“I don’t know you!” she shouted, panic rolling through her like a tidal wave as she stared at him. She fought the horrible fog that clouded her mind, searching for a memory of this man’s face. A part of her thought she should know him, which only made her more desperate to find something there that she couldn’t quite grasp. Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she slumped on the bench in abject misery, mumbling, “I don’t know you. I don’t know you.”
Bryan settled himself on the bench beside Addie and pulled her thin, trembling body into his arms. Cradling her against him, he stroked a big hand over her hair, and, rocking her gently back and forth, he began singing to her. It was a soft, sweet song he’d learned in Scotland about a girl named Annie Laurie, who was fair and lovely with a voice like a summer wind’s sigh. His voice rose and fell with the melody, and trembled a bit as he ached with Addie’s pain and confusion. But he sang on, the gentle notes coming from his heart, just as they had when he’d held Serena and sung to her.
Rachel stood at the edge of the clearing in the maze, her body shaking. She had gone into the house, intending to speak with Addie about selling the place, but her mother had been nowhere around. She’d run out into the yard to get Bryan to help her look for Addie, and the sound of crying had drawn her to the overgrown maze.
She stood there now, unable to move or breathe. She stared at the scene before her: Bryan, his eyes closed, but a lone pair of tears escaping the outer corners, holding her mother and singing to her; and Addie rocking back and forth within the embrace of his strong arms, crying.
“It’s all right, Addie,” Bryan murmured, kissing the old woman’s temple. “It’s all right if you don’t know me. I’ll still help you.”
It struck Rachel then. As she stood there with her defenses stripped away by raw emotion, with her heart laid bare and the truth confronting her with nowhere for her to hide. She was in love with Bryan Hennessy. And it wasn’t a question of whether or not he was the kind of man she needed, it was a question of whether or not she deserved to have the kind of man he was.
EIGHT
“Is Addie asleep?” Bryan asked, looking up from the papers he had spread out on the desk. A small brass lamp illuminated his work area. The only other light in the room came from the fireplace. Shadows jumped on the dark paneled walls.
“Finally,” Rachel said on a sigh. She leaned a hip against the desk and allowed her shoulders to sag beneath the weight of her worries. “She wouldn’t let me in her room, but I managed to peek inside once it got quiet. She wore her garden boots to bed. I could see them sticking up under the coverlet. I wanted to go in and take them off for her, but I’m sure she would have hit me in the head with a rock and called the police.”
Bryan frowned. “Back to square one, eh?”
“I’d do handsprings if we were that far along,” Rachel said dryly. “I tried to explain to her that selling the house is the only practical thing, but she didn’t want to hear it.” She held up a hand as Bryan opened his mouth to speak. “Please refrain from saying you told me so. In fact, a change of subject would be warmly welcomed.”
“You’re an absolute vision in that dress.” He gave her a wicked smile and forced all thoughts of the mundane from his mind.
Rachel beamed as if his words had injected new energy into her. She was wearing the beaded burgundy gown, the same gown that had so mysteriously appeared on her bed that first night she’d had dinner at Drake House. Addie claimed it was Wimsey who insisted they dress for the evening meal, but Rachel didn’t see the difference. It was Addie who became upset if she showed up under-dressed, so it was Addie she dressed for-most nights.
Tonight she had chosen the burgundy dress without a thought about her mother. She had chosen it because she wanted to feel special and feminine and alluring. She had laid it out on her bed before her bath, and when she had returned, there had been a white rose lying on it.
“How did you know that was the perfect thing to say?” she murmured, settling her hip more comfortably against the desk.
“I’m psychic,” Bryan admitted with a smile. “I’ll go out on a limb and say that you’re probably a vision out of that dress as well.”
His voice was dark with desire. The rich quality of it stroked her senses like the caress of the silk she wore.
“Have you been spying on me in the bathtub?” she asked, conjuring up a teasing note to cut through her own sudden rush of yearning.
“Not exactly,” Bryan mumbled cryptically. He fixed his gaze on the steaming cup she held, breathing deep of the aroma and sighing in appreciation. “Coffee.”
“Would you like a cup? I’ll go back to the kitchen-”
“Don’t bother,” he said, not wanting to lose sight of her. “Just let me have a sip of yours.”
Warmth curled inside Rachel as if he had just made a terribly erotic suggestion. She bit the inside of her lip and offered him the mug, sucking in a breath when his fingertips brushed hers. Her senses were so heightened, the slightest glance or touch from him set her nerves sizzling. She had spent her entire time in the bathtub reliving the few kisses they had shared and imagining what it would be like to make love with him, fantasizing until she had hardly been able to stand the brush of the washcloth against her skin.
She had come to a decision about Bryan, about the desire that burned inside her. She had a long, hard road ahead of her. Her future didn’t look particularly bright, but for the present she had Bryan. She would have been a fool not to take what happiness she could while she had the chance.
Bryan looked up at her, his blue eyes sharp with awareness. He could sense the shift in Rachel’s feelings toward him. They had been changing gradually, constantly, since they’d met, but tonight she had taken a giant step in his direction. He wasn’t sure what had pushed her over the edge in his favor, but he wasn’t inclined to question his good fortune either. He was a conscientious man, but he was a man first. A man with needs.
It was a cold, rainy night. The kind of night a man wanted to spend curled up in bed with the lady of his heart, making love to her until they both drifted off into exhausted deep. He hadn’t been able to get that image out of his head all evening. Nor had he been able to stop picturing her in the bathtub, sliding a bar of scented soap over her slick skin. That image still seemed particularly strong. He could see the gleam of light on her wet skin. He could smell the soap. Even now the vision played through his mind, and heat coiled in his belly.
Never taking his eyes from Rachel’s, he sipped at the coffee and set the cup aside. Her eyes darkened from violet to deep purple, and a flush crept along under the surface of her fair skin.
“You must be cold,” he murmured, pushing himself up from his chair. He pulled his tuxedo jacket off and draped it around her shoulders before she could object. In a move he’d perfected as a teenager, he let one arm slide down her back and fastened his hand on the curve of her hip as he herded her toward the love seat.
Rachel gave him a look. “That’s an old trick, Hennessy.”
“I’m an old guy,” he quipped, and then winced. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that. You may not have noticed.”
“I’m not concerned. You seem able-bodied to me.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” he muttered, gritting his teeth at the surge of anticipation that stirred in his loins.
“But I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?” Rachel said softly, lowering her gaze in genuine shyness as they settled on the love seat.
Bryan was so stunned, he felt as if he’d taken a punch to the gut. He hooked a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up. The sight of the firelight glowing on her face nearly made him forget what it was he’d meant to ask. Holy Mike, she was lovely, and, unless he’d completely lost his ability to read women, she wanted him. After all the fighting she’d done against the attraction that pulled between them, she was admitting she wanted him. Wasn’t she?
“Rachel,” he began, his voice low and hoarse, “just what are you saying?”
She made a little face. “I was hoping I wasn’t going to have to say it. You’re a perceptive man-can’t you figure it out?”
