by Anna Bradley
Hyacinth bit her lip. “Well, not exactly. He’s… Now, Isla, there’s no reason to look so terrified. Lord Sydney is perfectly well. That is, he will be, once—”
“Oh, no.” Isla’s hands started to shake, and she set her sherry aside. “What’s happened? Where is he? For pity’s sake, Hyacinth, tell me!”
“It’s all right, Isla. I swear it. I would have told you at once if it was truly dreadful.” Hyacinth drew a deep breath and wrapped Isla’s hands tightly in hers. “Sydney is well, but he’s not here. His coachman, Mr. Burke, arrived on horseback yesterday afternoon. They, ah…well, there was an accident. Sydney’s carriage slid on the ice, went off the road, and tumbled into a ditch.”
“An accident?” Isla repeated faintly, her stomach twisting with panic. “A ditch?”
“Yes. I’m not going to hide the truth from you, Isla. Mr. Burke said it was quite bad. The carriage was destroyed, and Lord Sydney was injured.”
Isla stared at Hyacinth. “How badly injured?”
Dear God, I’m going to be sick…
“He’s got a broken hand, a dislocated shoulder, and…” Hyacinth paused, and her fingers tightened around Isla’s. “His head struck the carriage window before he was thrown to the ground. He’s got a nasty cut on his temple from the broken glass, and he’s still recovering from what sounds like a rather serious head injury. Indeed, Mr. Burke said they were quite worried about him.”
Isla fell back against the settee, her breath as short as if she’d taken a blow to the stomach. Her thoughts scattered in a thousand directions at once, but really only one thing mattered. “He’s going to be all right, isn’t he? He’s no longer in any danger?”
“He’s going to be just fine, dear, truly. Mr. Burke said when he left Beaconsfield, Lord Sydney was so far recovered he’d become as restless as a child locked in a stuffy schoolroom. It seems he was complaining bitterly of boredom and demanding to be allowed to leave his bed.”
For the first time since Hyacinth uttered the word accident, Isla was able to gulp a breath of air into her lungs. “That does sound like Sydney. He can’t bear to be confined.”
“That may be, but it sounds as if he’s met his match in Mr. Dean, the farmer who found them after the accident and nursed Lord Sydney back to health. From what Mr. Burke told us, Mr. Dean doesn’t put up with any nonsense, not even from the Earl of Sydney.”
Isla couldn’t quite explain to herself why Mr. Dean’s name should make her smile, but it did. “Indeed? What else did Mr. Burke say about Mr. Dean?”
“Quite a lot, as it happens. To hear Mr. Burke speak of him, one would think Mr. Dean walks on water. Mr. Burke had Ciaran in fits of laughter over some story about Mr. Dean and a big, furry black bear. Or was it a dog? I couldn’t quite work out which, but Ciaran found it vastly entertaining.”
“A bear?” The more Isla heard about Mr. Dean, the more intrigued she became. “I’d rather like to meet this Mr. Dean.”
“Oh, I would, as well. Apparently, he’s quite a young man, and Mr. Burke insists he knows as much about healing as any doctor. Indeed, Mr. Burke said over and over again that if it hadn’t been for Mr. Dean, Lord Sydney might not have… Well, Mr. Dean saved Lord Sydney’s life.”
Isla’s smile faded as the gravity of Sydney’s situation sank in. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Dean, she might have returned to Huntington Lodge this morning to find an unimaginable tragedy waiting for her. “We owe Mr. Dean an enormous debt of gratitude.”
“Yes, we certainly do. I’m anxious to see Lord Sydney, just so I can reassure myself he’s all right. He’ll be well enough to travel in a few days. Finn is to send his traveling coach to Beaconsfield to fetch Lord Sydney here.”
A few days.
Isla reached out an unsteady hand for her sherry and swallowed what was left in the glass. She had a few days to find a way to tell her dearest friend she couldn’t marry him and do it without making him feel as if the friend he trusted above all others had abandoned him.
Chapter Twenty
Four days later
“Use the sling if your shoulder starts to ache again. The jostling of the carriage is likely to aggravate it.”
“Lucas.”
“Mind your hand, as well. It may not hurt much anymore, but it isn’t healed. Don’t put any pressure on it.”
Sydney’s face flushed with irritation. “Lucas.”
“Tell that fancy coachman of Lord Huntington’s not to rush the journey. He looks like the sort who would.”
Sydney was standing in front of the glass in the bedchamber, struggling to tie his cravat, but he abandoned the effort and tried to catch Lucas’s eyes in the mirror. “Damn it, Luke. Will you look at me?”
“If he does rush, you’ll crash again. Even your head isn’t hard enough to take two beatings in one week.”
Sydney was leaving. Lord Huntington’s luxurious traveling coach had arrived this morning to take him to Huntington Lodge. It was time. Aside from the still livid scar on Sydney’s temple and the awkwardness with which he held his left arm, one would never guess only a week earlier he’d nearly lost his life in a carriage accident.
He was perfectly able to travel, and after all, his blue-eyed betrothed was waiting for him.
Lucas had lain awake all night, wrapped in Sydney’s arms, listening to his deep, even breaths as he slept. It had taken him until dawn to persuade himself Sydney’s leaving was for the best. Now the time had come, he’d keep the promise he’d made to himself.
He’d make it as easy as he could for Sydney to go.
“Stop as often as you can, even with the short distance.” Sydney’s greatcoat was thrown over his arm, and Lucas was rattling off orders like a nursemaid to a naughty child. “You’ll need as much rest as you—”
“If you’re so concerned, then why don’t you come with me as I asked you to?” Sydney turned from the mirror and fixed Lucas with a look that was half pleading, half resentful. “We could have more time together—”
“No.” Lucas repeated the same answer he’d been giving Sydney for the past few days. “I can’t leave the farm.”
Even Sydney, who didn’t know a thing about farming, knew this for the lie it was. The main roads might be passable now that most of the snow and ice had melted, but Lucas’s fields were still a mess of half-frozen mud.
Sydney’s face darkened with disappointment. “That’s an excuse, and you bloody well know it.”
They’d had this same discussion a half-dozen times over the last three days, but Lucas stubbornly repeated the same arguments he’d used from the start. “I can’t leave Brute for that long.”
Brute was sprawled beneath the window, twitching his way through a dream, but he woke at once when he heard his name. He raised his head and looked hopefully at Lucas, his tail beating a rhythm against the floor.
“We’ll bring him with us.”
“Can’t. He hates to travel, don’t you, Brute?” Brute’s long pink tongue rolled out of his mouth, and Lucas pointed at him, as if this were proof of his claim. “See?”
Sydney didn’t reply. He pinched his lips together and held out his hand for his greatcoat.
Lucas handed it to him and prayed Sydney wouldn’t ask him to come with him again. If he did, Lucas’s resolve might desert him, and the next thing he knew he’d be surrounded by aristocrats at Huntington Lodge, delivering Sydney into his betrothed’s arms.
He held his breath as Sydney took his coat and crossed to the bedchamber door, but just as he was about to sigh with relief, Sydney paused. “You won’t even come as far as Aylesbury with me?”
“No.”
Sydney braced a hand on his hip, his gaze on the floor. “I don’t understand. If we could have even this little bit more time together, why wouldn’t you take it?”
Why? Because a little more time together wouldn’t change anything. I
t would just make letting Sydney go that much harder, and it was already so hard Lucas wasn’t sure how he’d bear it. It was true he and Brute had managed just fine on their own for the past few years, but once Sydney was gone, he’d no longer be able to fool himself about how lonely he was.
The quiet would be deafening, the emptiness impossible to ignore.
But he wouldn’t say that. He didn’t want Sydney to look back on their last day together and feel guilt and pity. Lucas’s pride wouldn’t allow it. So instead of confessing the truth, he simply repeated the same lie he’d been telling all along. “I told you why. I can’t leave the farm now.”
It was easier this way. Easier to lie, and to pretend.
Sydney was quiet for a long moment, but at last he dragged a hand through his hair with a sigh. “I, ah…I want to offer you something, to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
Lucas noticed the dull red flush creeping up Sydney’s neck, and his brow furrowed. Offer him something? What could he possibly offer him, unless he—
“Christ, Sydney.” Lucas’s face heated with anger and embarrassment. “I don’t want your money. If you think I took you in so I could squeeze a few paltry coins out of you—”
“Stop it.” Sydney was in front of him in three long strides, his good hand gripping Lucas’s shoulder. “Damn it, I know that’s not why. I know you would never… I just… I don’t like to leave you.” Sydney released Lucas, and his arm dropped helplessly to his side. “What will you do, after I’m gone?”
Lucas wanted more than anything to retreat into the cool detachment that had protected him for so long, but his heart softened at Sydney’s distress. The trouble was, he was in love with this man, and he couldn’t stand to send him away with such a look of misery on his face.
“Well, let me see.” He gave Sydney one of his rare grins. “I thought I’d either take a trip to the Continent—I told you I’ve always wanted to go to Italy—or else I’d wait for the ground to thaw, then plant out the west field with turnips. I haven’t yet made up my mind which.”
Sydney’s lips curved in a reluctant grin. “Italy or the west field? I know which I’d choose.”
“You’d choose Italy, like any other decadent aristocrat, but someone has to plant the turnips, so it’s left to us ordinary farmers.”
This was said without bitterness or rancor, but Lucas was painfully aware it was the crux of the matter. Sydney’s betrothal and his duty to his title were obstacles, but when it came right down to it, the two of them were pieces of totally different puzzles. They didn’t fit, and all their struggles to align their edges wasn’t going to change that.
“You’d best be off.” Lucas swallowed, and nodded toward the door. “Lord Huntington’s fancy coachman doesn’t look like the patient sort.”
Sydney didn’t reply right away, but Lucas didn’t wait. He turned toward the window so he wouldn’t have to watch Sydney leave. Brute wriggled closer with a whine and rested his chin on Lucas’s boot.
Sydney crossed the room and knelt down to scratch Brute’s ears. “Goodbye, Brute. You’re a noble animal, magnificent among dogs and bears alike. Take care of him for me, won’t you?” Sydney let Brute cover his hand with sloppy kisses, then he rose and touched Lucas’s shoulder. “Luke.”
There was such a depth of feeling in that one word, Lucas couldn’t deny him. He turned to face the only man who’d ever made him feel as though he wasn’t alone.
Sydney tugged Lucas against his chest and took his lips in a deep, tender kiss. Lucas welcomed him inside with a soft groan, and they stood together in the dim bedchamber where they’d exchanged their first smile and told each other without words what was in their hearts.
When Sydney drew away, they were both breathless.
“You’re not an ordinary farmer, Luke,” he whispered, cupping Lucas’s cheek in his hand. “You’re not an ordinary anything. Don’t ever forget that.”
Then he was gone, and Lucas was left alone.
* * * *
The journey to Huntington Lodge was as awful as Sydney had expected it would be.
He’d been dreading it for the past four days, and as it happened, his anxiety had been utterly justified. It was a bloody nightmare, though oddly, not for the reasons he’d expected.
His shoulder was holding up well. He’d braced himself for the worst, but aside from an occasional twinge here and there, he felt very little pain. He hadn’t needed to resort to the sling even once. Lucas had done such a good job caring for him—
No. I won’t think on it.
Sydney drew a deep breath and forced cheerful thoughts to chase the shadows from his head. He was to see Isla today. She was at Huntington Lodge, waiting for him, and her sweet smile always lifted his spirits. Her brothers were amusing, too, especially Ciaran, who spouted enough nonsense to divert a monk from his vows. Ciaran wasn’t as amusing as Lucas, of course, but—
Damn it. Sydney’s head fell back against the squabs.
For God’s sake, this was absurd. He hadn’t any excuse for such pathetic, miserable behavior. It wasn’t as if he were a spurned lover. He was betrothed to a lovely lady, and he was mere weeks from fulfilling his obligations to his legacy. He’d chosen this, so there was no reason in the world he should be sighing and tearing his hair out like some sort of unhinged Romeo.
But his wretchedness persisted, and it grew worse with every mile.
Perhaps it was his shoulder, after all. He must be in more pain than he’d realized. Yes, yes, that was it. He was certain he’d felt an uncomfortable pang, just a moment ago. Then there was the numb terror he’d been struck with the moment he climbed inside the coach. It was understandable, considering what had happened the last time he’d been in a carriage. If he hadn’t noticed the terror until just now, well, surely, he was simply blocking it out.
Of course, there wasn’t all that much to block, if he were being truthful. He didn’t remember the crash, or much of anything else that had happened that day. Well, aside from the bear attack, which, as it happened, wasn’t an attack at all and didn’t involve a bear.
That, and a pair of extraordinary gray eyes—
No.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t think of Lucas once he left Brinkhill Farm behind him. He was on his way to reunite with his betrothed, and his thoughts should be on her and her alone.
Only there was this pain in his chest, and no matter how many deep breaths he took, he couldn’t ease it. Perhaps he’d bruised a rib or two in the crash and was just now noticing the pain.
More than a week later.
Yes, that made perfect sense.
It wasn’t until they were less than a mile from Huntington Lodge that Sydney finally gave up the struggle and admitted the truth to himself.
This was wrong.
He was making a terrible mistake, and he’d known it since the moment the coach drove away from Brinkhill Farm. Just as they’d crested the hill he’d looked out the window. Lucas had been standing in front of the farmhouse door, one hand resting on Brute’s head and the other lifted in a wave goodbye.
Sydney didn’t have a bruised rib. He had a bruised heart.
I’m in love with Lucas Dean.
That was why his chest was aching. For the first time in his life, he was in love. He’d known it all along, of course, but he’d had to leave Lucas behind before he could acknowledge the enormity of it.
Now, he understood. He was in love with Lucas, and it changed everything.
All the promises he’d made, and all the things he’d once thought so important—his earldom, his fortune, his duty to his title—all of it faded to insignificance in comparison to his love for Lucas.
His heart urged him to order the coachman to turn around and go back to Beaconsfield at once, but he was nearly to Huntington Lodge, and Isla was waiting. A gentleman didn’t relinquish
his betrothed without an explanation, and there was her reputation to consider, as well. If they didn’t marry, something else would have to be done. He’d never leave her at the mercy of the ton’s vicious gossip.
Sydney was still mulling over possible ways to help Isla when the coach made the turn toward Huntington Lodge. As they approached the entrance, Sydney could see all of his friends gathered on the front steps, waiting for him. Lord Huntington, looking as stern as always, and his wife, Lady Huntington, as lovely as ever. Lachlan and his new wife, Lady Ramsey, were there, and Ciaran Ramsey, looking as much like a wild Scot as Sydney remembered.
Then, pushing her way through the crowd…
Isla herself.
Despite its bruised state, his heart gave a leap of joy at the sight of his dear friend, just as it always did when he saw her. He’d missed her, and now here she was, as pretty as ever, if a little pale…
Sydney frowned as his anxious gaze moved over her face. No, not a little pale, but very pale, with a sad cast to her lips, and her beautiful blue eyes dull. He knew at once something was wrong, but he didn’t have time to ponder it before the driver brought the coach to a halt and Isla rushed forward and threw his door open.
“Oh, Sydney! How glad I am you’re here at last!” She took his hand and helped him from the coach. “Such an awful accident! I don’t know what I would have done if…” She trailed off, her lower lip trembling.
“Now, Isla, it’s all right.” Lord Huntington came forward and laid a careful hand on Sydney’s good shoulder. “Lord Sydney is here, and he’s still in one piece.”
“Mostly one piece, anyway.” Ciaran Ramsey was peering at the jagged wound on the left side of Sydney’s face. “Good Lord, Sydney, that’s quite a mess you’ve got there. Take a look at that, Lach. I think it’s worse than that time you got hit in the head with a whiskey bottle.”
Sydney raised a hand to his temple and ran his fingers over the gash. “That, gentlemen, is what happens when you use your skull to open a window.”
Ciaran chuckled, but Lachlan Ramsey blanched when he got a close look at Sydney’s face. “My God, Sydney. You’re lucky you didn’t lose your eye.”
