with an exuberant kiss, and hugged him until he lifted her up and twirled her around, two feet off the ground.

They held on, smiling into each other's eyes, until Anna remembered to ask, "Why did you come home? Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. Aiden told me what you did, and then I had to see you."

"What did I do?"

"You hired a man to investigate Mary's murder for me."

"Oh." She made a move as if to turn away, but he kept her hands. "He wasn't supposed to tell," she muttered, coloring.

"I know, he let it slip by accident." He tilted her face up gently. "Thank you. No one's ever done anything like that for me before."

"You're welcome," she whispered, shy.

"Why didn't you want me to know?"

"Because" she thought fast, "because I didn't want you to be disappointed if they don't find anything."

He smiled and shook his head. "I don't believe you, sweet Annie. You didn't tell because you were afraid I'd think it meant that you cared for me. You do, don't you?"

Before she could answer, he kissed her again, and then she couldn't speak at all. But finally, pressing against him, she pulled her mouth away to say, "I didn't tell you because I was afraid you'd take advantage. You see I was right." A new kiss began, deepened, started over again. The rightness of it, the impeccable wholeness she felt in being with him demolished her last scruple. Without regret, she gave herself to him, body and heart.

They jumped and turned together at a sharp knock at the door, and saw the solemn black outline of the vicar through the stained-glass window.

"Reverend Bury!" she cried in a whisper, breaking free.

Brodie swore. "We're not through." They were standing beside the door to the hall closet. Before she could react, he opened it and pulled her inside.

"What are you doing?"

"Shh."

A second later they heard the maid's voice, greeting the vicar, and then the sound of her footsteps as she left him in the hall and went to fetch her mistress. Anna stood stiff and silent, terrified of making a sound.

"Ah, Reverend Bury," trilled Aunt Charlotte, as Brodie slowly, slyly, began to unbutton Anna's dress. She gasped, and tried to sink her nails into his wrists. "My niece will be down in just a moment. Didn't Delia take your hat?" Anna froze. He had the whole front of her dress open and was unhooking her corset. What if Aunt Charlotte put the vicar's hat in the closet? "We were hoping Sir Thomas could join us, but he's not quite… "

He ripped open her chemise, muffling her shocked squeal with his mouth, scorching her breasts with his fingertips. Footsteps retreated into the drawing room, the room beyond the wall Anna's back was pressed against.

"Turn around."

"What?" Her knees were trembling, and not from fear of discovery.

"Turn around," he said, louder.

She could clearly hear the vicar's stiff laugh, her aunt offering sherry. Brodie turned her around. Then somehow, before she could think, he got both hands under her skirts and lifted them to her waist. "Oh my God," she moaned, and reached for the two coat hooks over her head.

"I knew you'd be wet, Annie," he murmured against her neck, nuzzling her, gloating.

The vicar was talking about next week's bazaar. "Why are you doing this?" she asked in a desperate whisper as he caressed her. The rustling sound of skirts and petticoats and crinolines sounded shockingly loud.

"Because you make me crazy. I can't keep my hands off you, can't stop thinking about you. Open your legs."

"Degenerate!" she breathed against the wall, but she opened her legs. "Oh...oh!"

"Shh," he warned, groaning, trying not to laugh, "don't let 'em hear us
now
." Through the wall, Aunt Charlotte was offering her back yard in August for the ladies' choir tea.

"I hate you, John Brodie," Anna said weakly, almost weeping.

"No, you don't, you like me. And you like this, admit it."

"I can't stand you and I can't stand...ow!"

"What? What is it?"

"My hair, you've got your—"

"Oh, sorry." He moved, untrapping her hair between the wall and his forehead. "Turn your head and kiss me."

"Anna! Anna?"

She froze again, but Brodie did not.

"Delia, go upstairs and see where my niece is."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Kiss me, Annie, give me your tongue."

"This is what you really came home for," she panted, "not to thank me but to—"

"Kiss me."

She did.

Dimly they heard the maid on the stairs, returning. "You might as well let go," Brodie said, with difficulty. "I can hold out much longer than you." A bald-faced lie if there ever was one, but she didn't know it. "Let go," he coaxed, stroking with the heel of his hand, then one soft, insistent finger. "Let go, sweetheart." In the instant when she decided to take his advice, the explosion started. She made a whimpering sound and went stiff. When she cried out, he put his hand gently over her mouth. She bit down, unthinking, and the extra sensation sent him over the edge with her. He muffled his own groan into her hair, pulling her tight against him.

"… not in her room at all, ma'am. Judith hasn't seen her either."

He turned her around and held her, breathing hard, kissing her. "You hired Judith again," he accused, when he could speak. Her skin was damp and sweet, her hair tumbled around her shoulders. She didn't answer. "Are you angry? Did I hurt you?" He thought she shook her head. "Don't be mad, I couldn't help myself. I'll never do it again." A weak, disbelieving laugh was her response. He helped her dress, both of them groping at buttons in the dark. There were no more voices outside; Aunt Charlotte must have taken the vicar into the dining room.

He put his hands on either side of her invisible face and held her. She felt his breath, then his lips on hers, light as a whisper. "I know why you're frightened, and I don't blame you. If I were you, I wouldn't want anything to do with me either. Why you like me at all is a mystery to me. But you do." He paused, and moved his hands to her throat, lightly stroking. His low voice deepened. "Don't throw what we have away, Annie. I'm asking you to let me love you for as long as we've got. What difference does it make that it's not forever?" He felt her swallow, felt her hot tears on his fingers. "Please don't cry. It's not sad, it's good. Let it be good for as long as it lasts. I love you, Annie. I love you."

She took a deep, shuddering breath and told him. "I love you too."

Brodie closed his eyes, and his restless hands went still. She felt him trembling. She put both arms around him and they stood for countless minutes, lost in the sweet, sad ache of their love. She pulled away to wipe her face. "I never thought that I would tell you that," she whispered, snuffling, "in a closet."