Beauty and the Brain (39 page)

“Well,” she temporized, “you’re certainly
not making yourself clear.”

“I know.” He jammed his glasses against the
bridge of his nose and then thrust his fingers through his hair
once more. What was the matter with him?

She cocked her head to one side. “Would you
like to think about what you want to say for a while, Colin? We’re
going to be here for a few extra days, I imagine, since this
accident will have delayed filming at least one day, and probably
more. I don’t know about the set or if that big wooden thing was
broken when it fell. Or even what they wanted to use it for.”

“I don’t need to think,” Colin told her
bitterly. “I need to be flogged.”

A tender smile touched her lips. “I’ve
thought so for long time now.”

“You must hate me.”

She shook her head. “I wish I did, but I
don’t.”

“I don’t know why.”

“I don’t, either.”

The door opened behind them, making them
both jump. Colin uttered a soft, “Damn.” Just when he’d been on the
verge of sorting out his thoughts and declaring himself. Not that
she’d even consider marrying him, but that was the only way he’d
feel right about this—this offer of hers.

Unless she’d decided she merely wanted to
have an affair with him. The possibility stunned him. Although he
saw Martin and a white-clad nurse enter the room, the significance
of their entrance didn’t register on his brain. He vaguely heard
people saying words around him, but he didn’t understand any of
them. His body and heart both received the signal when Brenda
spoke, though. His senses would be able to pick her voice out of a
chorus of thousands.

“Isn’t that right, Colin?”

He heard and understood that. It was Brenda
who’d spoken. He hadn’t a clue as to what she referred,
however.

He said, “Um . . .”

Evidently, Brenda noticed his condition and
understood. She gave him a sweet smile and spoke to the nurse.
“Colin and I were just saying that we wished the doctor had ordered
a nurse to watch out for George, if only for a day or two.”

“I believe it was Mr. Tafft who requested my
services.”

The nurse spoke with a lilting Irish accent.
She had cinnamon-colored eyes, white-streaked red hair, apple-red
cheeks, a cheery demeanor, and was as big as a barn. “Dr. Wilson is
a terrible old curmudgeon, dearie. He’s not got a compassionate
bone in his porky little body.”

“I noticed that,” Brenda said, laughing as
she did so.

“So did I,” affirmed Martin. “That’s why I
requested the services of Nurse Cleary here. I asked that she stay
for two days.” He glanced worriedly at George. “If that’s not long
enough, we can extend the time.”

“You’re a peach, Martin.”

Colin watched as Brenda hugged Martin. His
hand bunched into fists, and he couldn’t account for his sudden mad
compulsion to sock Martin in the jaw. There was no doubt about it:
He had it bad. Martin was as good an egg as ever lived, and Colin
could swear that he and Brenda were no more than friends to each
other. But, good God, he was jealous of the man.

“I’ve got to go back out to the set now,”
Martin said. He glanced at Colin uncertainly, as if wondering why
Colin hadn’t yet spoken.

The look on Martin’s face jolted Colin into
action. As if a goblin had goosed him from behind, he jerked
forward and held out his hand “Thanks so much for hiring a nurse
for George, Martin. I’ve been worried about him.”

Martin seemed to relax now that Colin was
speaking to him “Good. Well, I hated knowing it was a Peerless prop
that bashed the boy.”

“My, my,” murmured Brenda. “You’re such an
alliterative bloke today.”

Chuckling, Martin turned to leave the room.
“I’ll see you two later. Let’s dine together this evening. We can
discuss the picture’s altered schedule.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Brenda, her manner
having undergone a magnificent change. Only a moment or so ago,
she’d been near tears. Now she sounded as cheery and good-natured
as ever. Colin wondered if she really had her emotions under such
superb control, or if she were only a brilliant actress.

Which made his doubts begin to gnaw at his
intentions again. Dash it!

But, honestly, could one believe a woman
with such an easy facility for manipulating her sensibilities? Did
she ever mean what she said? How could one tell? What in the name
of God was he thinking now? He was the one who couldn’t be trusted
with his emotions—mainly because he pretended not to have any.
Brenda was a joy. A wonder. A breathtaking female specimen. The
fact that she could function in emergencies and not reveal her
innermost secrets in front of the whole world was an attribute that
should be applauded, not deplored.

“Dinner,” he said vaguely to Martin. “Sure.
Sounds good.”

Martin left with a parting wave, eyeing
Colin one last time, as though he were trying to ascertain his
state of mental well-being.

Nurse Cleary set her embroidered bag on a
table and went to inspect her patient, in which pursuit she pulled
George’s blanket down, revealing him still fast asleep. Big purple
bruises were more easily evident on exposed body parts than they
had been before they’d had a chance to ripen.

Colin glanced over from where he stood,
noted as many of his brother’s injuries as could be seen from this
distance, and shut his eyes. It hurt him to see George like
this.

The nurse tutted. “What happened to the poor
lad?”

Thank the fates, Brenda explained. Nurse
Cleary nodded and looked concerned and chuckled when appropriate.
“Aye, I see how it was. The poor lad got himself knocked senseless
and his arm busted. We’ll see that he rests and mends himself. We
won’t let him do naught that might undo the doctor’s work, believe
me” She used the plural we, although Cain had no doubt as to who
would be doing any restraining that might be necessary.

He believed her, too, even though she wasn’t
speaking to him. The militant light in her eye made him feel a
little sorry for George. Although, it must be admitted that George
had demonstrated a particularly willful nature of late and might
need some curbing during his recovery. Nurse Cleary would probably
do him a world of good.

Still struggling to keep his nerves in
check, he walked over to her, held out his hand, and hoped his
assumption of ease passed the sharp-eyed nurse’s inspection. “Thank
you very much, Miss Cleary. I’m sure George will profit by your
diligence.”

She eyed him askance. “Aye? My, but you’re a
silver-tongued talker, aren’t you?”

If the woman only knew. Unable to think of a
suitable response on the spur of the moment, Colin remained mute
and only smiled at her, thereby refuting her claim that he
possessed a glib tongue. She looked as if she’d be able to check
any of George’s more unruly impulses without much trouble. If he
gave her too much sass, she could sit on him. Poor George would
never be able to dislodge her. Not only was she as big as a barn,
but she looked solid, as if the majority of her bulk was made of
muscle.

“Oh, aye,” Nurse Cleary said, after enduring
several seconds of Colin’s silence, “I’ll make him rest, you may
depend upon it. And I’m sure he’ll be right as rain in a couple of
days.”

“Fine.” Searching his brain frantically for
something else to say, Colin came up empty, so he said, “Fine,”
again, and smiled some more.

Brenda took mercy on them. “If you don’t
need us in here any longer, Nurse Cleary, perhaps we should leave
you to your patient.”

“Splendid,” said the nurse. “I understand
from Mr. Tafft that the two of you have spent a nerve-wracking
morning. Get along with you, then, and if you’ll take my advice,
you’ll both go to bed and rest up for a while. No sense making
yourselves sick over this young scamp.”

“Right.” Colin nodded at the nurse and gazed
blankly at Brenda.

Fortunately, she was endowed with social
graces sufficient for the both of them. “What a good idea. I don’t
know how you do it, Nurse Cleary. Even being minimally involved in
George’s injury has given me such a turn, I believe I do need a
rest.”

The nurse smiled with enormous benevolence
upon Brenda, to whom, evidently, she had taken quite a shine.

Everyone did; charm was one of Brenda’s
major claims to fame, which meant she’d never want Colin in her
life permanently.

Colin told himself to cease with that line
of thinking instantly.

The nurse went on, “Of course it gave you a
turn, lovey. But it’s different when it’s one of your own, don’t
you know. It’s one thing to care for a stranger. It’s quite another
when you see a friend or loved one in danger and hurt.”

“Yes, it is.” Colin shivered in the warm
room.

The nurse gave him a squint-eyed once-over.
“Oh, aye. You’re the lad’s brother, aren’t you?”

He nodded and had to suppress a very
embarrassing and childish urge to cry. To counteract it, he squared
his shoulders and said, “Well.” Then he couldn’t think of a single
thing to say after the one word. Dash it, he was useless.

Again Brenda saved him “Let’s leave George
and his nurse alone now, Colin. I’m sure Nurse Cleary will be happy
to let us in again later, to check on his progress.”

“Surely, surely.” Nurse Cleary folded her
hands over her huge aproned stomach and offered them a bountiful
smile, like a saint blessing a couple of sinners. “The lad mostly
needs to sleep now. He’ll be under the influence of laudanum, too,
so your chances of finding him awake will be better eight or nine
hours from now.”

Eight or nine hours. That would leave Brenda
and him free to do—anything. He swallowed again, hard.

“Of course,” said Brenda.

Colin could only nod, his vocabulary having
fled long since and apparently determined to maintain its absence.
He managed to recollect some of the manners his mother had taught
him scarcely in time to rush across the room and open the door for
Brenda. When he shot one last glance back at George’s nurse, he
discerned her shaking her head and watching him sadly, clearly
believing George’s brother to be in perhaps greater need of nursing
care than George himself.

Maybe he was. He certainly was nothing like
his usually self-assured self when he found himself in the hallway
alone with Brenda. He gazed down at her, wondering what to say
now.

She peered up at him, her expression more
sober than made Colin feel comfortable. “Well?” she said after
several tense moments.

Well? Well? What did she mean,
well
?
Well what? Well why? Well where? Well, hell. God, he was losing his
mind. No. He’d already lost his mind.

She lowered her gaze and commenced gently
rubbing her arms. “I guess I’ll go upstairs and rest. I think I do
need a nap. Or something.”

He still didn’t have a clue what he should
say.

Brenda waited a scant few seconds longer,
then heaved a king-sized sigh and turned away from him.

Panic welled in his chest. She was leaving
him! He reached out and grabbed hold of her skirt, which was the
only thing he could reach. “Wait!”

She turned and stared at him as if he were a
maniac—which he might well be, given the overall state of his
emotions at, the moment. “I beg your pardon?” She gazed from his
face to his hand, which still held a chunk of her skirt in a death
grip.

He released the fabric in a hurry. “I’m
sorry. But, please, Brenda, don’t go. Please. I—I—I—” He what?
Blessed if he knew.

Fortunately, as ever, Brenda grasped the
situation instantly. In a voice as sweetly flowing as honey, she
said, “Why don’t you come upstairs with me, Colin?”

He stared at her for only a moment before he
grasped the import of her invitation. He gulped audibly, nodded,
and started up the stairs right behind her. She led him to the door
of her room, turned to give him one last quizzical gaze, and then,
with the air of someone who’d just made a monumental decision that
she feared she might regret—and soon—she opened the door and
entered before him.

This isn’t right, Brenda Fitzpatrick,
Brenda’s conscience scolded her.

Her woman’s intuition shot back,
What do
you know, you old hag? I may never have another opportunity to
experience Colin’s love.

It isn’t love and you know it, you naughty,
passion-blinded goose. It’s lust.

Lust and love aren’t mutually exclusive, you
know.

You’re quibbling.

Brenda told them both to shut up and leave
her alone. She was already as nervous as a cat on a hot stove. She
had to lick her lips before she could get them apart far enough to
speak. Her throat was dry as a mummy’s wrappings. “Would you like a
drink of something first, Colin?” First? Good God, the man would
think her the sleaziest of sleazy creatures m nature if she kept
this up.

“Um, sure. What do you have?”

She wished she could have a shot of rye,
actually, but she only had the mildest of sherry wines in her hotel
room. Brenda didn’t drink much, and she only kept the wine on hand
for the few times meetings had to be conducted in her room. “Ah, I
have a little bit of sherry.”

“Thank you. I’d like some wine.”

Was he as nervous as she? He sounded like
it. Taking some courage from this evidence of his vulnerability,
Brenda went to the dresser where the sherry and a couple of glasses
stood. Her hand trembled as she poured some out for Colin. Then,
deciding she needed something, even if she didn’t drink, she poured
one out for herself. After handing Colin his glass, which he
drained instantly, she sipped at her own and shuddered. It would
take her a long time to figure out why people liked to drink. The
stuff was icky.

“Thank you.” Colin stood there, looking
uncomfortable and rather helpless, holding his empty wineglass.