Thief of Hearts (23 page)

Morning. At last. The sleepless hours after midnight had crawled by with a sluggishness that left Anna feeling exhausted and unreal. Her body ached with fatigue, but it was a relief to be out of bed, not staring dry-eyed any longer at the brightening square of gray light around her window. She put on her robe and slippers and went down the hall to the lavatory. A modern wonder, it contained a bathtub and washstand with running water, hot or cold, and a water closet exactly like the one in her father's new Liverpool mansion. But it also had a mirror, and in its honest, unforgiving depths she could see the full extent of last night's damage. She didn't even look like herself. At least she hoped not. This person had blue circles under her eyes, a pale, sickly complexion, and a grim, white-lipped trap for a mouth. She rested her forearms on the shelf under the mirror and leaned in, punishing herself with a good, long look. "You look like hell."

The words were out before she'd known she was thinking them, and for a second she was shocked and astonished. Then her own widening eyes struck her as ridiculous, and she said it again. "Hell, Anna. You look like
hell
." A little smile tugged at her lips. Brodie would say something like that. Except he'd call her Annie, and then wait for her to blush. She watched in sick fascination as her eyes filled with tears.
Brodie
, she mouthed into the mirror. Then shook herself. She was tired; what else could explain this heavy sadness, this morbidity? Surely not the knowledge that he was leaving. That she would never see him again. That he would spend the rest of his life in prison. Anna put her head in her hands and wept.

In her heart she knew the telegram she'd sent to London last night, unbeknownst to Aiden, needless to say, would do no good. If he couldn't persuade them, how could she? She'd told them nothing he hadn't already, that Mr. Brodie was brave, he was trustworthy, he'd brought the money back when he could have escaped with it and left Aiden to die. Even as she'd composed it, she'd known it was futile, and yet she couldn't have done
nothing
, sat back and passively waited for events to occur. When Brodie left, tomorrow or the next day or the day after, perhaps she would be comforted a little by the knowledge that she had done everything she could. But she didn't really think so.

Walking back to her room, just as she got to the door, she heard a noise and turned around. And there he was in a shaft of early sunlight streaming in the window over the landing. Shoeless and shirtless. Watching her, his blue eyes grave. When he moved toward her his bare feet were soundless on the floorboards. She thought again that his body was perfect, and waited, fiercely calm, for him to come. At the moment he reached her, they heard someone coming down the third-floor staircase, a servant, perhaps Magdalena, on her way to her morning chores. Without a word, Brodie opened Anna's door, pulled her inside, and closed it. And then, glancing at her to make sure she was watching, he locked it.

She tried to feel shock. She ought to gasp, cry out, "How dare you?" or even scream. But she only stood there, clutching at her dressing gown and staring hard at him, acknowledging the terrible inevitability of this moment. Still, when he reached for her, something old and ingrained made her say, "No!"

"Yes."

Already his hands were inside her robe, pushing it over her shoulders, trying to touch her skin under her nightgown. "Don't," she whimpered, arching away, pulling on his wrists.

He took her face in both hands, holding gently, but his voice broke. "He wants to go today, Annie.
Today
."

"Oh, no. Oh, no."

He began to kiss the tears that trickled down her cheeks. Her hands went to his naked sides so naturally and she stroked him almost absentmindedly, her senses concentrated on what he was doing with his tongue. She forgot to breathe, forgot to be sad, while his soft breath on her face awoke and renewed her like a blessing. "John Brodie," she sighed against his skin, hardly knowing what she said.

But he heard, and the words snuffed out his last scruple even as they made his heart hammer in his chest. Her damned nightgown buttoned in back, and patience had never been his strong suit. Reaching around, he grabbed the two halves and ripped, sending buttons flying everywhere.

It was a mistake. Real fear routed the desire he'd seen for a few seconds in her face. But it only made him change tactics; not even fleetingly did he think of letting her go. He moved in slowly, giving her time, and put his lips on hers in a long, sweet, gentle kiss. He could feel the tremors under his hands along her delicate vertebrae, and he stroked her in soothing, skillful circles. She calmed. Her eyes closed and she let him nibble her lips apart while his hands slid lower. Her head went back against the door. When she sighed, he sleeked his wet tongue between her lips, then her teeth, and tickled the roof of her mouth.

She drew in her breath and held still for him. Very soon it was more than she could stand, and a soft, growling moan started somewhere in the back of her throat. He pressed closer, hot and reckless, inflamed by the helpless, almost tortured sounds she was making. She jumped when he slid his hands to her bare buttocks, but he only held her closer, kissed her harder, until she wilted. He wanted her defenseless, out of control. Watching her eyes, he reached down and pulled her thighs apart in back. He covered her shocked gasp with his mouth and pressed into her, needing her to feel how hard he was. With his tongue he coaxed her, seduced her, drunk with passion and his power over her. The bed was too far away, he would take her here on the floor. But no, he wanted to see her naked on the rumpled sheets. He had her nightgown bunched around her waist; with an impatient tug he got it down over her hips and lifted her in his arms in the same movement.

Stunned, Anna pressed back against his chest with weak hands, too beleaguered, her senses too besieged, to be sure what to say to him. "No" wasn't quite it. "Wait!" That was it, and she got it out just before he put her on her back and lay on top of her.

"Wait" wasn't in Brodie's lexicon at that moment. She was frightened, but he would make it all right. The thought of not having Annie, of not sinking now, this minute, with blind, drowned abandon into the core of her, froze his blood and hurt his heart. His need was physical, but also more. Joining with her was a violent, death-denying compulsion he couldn't explain and only dimly comprehended. She was his last chance. At what? Life, decency, humanity. Love. He had to have her.

The fact of her own nakedness was so shocking, it cleared Anna's brain of rational thought and left her with only alarm and aroused nerve endings. She was aware that Brodie was fumbling with his trousers. She had to make a decision. Quick. He sank down on his elbow to kiss her nipples, and then she thought she would delay making the decision; at the moment she hadn't enough resources. His soft, tugging lips made her groan. She hadn't known about this; this hadn't been in any of her father's books. She arched upward with her hips and his hand was there, right over her woman's place, urgent and inescapable. And searching, the fingers sleeking wetly inside, making her shift and writhe against his palm.

He took his hand away and she knew what was next. Last chance. She flexed her thighs together and pushed against his chest with all her strength. "Don't," she said clearly, looking him in the eye.

Something like amusement flickered across his taut face, as if she'd just told him a joke. He bent over and her arms collapsed weakly and foolishly between them. His kiss took her breath away while it told her, with great tenderness, to quit being silly. She tried one last time to stop him, by reaching down to cover herself with her hand. But she jerked it away when it encountered his enormous, prodding maleness, and he used the opportunity to part her legs again with his knees.

She was so small. He must go slowly, gently, conquer this need to bury himself in her at once. He kissed her closed eyelids and whispered her name against them. His arms tightened around her waist and he pushed higher. Her head went back and he nuzzled her throat, murmuring, moving in her.

Anna gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. So. This was intercourse. Dear God, it was as bad as she'd feared worse. She felt angry and cheated, and hoped it would end soon. How long did it take? And whose idea had it been to make something that began so gloriously end in such sheer, grinding agony? Not God's; surely the devil's. At least it seemed to be finished; Brodie had stopped his painful thrusting and was staring at her with an expression that said he'd found it as horrifying as she. She turned her head to dry her tears on the pillow, ashamed to let him see she was a crybaby. "Is it over?" she sniffed, not able to look at him just yet.

"Oh, Jesus Christ God almighty. You're a virgin."

"I
was
a virgin," she corrected testily. "Would you please get off me now? I can't breathe."

"Oh my God, Annie. Oh, no."

"Well, what difference does it make?" she panted, shoving at his body that had suddenly gone heavy and lifeless on her.

He scrambled to his knees with a groan and reached for her. "I didn't know, I swear. I thought you and Nick must've made love. Oh, baby!"

She wrenched her hands away and sat up, facing away from him, legs hanging over the side of the bed. It was stupid, but she couldn't make herself walk across the room and put on her robe because she didn't want him to see her naked. "Well, we didn't. Not that it's any of your business." She felt silly saying that to him, in bed, both of them stark naked, as if he'd made some impolite inquiry about her finances. But the lifelong habit of propriety was all that was getting her through these, the most uncomfortable minutes of her life, and she wasn't about to give it up.

They didn't?
They didn't
? His brother, thought Brodie, must've been a eunuch. He stared at her beautiful white back and thought of all he wanted to say to her. Where should he start? Apologies had never worked very well with her. But when he thought of how he must have hurt her, his heart twisted and he knew he had to try again.

"Annie." He put one finger on her spine, between her shoulder blades. She shuddered and dropped her head. "Annie, we—"

There was a soft knock at the door. Anna shot up like a geyser and Brodie made a grab for his pants. "Anna?" came Aiden O'Dunne's voice through the panel. "Are you awake?"

She threw a glance of sheer panic back at Brodie and crept forward, hugging herself. "Yes?" she quaked in a rising glissando.

O'Dunne's voice was subdued but excited. "I've got good news. A messenger just came with another telegram. Listen: 'Earlier decision set aside; ignore previous dispatch. Request re J.B. granted. Proceed to Liverpool, await further word.' Isn't it wonderful?"

Anna made a noise.

"Brodie's still asleep, I can't even rouse him. Hurry and come down, will you? We'll tell him together. All right?"

She got it out on the second try. "Yes."

They listened to the thumping sound of his crutch diminish and recede. An inner voice told Brodie that to fall back on the bed and roar with relieved laughter was not what was called for at this moment. He watched Anna stalk stiffly across the floor and retrieve her dressing gown, keeping her pretty backside to him, and thrust her arms in the sleeves with nervous, choppy movements. She knotted the sash around her waist as if she wanted to cut herself in two. Their tryst, he surmised, was over. He stood and pulled on his trousers, while part of his mind took in the bright smear of blood on the sheet he'd just vacated. She faced him, visibly pulling herself together, seeming about to make a speech.

"Mr. Brodie."

He knew he was in for it. Her withdrawal was a palpable thing, leaving him empty and hurting. Facetiousness came to his rescue. "Mrs. Balfour," he said in the same tone, making her a slight bow.

Her nostrils flared. "I feel the most terrible remorse for what I've done. I will pay for it the rest of my life with guilt and self-reproach." And it wasn't even any good, an irreverent voice inside reminded her. "But," she went on doggedly, "I won't accept the whole burden of responsibility. Much of this was your fault. You seduced me, and I will never forgive you for that."

Brodie put his hands on his hips. "It wasn't that hard to do," he pointed out ungallantly. "You wanted it too, almost as much as I did."

Scrupulous honesty wouldn't let her deny this insulting observation. "I may have 'wanted it,'" she retorted, lips thinning with distaste, "but only at first. It turned out to be just as disgusting as I had always heard."

That stung. "Only because it was your first time, for God's sake. Don't you know
anything
?"

She drew herself up. "I would expect you to say that! It's probably what all men say, to entice women to try the dreadful thing a second time!" He snorted. "In one way I'm grateful to you, Mr. Brodie, for solving the mystery: now I'll never waste another minute worrying or wondering what" she could hardly get it out, "the marriage act is like."

Brodie muttered a curse and moved toward her, holding his arm out.

She jumped back. "Don't come near me or I'll scream!" He stopped and glowered. "Once you promised never to touch me again. Obviously your word is worthless. It seems we're going to be together in England for an indefinite length of time. I want no more of your promises, but I have one for you: If you ever put so much as a fingernail on my body again, I will tell Aiden you tried to rape me.
That
will send you back to prison fast enough!"

He folded his arms. "You know, Annie, you say a lot of things that sound to me like dares. It's lucky I'm a gentleman; otherwise—"

"Ha!"

"Otherwise I might have to take you up on them." He came closer. "You're bluffing anyway," he taunted. "You won't say anything about me to O'Dunne."

"That may have been true before, but no more!"

"No, you won't. You know why? Because ruining me would ruin you. Your precious reputation. Think about it." He smiled evilly.

"Villain!" she cried, seeing his point.