Scarlet Lies (Author's Cut Edition): Historical Romance Read online

  "You see," he said triumphantly. "Our marriage will work."

  "A kiss hardly qualifies as proof that a marriage will work," she said gently. She saw him glance toward the bedroom. "No," she said firmly, breaking his embrace and moving away. "What you are thinking is no proof either." Brook took another step backward. Andrew faltered in his approach, brushing an end table so that it tilted and he had to grab for the lamp to keep it from falling. She wondered how many drinks he had had before he found the courage to come to her suite. Too many, obviously. It was pathetic. It was also frightening.

  "What's wrong, Lyn?"

  "Nothing," she said quickly, drawing in a breath to calm herself. Drunken men scared her. She knew it and avoided them. They couldn't be reasoned with. They didn't think clearly. "Please go, Andrew. I've given you my answer."

  "I can't accept it." He drew out the words, part slur, part whine. "I won't accept it," he said firmly.

  "You'll have to," she said.

  "What am I supposed to tell people?"

  "What people?"

  "My friends." He took another step toward her. "What the hell am I supposed to tell my friends?"

  Brook was incredulous. "You've told people that you asked me to marry you?"

  Andrew looked sheepish, then the alcohol haze overwhelmed his expression and he looked angry. "Of course I told friends. I wanted them to wish me happy."

  "You should have waited for my answer."

  "I couldn't. Lyn, you can't turn me down. I broke my engagement, I've alienated my parents. All because of you. Doesn't that prove how much I love you?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Hell, my folks even sent for Ry to put a stop to this."

  "Ry?"

  "Ryland. My bro—my cousin. Damn it, Lyn. I told him what he could do with his interference! You don't stand up to a man like Ry without being sure of your ground first."

  "Apparently you did," she said unsympathetically. "I gave you no reason to expect my acceptance. If you recall, I tried to stop your proposal midsentence. I never had an inkling of how you felt until the other night."

  "Are you blind?" He closed the distance between them in two long strides, placed his hands on her shoulders, and shook her. "How could you not know? I've been with you almost every night for the past four months."

  "I was working. You were playing. Of course we would be together occasionally."

  "What about all the evenings I spent here? In this room?"

  "You were invited to play in private games because you have good credit. That was Bill's decision, not mine."

  "I dined with you at Cliff House."

  "I was already there. You asked to join me and I accepted."

  "What about the times when we went riding together?"

  Brook frowned, trying to remember. "Oh, but you never asked me to go riding. If I happened to be out and you came along, you fell in beside me. It would have been churlish for me to ask you to leave."

  Andrew blinked, trying to make sense of what she was saying. She attached none of his meaning to the things they had done together. "But you said I made you laugh!"

  "Please, Andrew, let me go." She tried to move away but he held her fast. "All right, you did—you do—make me laugh. I enjoyed your company on all those occasions. I'm sorry if you imagined there was something more than friendship between us because of that."

  "You're sorry! Sorry!"

  Brook felt as if her neck would snap when Andrew shook her again. She made no attempt to protect herself, fearing her defenses would make him even more unreasonable and violent. "Andrew—"

  "No wonder I made you laugh. I've been tripping over your skirts for nearly a half a year and you thought it was a lark on my part. You could have told me where you stood at any time, yet you allowed me to trail after you and hope."

  "I didn't know-"

  "You knew! Women like you always know."

  Brook let the insult wash over her, but it hurt her deeply. Disappointment, bitterness, and drink played a role in Andrew's speaking his mind, but Brook knew a part of him believed what he had just said. In his heart Andrew considered her little different from any of the other common saloon girls. He had never wanted a wife. He had wanted a whore. One with a measure of class, of beauty, of social grace, but still a whore.

  Andrew let her go so suddenly that Brook fell into the chair she had been backed against. He brushed his palms against his jacket as if ridding himself of dirt or disease. "I'm going," he said, stumbling backward. "No need to show me out. Can find my own way."

  Brook leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes as Andrew shut the door behind him. The soft click as it closed seemed louder to her than if he had slammed it. For a long time she didn't move, sitting alone with her own thoughts was a luxury. Finally she got up, turned back the lamps and went to her bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Brook took off her shoes and stockings, then padded to the fireplace and added coals to the grate. She couldn't seem to get warm. The encounter with Andrew had left her cold and shivery.

  Brook swore softly as she fumbled with the buttons at the back of her gown. Her fingers were stiff and uncooperative. She managed the uppermost and then tried to part the neckline over her shoulders and slip off the gown.

  "Let me help," Ryland said, stepping out from behind the silk dressing screen.

  Brook spun around. "You! What are you doing here?"

  His approach was silent, his eyes intent. Ryland caught her by the upper arms and turned her gently.

  His fingers played over the buttons, unfastening them easily. "I thought you might require some assistance."

  Brook was too surprised to stop him. "With my gown?"

  "With Drew."

  "You heard?"

  "All of it. There, you're done. Shall I unlace your corset?"

  "Please," she whispered. When he was finished Brook stepped behind the screen and removed her gown and corset. She left on her voluminous cotton shift and slipped into her dressing gown. "How long have you been here?" she asked.

  "Since before you came upstairs. I was behind the screen when you came in. You went to the bathroom, uncoiled your hair, then came back in here and lay down. You looked very tired."

  He said it as if he cared. Brook was too weary to think about that, too weary to reach for anger at the violation of her privacy. When she stepped into his view she appeared unruffled and unconcerned. "What if I had decided to change my clothes before I met Drew?"

  "I don't think in terms of 'what ifs' after the event," he said. "It didn't happen that way, so it's unimportant."

  She nodded. "Do you have my key?"

  "Yes."

  "May I have it?"

  Ryland took it out of his pocket and placed it in her nightstand drawer. "Was it very hard for you?"

  Brook knew he was referring to what had taken place with Drew. "You said you heard most of it. What do you think?"

  "I'm not certain. Drew was being more difficult than I expected."

  "He'd been drinking."

  Ryland made a small grimace. "I didn't realize that. If I'd known I would have come in."

  "That would have made things worse. He would have thought I was turning him down because of you."

  "Weren't you?"

  She shrugged and winced as the movement caused some pain. Her shoulders were bruised. She could still feel Drew's fingers pressing against her flesh.

  Ryland took a step toward her, watching her closely. "Did he hurt you?"

  Brook stared at him coldly. "Does it matter?" she asked, sweeping past him. She took refuge on the far side of her bed. The gold tassels swung crazily when she sat down.

  It did matter, but Ryland wasn't thinking about why. "I heard you tell him to let you go. Why didn't you reach for your gun? I assume you had it on. It wasn't in your drawer."

  "I still do," she said, patting her thigh. "Loaded. I didn't use it because I felt sorry for him. And because I didn't trust him not to do something stupid. I handled it as I thought best. Drew's gone,
his pride slightly battered, but there was no avoiding that."

  "I notice you tried to."

  "Yes, well, you know where it got me. But I'm out of his life. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

  "Yes. That's what I wanted."

  Brook placed a pillow behind her and propped herself against the headboard. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head to one side, then the other, trying to relieve the tension in her neck and shoulders.

  "Do you have a headache?" Ryland asked.

  What was the point in lying? "Yes."

  Ryland sat on the opposite side of the bed and patted a place next to him. "Come here. I'll make it go away."

  Brook opened her eyes and looked at him skeptically. "I suppose you're wondering why I haven't asked you to leave."

  "Not at all." His smile held genuine warmth. "I suspect you know it would be a waste of your breath. I'll leave when I'm ready. And don't worry. I'm not claiming my night with you now."

  "The sun will be up in a few hours."

  "I know. I want more time with you than that." He indicated the space beside him again. "Come on. You won't regret it."

  Brook edged closer to him and lay on her stomach when he told her to, resting her head on her forearms. The satin robe felt cool beneath her cheek. She sensed Ryland moving beside her, adjusting his position for better effect. His knuckle pressed lightly along the length of her spine. She felt his fingers splay, touching her back at ten different points, all of them sensitive to the contact.

  Ryland heard her sigh and watched her eyes flutter closed. She was an enigma. He doubted he would ever understand her. Until he had heard her conversation with Drew he hadn't thought he wanted to. He had come to her room to make certain she took his suggestion and refused Drew's proposal. He had been prepared to come into the room and make it seem as if they were lovers in order to convince Drew that the marriage was folly. It hadn't been necessary. For that, Ryland was thankful. Drew would have turned against him; perhaps, as Brook had pointed out, he might have believed that she was refusing him because Ryland had told her to. Ryland didn't believe it any more, but he could understand why Drew would want to hold onto that hope.

  Brooklyn was not the sort of woman a man would give up easily. Ryland suspected that she would have to face Drew again. "You never intended to marry him, did you?" he asked softly, bending his head nearer hers. The heels of his hands maintained a steady rhythm on her back, smoothing away her tension.

  "No. I never did."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Would you have believed me?"

  "Touché." He chuckled deep in his throat. "You have to admit that you lie with unnerving frequency."

  "I admit to no such thing. Sometimes I tell people what they want to hear. They lie to themselves."

  "All right. I'm not going to argue." His hands slid along her shoulders, and Brook whimpered. "Did I hurt you?"

  "A little."

  "Let me see." Before she could object Ryland turned Brook on her back and loosened her dressing gown. He turned up the lamp on the bedside table and gently moved one of her shift straps over her shoulder. Bruises were plainly in evidence. "Did I do that to you yesterday?"

  "Some of it." She searched his face, wondering at the reason for the grim line of his mouth. Was he angry with her again? "I bruise easily."

  Ryland wasn't listening to anything but the sudden impact of desire on his senses. His head lowered and his lips kissed each darkening mark in turn.

  "I thought... you said... you weren't going to..." Brook's voice drifted into silence as Ryland's mouth hovered over hers.

  "Sh. I'm not. Just a kiss." His lips touched her once. Twice. Ryland pressed more deeply the third time.

  Brook knew the shape of her mouth by the tracing of his tongue. Her lips parted, giving him access. It was nothing like Andrew's kiss. There was no alcohol taste, no bitterness. "Tart," she said softly when he raised his mouth.

  Ryland's brows drew together. "Are you calling me names?"

  Brook's head moved slowly from side to side. Her eyes searched his face. "You taste tart."

  Ryland smiled. His mouth slipped along the cord of her neck. "Mm. You don't. Honey. Nectar. That's good." His lips brushed hers. "I like sweets." He kissed her again, deeply this time, but with infinite care, nurturing the passion between them.

  Brook almost believed his kisses. Almost. Her hands had crept around his back. Now one of them slid along his spine, touched his taut buttocks, and fell to the side. She was reaching for her gun when Ryland broke the kiss and sat up abruptly.

  "Oh, no," he said, clasping her wrist, "Not again." He pulled her hand across her waist where he could see it. "You're the most singularly bloodthirsty woman I've ever known, Brooklyn."

  "Try to remember that." She turned on her side and then flopped on her stomach, giving her back to him again.

  Ryland laughed and returned to massaging her lower back. "I'll keep it in mind." He kept his hands confined to a small area of her back, kneading the muscles. "Headache better?"

  "Mm-hmm."

  "Good."

  He had nice hands, she thought sleepily. She'd remembered staring at them when he played cards with Phillip. His fingers were long and slender, his nails short and clean. Not a fancy man's hands, though. There were calluses on his palms, and the pads of his fingers weren't soft. "Are you leaving soon?"

  "Why? Do you want me to stay?"

  "No."

  "Is that the truth, or are you saying it because you think it's what I expect to hear and I deserve to believe what I want?"

  "What?"

  Ryland dropped a kiss on her cheek. "Never mind. I'm not sure I understand what I said myself. I think—" He stopped, his attention drawn to the bedroom door swinging open. It was too late to criticize himself for not hearing the outer door, so Ryland didn't bother. He released his breath on a long sigh. "Drew. I don't think you were expected."

  "Obviously." His emerald eyes glittered as his glance darted from Ryland to Brook. He took in the intimacy of their position. Ryland's hands on Brook's back, his thigh close to hers. Brook's expression had been so cat-like, so contented, that Drew wouldn't have been surprised if she purred. She had never looked like that in his company. Jealousy surged through him. "I walked around the city for a while, sobering up, more certain with every step that I had behaved like an ass. I came back to apologize." He lifted his chin aggressively. "You should lock your door, Lyn, when you have company. Right now I'm thinking you owe me an explanation."

  Chapter 6

  "I don't owe you anything, Andrew," Brook said with quiet dignity. She moved away from Ryland and sat up. "Least of all an explanation. You knew the kind of woman I was when you offered for me. That I have a male guest should come as no surprise."

  "But Ry! He just got here two days ago!"

  "Ryland and I met a number of years ago, and again yesterday." She placed her hand on Ryland's shoulder and stroked his arm in a manner that spoke of familiarity. "We were renewing... an acquaintance. Your shock is a disappointment, Andrew. You said yourself you knew my sort of woman. It should be patently clear that you were correct."

  Andrew shook his head to sweep away the alcoholic haze. He wondered if he looked as sick as he felt. His gut was twisted in knots. He looked sharply at Ryland. "I thought you didn't know Lyn."

  "I didn't. I knew Brook. I came to the Brass Slipper to meet your intended and discovered she and Lyn were one and the same. As she said, we were renewing a friendship."

  Andrew sneered. "Is that what you call it?"

  Ryland nodded. "I do."

  "Well, I call it—"

  "Don't, Drew," warned Ryland.

  "Stop it," Brook snapped, speaking to both of them. "I fail to see the point in your bickering. Andrew, your outrage is unwarranted. You never had the right of ownership, so it makes no sense to feel betrayed. Ryland knew I wasn't going to marry you, so it's no good placing blame on his shoulders."

  Andrew slapped a fist
against his side and glared at his cousin. "You must have rushed in here right after I left."

  "Close enough," Ryland agreed. "I knew Brooklyn would be upset."

  Andrew poked himself in the chest several times. "What about me? You knew what she was going to say to me! Didn't it occur to you that I might need your support?"

  "No. No, it didn't. Yesterday you spoke to me like a man. I thought you would handle this as a man... not as a child."

  "Damn you! Damn you both! You deserve each other." He swung around and slammed out of the suite.

  Ryland put his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands. "He's probably right, you know. We deserve each other."

  Brook smiled faintly. "Neither of us have sunk that low."

  Ryland's laughter was hollow. "Why did you try to take the blame?"

  "I don't want to be the cause of bad blood between you and Andrew. Family is important."

  "You have family?"

  "No. There's only me."

  Ryland was silent, thoughtful. "I don't know if it worked. Sober or not, Drew wasn't seeing straight when he left here."

  "Set your mind at ease. He'll think it over, and when he does, he'll know I'm responsible. When you don't see me again he'll believe I treated you as shabbily as he thinks I treated him. You two can rebuild a bond by despising me."

  "Who says I'm not going to see you again?"

  Brook blinked at him, startled by his question. "I do," she said with conviction. "If you care about Andrew at all, then you'll realize it's what you should do. If it's your money you're concerned about, I'll arrange for it to be deposited into an account for you."

  "I care," was all he said. He stood and walked over to the window. Drawing back the curtain, he looked out over the city. Lights still burned in hundreds of windows. Black smoke from thousands of chimneys curled against a navy blue sky. There were still a few hours of night left. If he wanted to collect on the wager Phillip cheated from him, it would have to be now. Brook was right. He couldn't keep reminding Andrew of what had happened this evening by seeing Brook again. He cared about Drew too much to do that to him.