Donnelly was all hers. Surely she could learn something of his true motivations and character…Whether or not he wanted her. Of one thing she was already convinced, Brian was not the rogue he tried to portray.
* * *
Brian woke in a dour mood, flat on his back, to a wretchedly brittle tapping battering the remnants of his whiskey soaked brain. Surely his left temple would explode. He groaned, what was that bloody racket, and pried open his right eye. The sun pierced his cluttered skull a split second before Lydia appeared in the swirling haze of his visual field, the very vixen responsible for his current state, and worse… he was looking at two of her.
He blinked, now three Lydias stood before him.
He blinked again, this time with both eyes open, and managed to focus on the lone woman standing before him.
“Lovely, you’re awake,” she said in an entirely too chipper voice and flashed a sunny smile.
Why for the love of God was she smiling? The chit should hate him after last night.
“Now we can be on our way.” She flipped a freshly plaited braid over her shoulder, turned, and tapped away.
He rose on an elbow. “Could ye stop pacin’ for half a second?” It was her damned shoes making the earsplitting racket.
“I wouldn’t be pacing if you would kindly get a move on.”
“Perhaps ye could lend me a mite of yer abounding energy.”
“We have a great deal of distance to cover,” she continued as though he’d not spoken. “Not to mention planning to accomplish. Did you have a next location in mind?”
Brian sat and pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the swishing nausea to subside. Why had he thought a good bout of drinking would remedy any of his current quandaries? The mounting attraction to Lydia was every bit as strong as it had been last night, and judging by her bright façade this fine morning his attempts to push her away had failed miserably as well.
“Brian?”
“Aye?”
“I asked where we’re going?”
“Sharpsburg,” he bit out, dragging to his feet. “Oh, Christ.” He gripped his head.
“Isn’t Sharpsburg the wrong direction?”
“Not entirely,” he mumbled, “it’s still to the south, and I know a man there who may be able to help us.”
“Excellent.” She clasped her hands and turned to the door. “I’ll give you a moment to freshen up and then we’ll be on our way.”
Brian’s gaze trailed after her as she left the room. The lass was a puzzle. When the door clicked shut he shook his head, instantly regretting the motion.
How much had he drunk last night? Too much apparently. Though not enough to have blacked out the scene after he’d returned to their room. He remembered all too vividly Lydia’s wan tear streaked face, and the disgust in her eyes when he’d stumbled into the chamber reeking of Irish whiskey—fine Irish Whiskey at that. He’d behaved as a total ass and felt damnably guilty, but she needed to hate him. The sooner she stopped looking at him with those huge bedroom eyes the better.
Fresh water, a clean towel, and a faded, yet also clean, shirt waited for him on the bedside stand. Compliments of Lydia and Harvey no doubt. Gratefully he doffed the filthy shirt and quickly scrubbed. Feeling somewhat revived, Brian pulled the fresh shirt over his shoulders, ran a hand over his bristle chin—in dire need of a shave—and headed down the stairs to join Lydia for their goodbyes.
“Harvey.” Brian extended a hand. “I cannot thank ye enough for the hospitality. If Lydia a nd I can ever repay the favor…” He let the sentence hang, suppressing a twinge of guilt lying to his old friend.
Harvey took the proffered hand, smiling jovially. “It was no trouble at all, Brian. We were thrilled to have the company. You and your wife,” he threw a wink to Lydia, “are welcome any time.’
“Thank you for that. Anna,” Brian turned, “it was lovely to finally meet you.
* * *
Brian woke in a dour mood, flat on his back, to a wretchedly brittle tapping battering the remnants of his whiskey soaked brain. Surely his left temple would explode. He groaned, what was that bloody racket, and pried open his right eye. The sun pierced his cluttered skull a split second before Lydia appeared in the swirling haze of his visual field, the very vixen responsible for his current state, and worse… he was looking at two of her.
He blinked, now three Lydias stood before him.
He blinked again, this time with both eyes open, and managed to focus on the lone woman standing before him.
“Lovely, you’re awake,” she said in an entirely too chipper voice and flashed a sunny smile.
Why for the love of God was she smiling? The chit should hate him after last night.
“Now we can be on our way.” She flipped a freshly plaited braid over her shoulder, turned, and tapped away.
He rose on an elbow. “Could ye stop pacin’ for half a second?” It was her damned shoes making the earsplitting racket.
“I wouldn’t be pacing if you would kindly get a move on.”
“Perhaps ye could lend me a mite of yer abounding energy.”
“We have a great deal of distance to cover,” she continued as though he’d not spoken. “Not to mention planning to accomplish. Did you have a next location in mind?”
Brian sat and pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the swishing nausea to subside. Why had he thought a good bout of drinking would remedy any of his current quandaries? The mounting attraction to Lydia was every bit as strong as it had been last night, and judging by her bright façade this fine morning his attempts to push her away had failed miserably as well.
“Brian?”
“Aye?”
“I asked where we’re going?”
“Sharpsburg,” he bit out, dragging to his feet. “Oh, Christ.” He gripped his head.
“Isn’t Sharpsburg the wrong direction?”
“Not entirely,” he mumbled, “it’s still to the south, and I know a man there who may be able to help us.”
“Excellent.” She clasped her hands and turned to the door. “I’ll give you a moment to freshen up and then we’ll be on our way.”
Brian’s gaze trailed after her as she left the room. The lass was a puzzle. When the door clicked shut he shook his head, instantly regretting the motion.
How much had he drunk last night? Too much apparently. Though not enough to have blacked out the scene after he’d returned to their room. He remembered all too vividly Lydia’s wan tear streaked face, and the disgust in her eyes when he’d stumbled into the chamber reeking of Irish whiskey—fine Irish Whiskey at that. He’d behaved as a total ass and felt damnably guilty, but she needed to hate him. The sooner she stopped looking at him with those huge bedroom eyes the better.
Fresh water, a clean towel, and a faded, yet also clean, shirt waited for him on the bedside stand. Compliments of Lydia and Harvey no doubt. Gratefully he doffed the filthy shirt and quickly scrubbed. Feeling somewhat revived, Brian pulled the fresh shirt over his shoulders, ran a hand over his bristle chin—in dire need of a shave—and headed down the stairs to join Lydia for their goodbyes.
“Harvey.” Brian extended a hand. “I cannot thank ye enough for the hospitality. If Lydia a nd I can ever repay the favor…” He let the sentence hang, suppressing a twinge of guilt lying to his old friend.
Harvey took the proffered hand, smiling jovially. “It was no trouble at all, Brian. We were thrilled to have the company. You and your wife,” he threw a wink to Lydia, “are welcome any time.’
“Thank you for that. Anna,” Brian turned, “it was lovely to finally meet you.
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