“Where will you be waiting?”
There was only the smallest hesitation before Lydia answered. “My bedroom,” she said. “I’ll wait for you in my bedroom.”
Chapter 6
“This way,” Lydia said, opening the front door to Brigham. The grandfather clock in the foyer struck the half hour. They both glanced at it at the same time. One-thirty. Brigham was punctual.
He gave her his hat and coat, but when she started toward the staircase he hung back. “I thought we would talk down here,” he said. “In the parlor.”
Lydia shook her head, a faintly coy smile on her lips. “No. Someone may rise and see the lamps. No one will think anything about it in my room. I often stay awake reading.”
“Your room? But your reputation…What if we’re found out?”
She laughed lightly. “Then you’d have to marry me, wouldn’t you?”
Brigham had little choice except to follow Lydia up the stairs. They didn’t speak until she shut the door to her room and turned to face him. Brigham trapped Lydia against the door, his arms braced on either side of her, and said, “I love you.”
Lydia lowered her head at the last moment and his kiss caught her on the cheek and not her mouth. She ducked under his arms and walked to the sitting area of her bedroom. She gestured toward one of the armchairs and took the rocker herself. “We’ll have to keep our voices low,” she said, pointing to the fireplace. “My father’s room is the one beside mine. We share a chimney; sometimes one can hear things.”
“I don’t think I care,” he said, speaking in a normal tone. “As you said, if we’re discovered, you’d simply have to marry me.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. His boyish smile was earnest, his green eyes frank and honest in their anticipation of what Lydia would say. She was still wearing her dark blue evening gown, and the beadwork on the bodice caught the firelight, drawing Brig’s attention to the fullness of her breasts. The line of her collarbone emphasized the shadowed hollow of her throat. It was difficult to look at her now and not think of taking her to bed, yet before this evening he had wondered how he was going to take her to bed while looking at her. “You’d make me a very happy man by agreeing to marry me, Lydia.”
“Why?” she asked.
He was startled for a moment. A frown appeared between his brows and he brushed back a lock of sandy hair with his fingertips. “Because I love you.”
“I know you’ve said that—and I hope you’ll forgive me for speaking so baldly—but other men have said the same thing to me. What they really meant was Lydia, I love your money.”
“Have I given you the impression I need money?”
“No, but then neither did they.”
“I see,” he said slowly. “Perhaps you need to know that your money would not be unwelcome. I’m not so removed from the workhouse that I couldn’t appreciate it. However, it’s not necessary. I don’t need it, Lydia. You can leave it all behind when we go to Ballaburn, let your mother spend it, give it to the orphanage or your maid. I don’t care. It’s you I need, nothing else…no one else. Can you understand that?”
“It’s difficult to believe.”
“Would it help if I approached you on bended knee?” he asked.
“No, oh, no!” She started to laugh as he left his chair and fell on one knee in front of her. “Please don’t.” Then he was on both knees, his hands folded in a single fist, raised toward her in the posture of prayer. “Stop it, Brig, how am I ever to take you seriously?”
Brigham took Lydia’s wrists and gently pulled her off the rocking chair and onto the floor. “How can you not?” he said softly, solemnly. His mouth was very near hers; his eyes were darkening. He saw Lydia’s gaze drop to his mouth, rise to his eyes again, then back to his mouth. She didn’t need to say what she wanted. Brig knew.
Lydia let him kiss her this time. Over his shoulder she watched the clock on her mantel. She suspected Nathan would be as punctual as Brigham, and that left her with fifteen minutes to fill. Brigham’s kisses gave her no doubt how he would like to spend the next minutes. She pushed lightly at his shoulders, tilting her head back and taking a long draught of air. “Brig,” she said. His mouth moved to her neck. She felt his tongue lick at the base of her throat. She said his name again, softly this time and with just a hint of breathlessness. “No, Brig, I can’t think when you do that.”
“I don’t want you to think. I want you to feel.”
Lydia inched away from him, batting his hands lightly and playfully when he made to reach for her. “I know what I feel when you touch me like that,” she said. Revulsion. Pain. Disgust. None of that showed in her voice. She got to her feet. “Tell me about Banna…Bacca...”
“Ballaburn.”
“Yes, Ballaburn. Is that the name of your estate?”
“Estate.” He laughed, returning to his chair. “That’s too grand a word. It’s a station. A sheep ranch. Ballaburn raises some of the finest Merino sheep in the world. Our wool is prime.”
“And can you make money doing that?”
“Back to the money, are we?”
“Well, yes.” Lydia’s attention was caught by a noise somewhere down the hall. She pressed her hands to her middle. “Please, Brig, excuse me. I think I hear—” She broke off as she headed toward the door. “I’ll only be a moment. Wait for me.”
