CHAPTER 14

Marcus felt like pacing. It was a habit he had never thought about before. Now that he was confined to this bloody damned chair, he missed even the smallest things that he had been able to do.

He glanced toward the door of the drawing room for perhaps the hundredth time since his arrival.

More and more he was certain that she would not come.

And why the devil should she? He had told her in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t welcome, and he had meant every word.

A knock at the door interrupted his mental tirade. Rex swung it open without waiting for his permission. Marcus stiffened at the sight of the small copper-haired figure who marched in, dressed in an elaborate lavender gown. He loathed the god-awful thing on sight, and the silly little purple plumes that danced on her bonnet. He would have preferred her in her simple skirt and blouse, or even in those damnable breeches.

“I told you not to come.”

Her chin went up with the swift determination he had seen a dozen times. “Yes, you did. And I told you I was no longer yours to order about.” As if she ever were, he thought glumly.

“I’ve a bit of work to attend in my study,” Rex said. I believe I shall leave you two to visit for a while.”

Marcus turned the brunt of his formidable temper on his brother. “I am the Earl of Hawksmoor and lord of this house. I command you to remove this woman at once.”

Rex just grinned. “Sorry, did you say something, brother? I don’t believe I heard what it was.” Gingerly he stepped out of the room and closed the door, leaving them alone.

Anger worked a muscle in Marcus’s jaw. His eyes swung to hers, pinning her with the same dark look he had used to command his men. Another woman would have withered beneath that fierce glare. Not Brianne Winters.

Her gaze met his, ran slowly over his face. It felt like a soft caress, warm and oddly disturbing. “Are you not in the least glad to see me, Marcus? Once we were friends. Has your accident somehow changed that?”

He allowed his gaze to travel down her body, noting again the expensive clothes. Where had she gotten them? he suddenly wondered, and a spark of something very like jealousy slid along his deadened spine.

“It is obvious that at least some things have indeed changed. Those clothes, for example. Since you are no longer my mistress, I assume some other man is seeing to your welfare.”

Color rushed into her cheeks. Her chin hiked up a notch. “I bought these clothes myself. My father passed away and, believe it or not, he left me a good deal of money. I’m a wealthy woman, Marcus. I’m no longer at any man’s mercy, not even yours.”

He scoffed at that. “You were hardly at my mercy. I don’t believe there was a time you obeyed even one of my commands.”

She smiled at that, her lips curling prettily. God, she was lovely.

“I always obeyed your commands, Captain—as long as I agreed with them.”

His mouth edged into the faintest of smiles. It felt odd on his face and he wiped it away. “What do you expect to accomplish by forcing your unwanted presence upon me?”

She considered that a moment, a line creasing her forehead. He wondered if she noticed he had trimmed his hair and suddenly wished he hadn’t.

“I’m not certain yet. Perhaps I merely wish you to know that I’m still your friend.”

Something bitter rose inside him. Something dark and perverse. “Were I not bound to this chair, my love, I’d prove we were far more than friends. I’d take you, as I did before. I’d ride you long and hard and you would soon learn what it is I need from you—and friendship is the least of it.”

She blushed furiously but held her ground. “If that were all you needed, Marcus, I would gladly give it. For now, I believe there are other comforts you need far more. Perhaps I’ll find a way to give you that instead.”

Marcus said nothing. He had barely heard her reply. Instead, his mind was suddenly filled with images of Brianne naked. He could see her as she was the last time they had made love, her hair a fiery curtain across his pillow, her breasts high and melon-round, her nipples hard and straining against his hand.

Lust, an emotion he never thought to feel again, washed over him in a towering wave. “I want you to leave,” he said hoarsely, desperately. “If you are truly my friend, you will go away and never come back here again.”

Brianne said nothing for the longest time. Slowly, she walked toward him. He stiffened as she bent forward and pressed a soft kiss on his lips.

“For now, my lord, I will do as you say. But I’ll be back on the morrow. And the day after that and the day after that, until you are truly healed.”

“I’ll never be healed, Brianne. Your coming here will not change that.”

Brianne didn’t answer, but her eyes held such tender emotions he had to glance away. In silence, she crossed the room, leaving him alone as he had wished. Even as the door closed quietly behind her, he could see her face as she had bent over him, taste her soft kiss on his lips.

His eyes slid closed on a surge of pain. In the last few months, he had learned to hold the pain at bay. Now it rose up with wicked force, slashing at his insides, taunting him, threatening to destroy him.

Please, he silently prayed, make her go away.

But even as he thought these words, another, even more fervent plea rose inside him.

Please, God, let her stay.

*   *   *

Brandy made her way down the hall, brushing the tears from her cheeks. She hurt for him. God, she hurt for him so much. Instead of heading for the door in the entry that led outside, she turned in the opposite direction, determined to search out his brother, wherever he might be. Surprisingly, the butler—Giles, he was called—gave her no argument, simply escorted her down a long, marble-floored hall to Rex’s study.

The younger Delaine beckoned her in, rising from where he sat behind a polished rosewood desk, crossing the room and stopping just in front of her.

“So … you are still here. I thought by now he might have sent you running.”

“He certainly gave it his best.”

He smiled. “Already you’ve survived far longer than I would have imagined, though you do look a little bit pale. Why don’t we sit down?”

Brandy nodded. “Thank you.”

Rex seated her on a deep brown leather sofa then rang for tea. In moments, a footman appeared with a lovely gold-trimmed porcelain teapot and two matching cups perched on an exquisite silver tray. She thought that perhaps on such an occasion the woman should pour but the notion was daunting and she didn’t know for sure. Rex took over the task himself, saving her the embarrassment of having to ask.

He handed her the teacup, adding just a bit of cream and sugar in the English way. She had discovered she liked it very much.

“How did it go?” he asked. “If the way your hands are trembling is any indication, I would have to guess my brother was as stubborn today as he was the last time you were here.”

“Marcus is a very proud man. Help isn’t easy for him to accept, not from me or anyone else.” She took a sip of her tea, then set it with a nervous rattle back in its gold-rimmed saucer. “He looked a little better. But perhaps yesterday we simply caught him unawares.”

Rex shook his head. “I don’t think so. He might not admit it, but I think the improvement in his appearance is due to the fact that you have appeared.”

Brandy smiled softly. “I noticed he has trimmed his hair.”

His mouth tipped up at the corner. “Thank God for that. Poor Peterbrook has been after him for weeks.” His lips were shaped very much like Marcus’s, she saw, firm and beautifully carved. Brandy felt a pang of longing.

“His eyes looked brighter,” she said, “and there seemed a bit more color in his cheeks.”

Rex chuckled. “That is because you make him so angry. It’s good for him, I think.”

Brandy took another sip of tea, noting the interesting flavor. She’d never drank tea that tasted like the petals of a flower. “I didn’t ask you before, but I would very much like to know what the doctors have to say about his condition.”

Rex’s broad shoulders seemed to sag. Wearily he shook his head. He is nearly as tired as his brother, she thought, noting the slight purple shadows beneath his light blue eyes. It occurred to her that Marcus’s accident had taken its toll upon this Delaine as well.

“He’s had doctors by the score,” Rex said. “When I first arrived in London, a number of physicians had already been brought in. Since our return to Hawksmoor House, some of the most renowned doctors in England have been here to examine him.”

“What did they say?”

Rex took a long sip of his tea, setting it very deliberately down in front of him. “Mostly, their opinions were the same—damage to the spinal cord that cannot be repaired. The certainty he will never walk again.”

The words made a hard knot tighten in the pit of her stomach. “‘Mostly,’ you said. Were some of a different opinion?”

“One man only, a doctor from London. He was younger, less experienced, but also less close-minded. He was the last man to examine him. Dr. Merriwether thought that perhaps there was a chance Marcus’s injury was not of a permanent nature. You see, my brother’s accident did not cause a paralysis of his … He remains in control of his bodily functions.”

Brandy flushed, but did not look away. “Then perhaps there is some hope.”

“Dr. Merriweather thought that if Marcus were willing to make the effort, he might be able to stimulate the muscles that move his legs. The doctor believes there may be a chance, remote though it is, that Marcus would be able to walk again. My brother, of course, did not believe him.”

“Why not?”

“Because five other very good doctors told him the man was a fool. They said it was better to accept the truth of what had happened and learn to live with it than to dwell on false hope and spend his life trying to achieve something he could not.”

Brandy pondered that. She tried to view the situation as Marcus would, to imagine what it might feel like to have your hopes raised, to think there might be a way to return to the life you once loved, and then to miserably fail. Still, she couldn’t quite force herself to ignore this one small bit of encouragement.

“I realize you barely know me. You haven’t the slightest reason to listen to my opinion or give it any sort of credence, and yet I am hoping you will.”

“Marcus spoke highly of you. You have traveled thousands of miles because you care a good deal about him. That is reason enough for me to listen to whatever it is you have to say.”

“Then I ask that you bring that young doctor back to Hawksmoor House to examine Marcus again.”

Rex shook his head. “I wish I could, I truly do. If I actually believed there was any credence at all to his theory, I wouldn’t waste a moment bringing him here. Unfortunately, I am unwilling to take the chance. If my brother became convinced he could regain the use of his legs and then failed, I’m afraid this time it would destroy him.”

Brandy set her cup and saucer aside and rose from her chair, crossing the Oriental carpet to the tall mullioned window. The study, paneled in sumptuous dark wood, faced the front of the house, looking out on the winding gravel drive to the road leading into the village. Today the sun beat down on the trees along the drive and glinted off the water in the fountain at the entrance.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said, her eyes on a small spotted thrush that perched on the branch of a tree. “Perhaps it isn’t worth the risk.” At least not yet. Not while Marcus’s health was still so fragile, so uncertain. First he would have to heal, not only his body but his soul. He would have to learn to see the beauty of life, see that whether he could walk or not was unimportant.

“Will you return again tomorrow?” Rex asked, joining her at the window.

Brandy turned to face him. “As long as he needs me, I’ll come.”

Rex smiled. “My brother may not believe it, but in some ways, he’s a very lucky man.”

Brandy smiled, liking Rex Delaine more and more.

She left the big stone mansion and went back to the cottage but, as she had promised, day after day she returned. At first Marcus remained surly, lashing out at her, saying cruel things simply to hurt her.

Like the day she arrived in her pink sateen tunic dress with its bright green underskirt. It had short puffy sleeves, a high ruched collar, and tiny tucks across the bodice. Marcus hated it on sight.

“I see you have returned in another of your god-awful dresses.”

Startled and stricken, her eyes swung to his face. “You … you do not like the way I am dressed?”

He grunted. “Pink and garish green? Hardly. With your bright coloring, you look like a little peahen who has borrowed the peacock’s feathers.”

A small, involuntary sound slipped from her throat. When she finally found her voice, it came out weak and uneven. “B-but I paid a fortune for these gowns. They came from a very expensive dressmaker in Charleston. She assured me … sh-she said that they were the height of fashion.”

He must have noticed how pale she had grown, for some of the bitterness in his voice seemed to fade. “I am certain they are. Perhaps on another woman they would look quite presentable. On you they are completely and utterly wrong.”

Tears threatened. None of his other taunts had been able to make her cry. Now here she was, whimpering like a fool because he didn’t like her clothes. “I thought you would be pleased,” she said softly, “that you would be happy to see I could dress as well as any other woman. I thought that—” She broke off then, unable to finish.

“You thought what?”

She forced some stiffness into her backbone. “That instead of a tavern wench, perhaps you would see me as a lady.”

Something moved across his features, regret for his words or perhaps something else. “There was a time I saw you as a child,” he said softly. “On the ship, I saw you as a woman. Always I have seen you as a lady.”

Her throat felt tight. Perhaps that was so, but it wasn’t quite the same. Brandy turned away, hurt still pouring through her. “If you will excuse me, my lord. I believe I am not feeling very well.” She started for the door, wishing she could run, forcing her feet to move more slowly.

“They are fools, the lot of them,” he said gruffly as she walked away. “You don’t need acres of lace and a forest of bows. You’re far too lovely to hide behind an ocean of ruffles. You were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen in your simple tavern maid’s clothes.”

Brandy stopped midway to the door. Her heart was hammering, trying to pound its way through her ribs. Slowly she turned. “Do you really believe I am … beautiful?”

Fierce blue eyes locked on her face. “My legs are dead. I am not. I can still appreciate a woman as lovely as you.”

She didn’t stop to think what she was doing, only flew across the room and straight into his arms, nearly knocking him out of his chair in the process. Marcus stiffened, his hands coming up as if to ward her off even as her mouth covered his in a kiss.

Marcus groaned.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, pressing soft feathery kisses against the corners of his mouth. “Marcus, I’ve missed you so much.”

For an instant time stood still. They were back aboard the Seahawk, standing together at the rail while a soft wind ruffled her skirts. Marcus’s hands came up to frame her face. She could smell his bayberry cologne, feel the rough wool of his coat beneath her fingers. Slowly his mouth came down over hers and Brandy’s eyes drifted closed. Her lips parted under his, accepting the thrust of his tongue as he deepened the kiss. It was sweet yet fierce, soft yet undeniably possessive. Brandy savored every moment. She didn’t care if he could walk. She loved him. She only wanted to be with him.

She moaned deep in her throat, tasted the inside of his mouth with her tongue, and slid her fingers into the softly curling black hair at the nape of his neck. Something slowly shifted, altered subtly between them. Tension crept into Marcus’s body and suddenly he jerked away.

Swearing foully, he untangled himself from her embrace, gripped her waist, and roughly set her from him. “Forgodsake, Brianne—what do you think you’re doing? Don’t you have an ounce of pity?”

His color was high, his eyes dark and snapping with anger. At the savage look on his face, Brandy’s insides tightened. “What … what are you talking about?”

Marcus shook his head, whether in disgust at himself or her, she couldn’t be sure. “God’s blood—why can’t you see? I’m a broken, useless, cripple. My life is over, yet when you kiss me, when you touch me that way…” He drew in a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “When you touch me that way, I discover that part of me is still living. It makes me want you, Brianne. Do you have any idea what it feels like to know I can’t have you? To know I am less than a man?”

“That’s not true! Just because your legs don’t move—”

“It isn’t just my legs!” He jerked his gaze away, the muscles clamping down along his jaw. “I’m impotent, forgodsake! Do you know what that means? It means I am sitting here shaking with need for you and there is no way I can have you. I can never make love to you again. Not you or any other woman.”

Brandy bit down on her trembling lips.

“I told you to go away. I begged you to leave me in peace, but you wouldn’t listen. Now that you know the truth, perhaps you’ll do as I say.”

Brandy shook her head, feeling his torment as if it were her own. Pain slid through her in nauseating waves and the ache in her throat was nearly unbearable. “I didn’t know. It never occurred to me that I … that you…” She moved away from him, off toward the window, trying to think, forcing herself simply to breathe. She closed her eyes, but tears leaked past her lashes. He was hurting, hurting so badly. Dear God, she had to help him.

The clock ticked. She dragged in a ragged breath and slowly her composure returned. Brandy walked back to the place in front of him. “I won’t come near you. I’ll stay away from you, if that’s what you want. But I am not leaving. There are things more important than making love. We will simply have to find them.”

On the arm of the chair, Marcus’s hand unconsciously fisted. With a hard, dark glare, he turned away, staring past her out the window.

Brandy’s heart seemed to split in two. She felt as if a thousand shards of broken glass had come slashing down on top of her. He wanted her to leave, but she couldn’t bear the thought. She wanted to go to him, to tell him how much she loved him, to pull him into her arms and comfort him. The tension in his tall lean frame said that she did not dare.

Controlling an urge to weep, she crossed the room, stopping once she reached the door. “I never liked the dresses,” she said softly. “I only bought them because I didn’t know what else to choose and I thought that you would be pleased.” She turned the silver knob and pulled it open. “Good afternoon, my lord. I will see you again on the morrow.”

Brandy left the house feeling a crushing pain—and a strange sense of elation. Marcus could not make love, but he had kissed her with unbearable longing and he had thought that she was beautiful. Beautiful. She clung to the word as if it were the most precious gift she had ever received.

Perhaps it was, she thought as she strode toward cottage. It certainly felt that way.

Approaching her small two-story stone house that faced the sea, she found herself smiling. “Sally!” she called out when she arrived, crossing the flagstone floors of the entry, stepping into the parlor beneath hand-wrought beams, stopping to warm herself in front of the timber-manteled hearth. “Sally, are you here?”

Summer was upon them, yet on the coast there were days like this when a fire felt good inside the thick gray walls of the cottage.

The slender girl rushed down from upstairs. “Yes, miss? I didn’t hear you come in. I was busy mending some linen.”

Brandy unfastened the pink ruffled pelisse that matched her gown and tossed it onto the sofa. “I need your help, Sally. We’re going to do a little remodeling.”

“On the house?”

“No, on my clothes. We’re going to go over everything I own and get rid of all those ruffles and bows.”

“But why, miss?”

“Are you telling me you like them?”

Sally flushed, color rising into her cheeks. “Well, if you want the truth, not entirely. But it wasn’t my place to say.”

“Well, I don’t like them, either. Let’s see what we can do to make those dresses look better.”

Sally grinned. “All right, miss. I think I can manage that.”

Brandy smiled, but already she was imagining what Marcus would say when he saw them, hoping this time he’d be pleased. And she was wondering, deep down inside where she knew she shouldn’t, if perhaps he was wrong about being able to make love.