“I…yes. But don’t you mind what I’ve done?”
Something snapped in Brandon. He grasped Shannon by the elbows and pulled her to her feet. He felt her tremble in his hold, but he selfishly pushed her fears aside. He wanted to give her something that was not ugly and shaming, and he wanted something for himself as well. “I am not your judge, Shannon.”
Then his head bent and his kiss whispered against her lips.
Chapter 5
Shannon was unable to move. Rigid, she felt blood drain from her face and settle in her feet, making it impossible to escape the touch of Brandon’s mouth. The gentleness of the contact meant nothing to her. Her lips were cold beneath his, and she felt herself trembling from the inside out. It was happening again. Her heart pounded heavily but could not silence the panicked voice echoing inside her head. No! No! No! The wild refrain thundered relentlessly. She did not know she had spoken the denial aloud.
She stood stiffly in his arms, her violet eyes huge but unseeing, and when he drew back, a question in his own dark eyes, Shannon bent her head and hunched her shoulders, preparing for the blow that would follow. When it did not come immediately, Shannon’s experience conditioned her to expect another kind of assault, and she knew she could not bear it.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely, shaking off Brandon’s hold and backing away without looking at him again. She felt the edge of the bed at the back of her legs. She crawled onto the bed and hugged a pillow to her chest, prepared to bury her face in it so no one would hear her screams. “It was my fault. I didn’t mean to…but I cannot help myself. It won’t happen again. I’ll stay away from you, and you’ll never know I’m here.” Her voice dropped further, and despair was rife in her tone. “Only don’t do this thing to me. Beat me, but don’t do the other.”
Brandon had not moved. The question in his eyes had been replaced by an expression of horror as he watched Shannon retreat, cower, and finally apologize for something he did not understand. Don’t do theother?“Dear God,” he said, sucking air into his lungs as realization dawned. “What did he do to you?”
Shannon knew whohewas, but there was nothing she wished to say. She lifted her head and stared at him mutely. Her throat ached; her mouth was dry with fear. Her knuckles were white from her death grip on the pillow.
“Shannon?”
She could not answer. Why did he want an answer? Why must she say aloud what he already knew? Surely the earl had told him. Did he want to shame her more? Her chest heaved jerkily as she sobbed dryly and an aching pressure built in her lungs.
“I’m not going to beat you,” Brandon denied, confusion making his tone harsh. What the hell was going on? His words did not seem to relieve her at all. If anything, she looked more frightened. “I’m not going to touch you at all,” he added on a gentler note. Did she expect him to rape her? He caught his breath, stunned, as he saw the truth in her eyes. It was precisely what she expected, and she was begging for a beating rather than submit. “The kiss…it was nothing you did. I wanted…” His voice trailed off inadequately; he was unable to put into words what it was he had wanted.
Shannon shook her head. “I was wicked.”
“Wicked?”
She nodded and would say no more, biting her lower lip to stop its trembling. Brandon stared at her mouth for a long moment. “No, not wicked.” He thrust his hands in his pockets. “It was wrong of me, Shannon. I didn’t understand. Forgive me. I was selfish.” He turned and left the room.
Brandon sat on the edge of the bed in his own chamber, staring at Clara’s sleep-softened features. His hand shook as he smoothed a damp curl from the edge of her mouth. At all costs he would protect her from harm. How could any man feel differently toward his daughter? In his mind’s eye he saw Shannon flinch from him, and he felt sick to his stomach as he thought of what had occurred to make her so frightened of a man’s touch. What kind of devil had her father been?
Not her father, he amended bleakly. Thomas Stewart was not Shannon’s father any more than Brandon was Clara’s father. Had Stewart thought an accident of nature had given him the right to abuse and violate her? Shannon’s suffering made him want to retch. More than that, it made him want to kill Stewart. But, as Eric had pointed out in his letter, that had already been accomplished. Self-defense, Eric had written. Brandon wondered if his lordship knew the extent of the provocation. Brandon called himself a fool a thousand times over for unwittingly supplying the catalyst for Shannon’s terror. Hadn’t he promised moments before he kissed her that she had nothing to fear from him? Now he could add liar to his other sins.
He had given her every reason to fear him, even hate him. His actions tortured him. He had been unkind. He had been hurtful. Arrogance made him blind to her fears, blind to anything but what he wanted. And worst of all, he admitted that he was still drawn to her. He could quite easily despise himself for that.
Brandon scooped Clara into his arms and took her to the nursery. In the morning he would ask Addie to move to the household servants’ quarters and give Shannon the bedroom adjoining Clara’s. His daughter would like that, and Shannon would feel safer. He stayed with Clara long enough to be certain she would not wake, then returned to his own chamber and prepared for bed, doubting all the while that sleep would come easily.
Shannon had not knownwhat to expect upon waking. Would Brandon reconsider the wisdom of having a murderess underfoot? Would he send her away himself this time? Her questions were never answered directly, but as the days passed, her hours filled with the easy companionship of Clara, Shannon realized Brandon was not going to change his mind. Neither was he going to approach her. It was not difficult to stay out of his way, and it was slowly impressed upon her that he was avoiding her.
She did not blame him. Although she shied away from reflecting on the kiss he had given her, she knew it was, in part, the reason he stayed away. No doubt he thought she would lose her tenuous hold on sanity if he so much as looked at her. At times Shannon wondered if he wasn’t right.
No one called her Miz Rory any longer, yet Shannon could not help but be aware the servants did not know what to make of her. Someone was inevitably making an excuse to be around her when she was with Clara, as if they expected her to run off with the child. Although she knew Brandon had offered some explanation to them regarding her presence, there were still those servants who believed at heart she was Aurora up to some new trick. She could not fault their loyalty to Brandon, and she never mentioned to anyone that their vigilance was as unnecessary as it was tiring. Martha was puzzled, if not precisely skeptical, glancing at Shannon askance with her brow wrinkled in a thoughtful frown. Shannon knew that without the housekeeper’s unqualified approval, she had little hope of winning the others over. She tried not to dwell on it, thankful at least that Brandon did not hover about, and concentrated on caring for her charge.
The first sure sign Shannon had that she was to remain at the folly had come the morning after she had attempted to flee. Following Brandon’s orders, Martha informed Shannon she was to have the room vacated by Addie beside the nursery. The housekeeper was hard-pressed to decide who was more delighted by the news—Shannon or Clara—though Shannon’s burst of pleasure was confined to an uncertain smile while Clara danced about the room laughing. Since Shannon had no belongings, the move was not much of a physical thing, but Shannon felt as if a weight had been lifted nonetheless.
Shannon’s lack of belongings was put to rights a few days later when Cody interrupted tea in the nursery and began showing Clara his most recent purchases from town. Shannon’s contact with Cody had been limited to a few words of greeting in passing, and she thought Brandon must have given his brother specific instructions to stay out of her way. It was not in the least necessary, for in Shannon’s eyes, Cody presented no threat. He was charming, boyishly endearing, and when he flashed his grin, it did not set her off balance. She thought it was one of nature’s ironies that his dark good looks were more suited to the disposition of his brother. Cody should have been the fair-haired son.
That observation was confirmed again as Cody took great pains to ceremoniously and comically model the array of clothes he had purchased in Williamsburg. He pretended to be affronted by Clara’s giggled objections that he looked silly holding a gray day dress in front of him. The soft white linen cap did not become him, she said. And the damask shoes would never fit his feet. Nor would the sturdy black leather walking shoes. Cody pretended to think this over, discarding the gray dress for another in the same style but of deep indigo blue. Better? his dancing eyes asked. Clara smothered her laughter behind her hands, and Shannon felt her own lips twitching. None of these clothes suited him, Clara announced when she caught her breath. Oh dear, he sighed. Then what to do? He had a certain fondness for the apple green gown. Had Clara any use for the chemises and stockings and dressing gown? Would she like the woolen cape? The unmentionables?
Clara shook her head and Cody looked helplessly at Shannon. Then you must take them, he had said. And Shannon’s softly spoken agreement thanked him for much more than the clothes. Cody, in his bright, engaging manner, had taken the sting from the reminder she had nothing of her own, that she was wearing another’s castoffs. He had allowed her to retain a measure of pride in the face of his charity. His gesture deeply touched her.
Shannon had no doubts about what prompted the purchase of the wardrobe. She had observed enough of the running of the folly to know that there was nothing done that did not meet its master’s approval. She did not think Cody’s presents were an exception. It must have been painful for Brandon on the few occasions he did see her to look upon her in his wife’s clothes. By all accounts, the resemblance between herself and Aurora was nothing short of stunning. Wearing the mistress’s clothes was like rubbing salt in an open wound, and from what Shannon could see, Aurora Fleming had wounded a great many people at the folly. Brandon, Clara, and Cody were merely the most visible victims.
Shannon never received any formal instructions outlining her duties with Clara, but the child’s routine was well established and Shannon simply fell in with it, finding a sense of security in the structure. On most days she rose an hour or so before Clara, using the time to complete her bathing and reflect on the day’s activities. She usually teased Clara awake, assisted washing and dressing her before they shared breakfast in the nursery. For the next few hours they played at whatever amused Clara. Shannon carefully disguised the learning in games. They counted anything that struck their fancy. Marbles, dolls, steps, and horses were carefully enumerated, though Clara was apt to blithely announce there were eleventeen of everything at the folly. Together they explored the folly looking for “A words.” Addie. Apple pie. Alcove. Anise. Ants. Shannon recorded each word they found in a small ledger along with a sketch of the object. She was more surprised than Clara to find she possessed a happy talent for line drawing and a rather wicked talent for caricature. Making the allybet book, as Clara called it, became an important part of their day, and no one was safe from Shannon’s ink sketches.
A leisurely tour of the grounds usually preceded the midday meal, which Clara and Shannon ate in the dining room. Food was generally sent to Brandon and Cody in the fields, and if they arrived at the house for lunch, Shannon took her meal in the kitchen with the house servants, serenely unaware that her absence at the table bothered the hell out of Brandon.
Clara napped after lunch while Shannon read at her bedside. Had she not been afraid of confronting Brandon, she would have sat on the verandah or walked along the riverbank. She smiled ruefully. Her days at the folly numbered more than twenty. Going into Brandon’s library to borrow a book was the most courageous thing she had done without Clara at her side.
