Forget Me Not (6 page)

Brian released a weighty sigh. “That I cannot tell ye, lass. Never did I see yer father conspirin’ with any of the men I knew to be Keith’s, at least not in anythin’ more than an everyday manner. On a personal note I do not believe yer father part of the criminal activities. He is an honorable man. As for Lord Northbridge, to be perfectly honest, and please, Miss Lydia, forgive my baldness, but his lordship has always seemed a rather dull sort.”  Brian trained a handful of the viscount’s horses as well as Sir William’s.

A burst of laughter escaped Lydia, she clasped a hand over her mouth. “I couldn’t agree with you more. The category of his interests seems to encompass his horses, his dogs, and, well, his dogs. Did you know when he speaks to me he uses one word commands,
sit
,” she masked her voice with a gruff quality,” or,
stay
?  On occasion he might say
sit, Miss Covington
.”  She smiled though the gesture did not reach her eyes. “As if I am one of his dogs.”

“I say, deplorable manners for a man of such breeding.”  He tried to smile at her humor, but it tweaked his conscious to no end that the man obviously had no appreciation for this woman. Spoiled or no Lydia possessed an excellent sense of humor. Hell, this little adventure may not be so bad if they could laugh a bit. “In any case, I know a man who may be able to help us, he lives near Wheaton Abbey.”  He chanced a glance over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth quirked in a wry smile. “However, my first priority is finding you some suitable attire, unless of course you’d prefer to traipse along in your boy’s clothes.

Eyes flashing with good humor, she hurried to match stride alongside him. “Some real clothing would be exceedingly preferable, but how do you propose we acquire said items seeing as we have no funds or supplies?”

He grinned down at her. “Do ye still have it in you to trust me?”

“I do,” she replied without hesitation, his heart warmed to hear such.

“Then know I am not without my ways.”  Squinting playfully into her eyes, he displayed both hands for her to see before brushing the right behind her ear and brandishing a silver coin.

Her eyes widened with delight as she took the coin from his fingers.

“I say, Miss Lydia, you rich girls are fairly drippin’ with money.”

She giggled. “Very funny, Mr. Donnelly.”

“Brian.”

“Brian,” she conceded, biting her lip as though to conceal the grin spilling over her teeth. “Seeing as you can pull money from thin air I wonder if I couldn’t trouble you for some more suitable shoes.” She stuck out the heel of her battered brown boot. “I’m afraid these old boots don’t fit quite right.”

“Unfortunately my talents are limited to smaller items such as coins, but I vow to have ye properly shod, clothed, and fed before the day is out. We can’t be havin’ ye with blisters on yer feet.” He winked before turning his attention back to the terrain.

“Brian?” she asked hesitantly. “Why are you doing this for me?”  He looked back, directly into her raised eyes, and the swirling emotion he saw there caused his breath to catch. The air was thick with it. “You have risked your life to save mine, even when I proved more a hindrance than help, and I don’t know how to thank you for all you’ve done.”

“No need for thanks. Any man would have done the same.”

“No,” she breathed, “no, any man would not.”

A rocky incline lay just ahead, saving him from the need to make an immediate answer. He was terrified of letting the raw truth of his feelings for her shine through. A woman like her would laugh at him for daring to desire her. She was to be a viscountess. Her station ranked so far above him it was a wonder she didn’t float above the grass. Reaching back he took her hand to help her across the incline, trying to ignore the warmth of her small fingers encased in his.

“Now could I trouble you with a question, Miss Lydia?”

“Certainly.”

“Why are ye so intent upon runnin’ away?”

She cast him a wary glance. “From now on I am making decisions for myself. I’m tired of being treated like a child.”

A bark of hearty laughter escaped him. “And runnin’ away is yer idea of makin’ an adult decision?” He shook his head.

She swatted irritably at the hand he extended to assist her over a drainage ditch, and glared. “No one takes me seriously. I wanted to start a new life.”

“What? Marryin’ some high and mighty lord wasn’t grand enough? Just what sort of life were ye plannin’ to start in Scotland?”

“I’ll have you know I planned to secure a governess position.”

“A workin’ woman. Really? And who would hire the delinquent daughter of a powerful man?”

A brilliant hue flamed to life in her cheeks. At least three shades of red. He rather enjoyed seeing her blush.

“Ye hadn’t thought about that had ye?”

The scarlet in her cheeks trickled down her neck and up into her hairline.

Victory
, he’d successfully called her bluff. “Miss Lydia, if ye want people to stop treatin’ ye like a child—” He paused for emphasis. “—don’t act like one.”

“Oh!” Her brow arced regally. “How dare you presume to lecture me about matters you know nothing about?  For your information I did have a plan, and money hidden away. You would never understand why I chose to leave, why I have no desire to marry Lord Northbridge or any other ‘high and mighty lord’ as you so aptly put it. Think what you will, sir, but I have
no
wish
to discuss my
childish
behavior with you.”

They stood not six inches apart glaring at one another in silence. After a long moment Lydia gave an imperial toss of her head, squared her shoulders, and swept past him as one squashing a bug beneath her shoe. It was official. He was beneath her notice.

For hours the two of them trekked in silence through the woods paralleling the road their captors had likely driven along. Time and again he thought to apologize, but stubborn pride won out every time he began to open his mouth. Grudgingly he had to admit being impressed. Not once did Lydia protest to the pace or complain of the conditions, and few women of his acquaintance would have the moxie to ram a pitchfork through a grown man’s thigh. She seemed to trust in him completely, it was humbling and it was fostering an overwhelming need not to disappoint her.

As the sun continued to travel across the afternoon sky Brian doubted his ability to fulfill the promise of food, clothing, and shelter before nightfall. He knew Lydia was tired and, if the ache in his belly was any indication, likely starving. More and more frequently he was required to prod her along to prevent her falling behind, she was much too delicate for this degree of hard travel. He shook his head,
to think the lass planned to take off on horseback alone
.

“Wait here,” he commanded. “Stay in the trees.”  He couldn’t believe his good fortune. A fork lay in the road just ahead. The battered remnant of a road sign was visible in the thick underbrush. With any luck it would direct them to the nearest village. He looked quickly left then right assuring no one was in the road and jogged to the sign. It was worn, the etching in the wood barely
discernible
, but if he was reading it correctly—

“Where are we?” Lydia’s voice sounded directly behind him.

His eyes rolled to the heavens. “Are ye capable of obeyin’ orders?  I told you to wait in the trees, Lydia. It may not be safe in the open.”

She crossed her arms, clearly indicating she didn’t particularly care what he told her. “Are we in Scotland?”

“Not far from it. I gather we’re in Cumberland.”

“Too bad.” A wan smile quirked her lips.

“Why is that?”

“I should have liked to say I’ve been outside of England.”

“One day ye shall.” He winked, his damnably fickle heart softening once again. “If we take this fork we should come to a village err long. Are ye agreeable to a change in course?”

“I’m agreeable to whatever gets us food and shelter before dark.”

Within a quarter hour Brian came to be convinced there was in fact a God, and that he was smiling upon them. As his head crested a small rise a modest sheep farm with a charming stone cottage at the center came into view.

“Oh, thank God,” Lydia mimicked his thoughts, and set off down the hill ahead of him.

Within moments a man stepped through the front door of the charming stone cottage with an arm raised in greeting. “Good evening,” he called.

“And to you, sir,” Brian returned, breathing a sigh of relief. Drawing closer to the man he could not shed an uncanny sense of familiarity.

A grin split the man’s face. “Captain Donnelly?  Is that you?”

“Harvey Baker?”  He shook his head in disbelief, striding eagerly forward to clasp the outstretched hand of his old friend. “I don’t believe this. I’d taken you for dead two years ago.”

“It’ll take more than the French to do the likes of me in. Anna,” Harvey bellowed. “Come on out here, you’ll never believe who stumbled upon our doorstep.”

A pretty blonde woman with a hint of gray about the ears appeared behind Harvey on the stoop. “Just what are you blathering on about old man?  You’ll wake the neighbors with your racket.”

“Neighbors woman?  There isn’t another house within twenty miles.”

“My point exactly.”

Harvey rolled his eyes, and shot Brian a
do you see what I have to put up with
look. “Anna, I’d like you to meet the man I owe my very life, Brian Donnelly. Brian, my wife.”

“Oh, my lord in heaven.” Anna’s hands flew to her mouth as she looked from her husband to Brian. “Mr. Donnelly, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to thank you for the safe return of my Harvey. I should never have survived without him.” Without warning she stepped forward, threw her arms around his neck, and planted a kiss square on his mouth.

Brian laughed, unsure how else to respond to the open display of gratitude, and wiped a hand across his chin. “No thanks necessary I assure you, Mrs. Baker. Knowin’ Harvey the stories of our exploits have been embellished by half.” Stepping back he held an arm out to Lydia. “Please let me introduce—”

“Lydia Donnelly.”  She stepped into his arm, smiling sweetly, a mischievous twinkle lighting her eye. “His wife.”

Chapter Four

If Brian was perturbed by her declaration he made no indication. Instead he glanced at her, a flash of good humor—or, perhaps it was mischief—skimming the surface of his eyes. “My wife,” he repeated, clamping an arm about her waist.

Lydia breathed a mental sigh of relief that he played along. She couldn’t have him introducing her as the future Viscountess of Northbridge or the daughter of General William Covington. Especially in her filthy boy’s outfit.

“Ah, hell,” Harvey scoffed, “it’s too late to save you, Brian.”

“That’ll be enough out of you, Mr. Baker.” Anna scowled at her husband before bestowing a dazzling smile on Brian. “Would you and your wife care to come inside, Mr. Donnelly?” Her eyes flicked the length of Lydia’s odd attire. Fortunately enough dust and mud caked the trousers to mask Lucas MacGregor’s blood stain. Briefly Anna’s gaze met Lydia’s, and while it didn’t convey open disapproval it was questioningly cool.

Lydia gulped, leaning into Brian for strength.

Brian gave her a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “That would be lovely, Mrs. Baker.”

“Could I offer you a bite to eat as well?”

Lydia’s mouth watered with the promise of food and her stomach roared.

Without releasing her, Brian followed Harvey and Anna into the cottage. “If it’s not too much trouble, Mrs. Baker.

The home was simple but charming in nature. Natural light filtered through tall paned windows illuminating the two main rooms of the downstairs. A small parlor sat to the left of a narrow hallway, a larger kitchen was positioned at the back of the house, and a narrow staircase was nestled between the two rooms. The cottage was not as grand as the manor she’d grown up
in, but an atmosphere of home stemmed from every corner of the structure. Her heart ached with longing. She’d never known a real home. She’d lost her mother at the age of five and her father was always gone with his military career or a new business scheme. Mere months after the untimely death of his wife, Sir William married Olivia attempting to provide a mother for Lydia. Her stepmother tried, loved her in her own way, but it simply wasn’t the same. Olivia had no children of her own, and Lydia keenly sensed an element of resentment.

“Mrs. Donnelly? Mrs. Donnelly?”

It took several moments for Lydia to realize Anna Baker addressed her. “Oh, I am so sorry, Mrs. Baker, you were saying?”

“Will you be in need of some proper clothes then?”

Her cheeks grew warm and a self-conscious hand fluttered to her breast. “I am afraid so.” She glanced pleadingly to Brian who merely smirked noncommittally. “It’s a rather long story.”

“Well, you can tell us all about it over a bite of supper.”  Anna bustled to the staircase. “In the meantime I have some of my daughter’s old clothes in the spare bedroom. Come along you two.”

Lydia eagerly followed, embarrassment of her attire surpassed only by the desire to be rid of the dreaded garments. Brian hesitated.

“Mr. Donnelly—”

“Call me Brian, please, Mrs. Baker.”

Anna beamed her delight. “Of course, Brian. In any case you’d best come along with your wife, she’ll need help with her stays, and you’ll need to see where you’ll be sleeping tonight.”

“Ma’am, we could not impose on you for more than is absolutely necessary,” Brian protested instantly.

“For the man who saved my husband’s life it is no imposition at all. Besides, we don’t often get visitors out here and I would love to hear how the two of you came to be traipsing along the road with no horse, no supplies, and she without clothes.”

“You won’t be disappointed,” Brian’s voice echoed through the narrow stairwell.

His very essence surrounded Lydia, his rumbling voice, the thud of his footfalls, she would swear even his masculine scent inundated her senses. The thought of his helping her dress left her teetering and off balance, her pulse hammered, her palms were slick, and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it. Her brain burned with the knowledge she may have, as her father would say,
charged into the enemy lair with naught but your trousers and a gardening tool
by claiming herself as his wife.

Within minutes Mrs. Baker provided a simple blue empire dress, the necessary undergarments, and closed the bedroom door behind them. Lydia’s eyes riveted to the single bed emulating from the center of the room. She gulped. Oh, yes, she had indeed set herself up for more than she’d bargained for. Certainly Brian wouldn’t expect her to share the bed with him. Surely he would behave as a gentleman… sleep on the floor, or—

“How can I be of assistance,
wife
?”  A thick and very manly finger traced the length of her spine. Lydia nearly hit the ceiling. “Would you be needin’ help with the task of takin’ yer clothes off?”  His broad hands found her shoulders, and intoxicatingly warm breath breezed across her ear. “Puttin’ them on?”  Heat radiated from his chest and into her back as he moved even closer. Brian’s fingers slid beneath the shirt lining her throat. “Or both?”

It was too much. Snatching away from his probing, provoking hands she clamped the front of her shirt securely in front of her. “Keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Donnelly.” 
Gentleman, pah!

He chuckled, a mischievous smirk rolling over his mouth. “Mr. Donnelly is it now?  I’m hurt to think me own wife won’t use my given name.”

“Oh!  Shove off, Brian.”

“So we’re back to Brian then?”  He winked provocatively, folding brawny arms across his chest. Muscles fairly bulged from every surface of his body. She’d never seen a man so generously well-built. He looked like a god standing before her, broad shoulders relaxed forward, his trim waist feeding into equally trim hips; his stance exuded an exhilarating confidence. “And ye still haven’t answered my question, just what do you need me to do,
wife
?”

The man was insufferable and enjoying her discomfort entirely too much. “Stop calling me that,” she spat, putting the distance of the room between them, looking everywhere but his entirely too perfect frame. How had she come to be here, like this, with
him? 
She was a proper young woman, and proper young women did not have these conversations with single men. “I only said we were married because a married couple traveling alone through the countryside is much less conspicuous than our true circumstances.”

“I agree.”

“And just how would you have introduced me?”

“You, Miss Impatient, will never know.”  He flopped across the bed, folding his arms behind his head. “Are you plannin’ to get dressed anytime soon, love?  I’m famished.”

Icily she glared at him. “Turn. Around.”

An exaggerated sigh whooshed from his lungs. “If I must.”  Grudgingly he sat, let his gaze wander the length of her, and swung his legs around the edge of the bed, back squarely to her.

Eyeing him suspiciously she ensured he wouldn’t be pulling anymore tricks, quickly shucked the old clothes and
dragged
a shift over her head. Lifting the worn but serviceable set of stays she chewed her lip apprehensively, her eyes flicked to Brian waiting patiently on the edge of the bed. It would be impossible for her to successfully lace the stays without his help.
Oh, God, I cannot do this,
she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. A man had
never
seen her in her underclothes. Steeling her courage, she wiggled into the stays, and pulled a petticoat up over her waist.

“Uh, Brian?”  She cleared her throat. “Could you, um, turn around please?  I need your help.”

His broad back pivoted and her heart leapt into her throat. She didn’t want him to see her this way, or… did she?  Reluctantly
she admitted her apprehension did not stem from the thought of him seeing her under such inappropriate circumstances, but the thought of him further mocking her, or finding her undesirable. Her heart slammed with such force she was sure her ribs would crack. Brian stood to face her with none of the earlier teasing mirrored in his expression. His eyes, so perfectly green, burned into hers. He looked as unsettled as she. Slowly he crossed the room an expression akin to pain, perhaps panic, marring the lines of his face. Lydia didn’t know what to make of it.

“Of course I’ll help, love.”  His tone was soft and spread over her like butter and cream. This man’s voice was better than any physical caress.

She showed him her back, lifting the heavy mane of hair from her back. His fingers danced nimbly over the ties, and her flesh burned through the shift where his knuckles grazed. “You seem to have had plenty of practice lacing women’s under things,” she taunted.

Brian coughed, choked, and finally cleared his throat. Lydia smirked, secretly pleased to have knocked him off balance. “You don’t really want me to answer that, Miss Lydia.”

The stays in place she turned a cheeky smile to him. “I suppose a gentleman would never kiss and tell.”

He moved forward so quickly she gasped, her back slamming against the wall. He leaned over her, arms braced on either side. “And who is to say I am a gentleman?” he murmured huskily, a cloud of palpable danger enshrouding him.

Voice trembling she replied, “Would you have me believe you are a rogue then, Mr. Donnelly?”  Her eyes dipped to his lips just inches from her own.

Brian’s head tilted, his gaze dragging the length of her face, down her throat to the gentle swell of her breasts. “What would you like for me to be?”

Her breath hitched in panic. A man had never looked at her this way; as though the whole of the world ceased to exist save for the two of them. All she knew was the heat of his body, the steady in and out of his breathing, and the intense smoldering of his eyes. Heat flushed through her. She was on fire. For him. And in a way she’d never known to fantasize about.

“While you decide,” he murmured, scraping his feet slowly backward, “I suggest you finish dressing so we don’t keep our hosts waitin’ overly long.”

Lydia snatched the empire gown off the chair back hardly caring if he watched her finish dressing. Within moments her appearance assumed a level of normalcy but the storm roiling within her body was yet to calm.

Brian stopped her at the bedroom door. “Harvey and Anna will probably ask how long we’ve been married and questions of the like. I plan to tell them we’re newlyweds, as for the other questions just let me answer them, all right?
 
I don’t want them gettin’ wise to our disguise.”
 
He turned toward the door, but pulled back at the last moment. “One other thing,” he murmured, a thoughtful expression adorning his face. Deftly he plucked a thin leather cord from his neck and slid a simple gold band into his palm. Funny she hadn’t seen it hidden beneath his shirt sooner. “This was me mothers.”
 
He rolled the ring between thumb and forefinger, reaching for her left hand. “You should wear it for as long as we’re pretendin’ to be married.”

Lydia’s breath caught as he slid the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. Slowly he stroked a thumb across the band, his grasp gently tightening on her fingers. “All right,” she breathed unable to tear her gaze from their joined hands. Suddenly she was overtly aware of just how tall he was, of the little tingles dancing up her arm. She looked up. “All of my jewelry was stolen, why was this not taken as well?”

“It’s worthless.”  Abruptly he released her hand, and jerked the door open.

She shook off the thrill running up her spine and followed. “Oh, and Brian?”

He glanced back to her, expression impossible to gauge.

“A bit of both.”

“Excuse me?” he quirked a brow in obvious confusion.

“To answer your question, I should like you to be a bit of both gentleman and rogue.”

He grinned, and tossed her a mischievous wink. “Good answer, Lydia, a very good answer.”

The smell of food wafted through the small house and Lydia decided no more enticing scent had ever tickled her nostrils. It was all she could do to smile politely at Harvey and Anna as she took a seat opposite Brian and wait to be served. Fortunately her grumbling stomach did not have to wait long and the fare was delicious. Never before had she thought of mutton stew as divine, but she reckoned there is first time for everything, and ate with voracity.

“Hungry, love?”

She raised her eyes from the plate to see Brian biting back obvious convulsions of amusement. She dropped the spoon, mortified by her display of poor manners. “I am so terribly sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Baker, my manners are not usually so slovenly.”

“On the contrary,” Brian grinned, “I have never seen anyone, much less a woman, eat with such speed accompanied by impeccable manners.”

She glowered across the table at him, thoroughly annoyed. How dare he mock her?  They’d already imposed upon the hospitality of his friends enough. Her cheeks would now be flaming for a month.

“Anna,” Harvey ignored the exchange, “why don’t you fetch us some of that pie and Brian can tell us the tale of how these young lovers came to be on our stoop with nary a possession to their name.”

“Please, let me help.” Lydia instantly began to rise.