was a small price to pay for being given a second chance to make something of himself. It was more than his father had been given.
Eleanor's jilting him hadn't been enough to wake him up. It should have been. It never should have taken his father's death and almost his own to make him realize what a mess he had become. How different things might be right now if only Eleanor's refusal had been enough.
But it hadn't. All it had done was drive him into a bottle for a fortnight. For two blissful weeks he hadn't thought of her, and then he talked himself into believing he was better off without her. He believed it too— except for those odd occasions when soberness brought her memory with it, or he spotted her at a social function, such as that fateful night at Pennington's.
He managed to fool himself quite well until after the accident, when he started taking stock of the ruins of his life. The realization that he needed to change had brought with it an obsession with Eleanor Durbane, and the more people he confronted with his quest for forgiveness, the more he thought of her. She was second only to Wynthrope, and now that he and his brother had made amends, Eleanor was all there was left.
That's all it was. It wasn't as though he wanted a second chance at wooing her. God help him, that wasn't what he wanted at all.
"You are very thoughtful," a voice whispered near his ear.
Brahm jumped. How had she managed to sneak up on him like that? He took a quick step away, ignoring the twinge in his leg. "Forgive me. I did not mean to block the way."
Lydia watched him with amusement in her pale eyes. "There's no need of you being so polite and stiff with me, Brahm." She chuckled. "Well, perhaps 'stiff' was the wrong word."
His brows pulled together. "I am afraid I do not know what you mean." That was a lie, of course. He might be dim at times when it came to women, but he wasn't a complete idiot. She had obviously come looking for him.
She moved closer, the thin silk of her gown hugging her body in blatant invitation. Was the woman like this with every man, or was he one of the unfortunate few? Yes, he could take her, could plunge himself in her. It wouldn't take much effort to get hard and do just that, but if he was going to screw Lydia, he might as well go downstairs afterward and drink a whole bottle of brandy. Would she be so encouraging if she knew he thought sharing her bed would be a step down for him?
"Why are you here, Brahm?" Her expression was curious, her posture beckoning.
He shifted away from her, leaning on his cane when his injured leg refused to move fast enough. "I was invited."
She chuckled and pressed forward once more. "Obviously. But why did you accept?"
If she advanced any farther she was going to force him over the balustrade. Her question gave him pause. Answering her honestly might not be the best course of action, but lying might give the wrong impression. Did she know how much hurt their actions had dealt Eleanor? She couldn't, otherwise she wouldn't be there now, not if she loved Eleanor.
Obviously impatient with his silence, she tried again. "Are you here for me, or for Eleanor?"
"I am not here for anyone, madam." Politeness be damned, that was his last attempt at being gentlemanly with this woman. One more salacious remark from her and he was going to tell her to go straight to hell. He didn't have time for this. He didn't have patience for this.
Lydia ran a long, graceful hand along his lapel. "I have never forgotten our night together."
That was it. Staring at her and her pouty lips, Brahm was thoroughly disgusted with both of them. "And I have never remembered it. Excuse me."
He brushed past her and continued down the corridor to Lord Burrough's room. Her laughter followed him. She obviously was not a woman easily discouraged. Either that or she was simply having
Eleanor's jilting him hadn't been enough to wake him up. It should have been. It never should have taken his father's death and almost his own to make him realize what a mess he had become. How different things might be right now if only Eleanor's refusal had been enough.
But it hadn't. All it had done was drive him into a bottle for a fortnight. For two blissful weeks he hadn't thought of her, and then he talked himself into believing he was better off without her. He believed it too— except for those odd occasions when soberness brought her memory with it, or he spotted her at a social function, such as that fateful night at Pennington's.
He managed to fool himself quite well until after the accident, when he started taking stock of the ruins of his life. The realization that he needed to change had brought with it an obsession with Eleanor Durbane, and the more people he confronted with his quest for forgiveness, the more he thought of her. She was second only to Wynthrope, and now that he and his brother had made amends, Eleanor was all there was left.
That's all it was. It wasn't as though he wanted a second chance at wooing her. God help him, that wasn't what he wanted at all.
"You are very thoughtful," a voice whispered near his ear.
Brahm jumped. How had she managed to sneak up on him like that? He took a quick step away, ignoring the twinge in his leg. "Forgive me. I did not mean to block the way."
Lydia watched him with amusement in her pale eyes. "There's no need of you being so polite and stiff with me, Brahm." She chuckled. "Well, perhaps 'stiff' was the wrong word."
His brows pulled together. "I am afraid I do not know what you mean." That was a lie, of course. He might be dim at times when it came to women, but he wasn't a complete idiot. She had obviously come looking for him.
She moved closer, the thin silk of her gown hugging her body in blatant invitation. Was the woman like this with every man, or was he one of the unfortunate few? Yes, he could take her, could plunge himself in her. It wouldn't take much effort to get hard and do just that, but if he was going to screw Lydia, he might as well go downstairs afterward and drink a whole bottle of brandy. Would she be so encouraging if she knew he thought sharing her bed would be a step down for him?
"Why are you here, Brahm?" Her expression was curious, her posture beckoning.
He shifted away from her, leaning on his cane when his injured leg refused to move fast enough. "I was invited."
She chuckled and pressed forward once more. "Obviously. But why did you accept?"
If she advanced any farther she was going to force him over the balustrade. Her question gave him pause. Answering her honestly might not be the best course of action, but lying might give the wrong impression. Did she know how much hurt their actions had dealt Eleanor? She couldn't, otherwise she wouldn't be there now, not if she loved Eleanor.
Obviously impatient with his silence, she tried again. "Are you here for me, or for Eleanor?"
"I am not here for anyone, madam." Politeness be damned, that was his last attempt at being gentlemanly with this woman. One more salacious remark from her and he was going to tell her to go straight to hell. He didn't have time for this. He didn't have patience for this.
Lydia ran a long, graceful hand along his lapel. "I have never forgotten our night together."
That was it. Staring at her and her pouty lips, Brahm was thoroughly disgusted with both of them. "And I have never remembered it. Excuse me."
He brushed past her and continued down the corridor to Lord Burrough's room. Her laughter followed him. She obviously was not a woman easily discouraged. Either that or she was simply having
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