A Risk Worth Taking (10 page)

“Will I?”

Samuel Thornton didn’t answer for several long seconds. “Not if I can help it.”

“How long will this last?”

“If you’re lucky, three days, maybe four. If you’re not, it might be a week. By then, all the symptoms will have lessened and will eventually go away. All except one.”

Dr. Thornton looked at Griff with more conviction. “You will never lose the craving for a drink, Mr. Blackmoor. You will always want one. But once you take your first drink, you’ll be back to the point you are right now. Worse. The next time, it will be even harder to stop. Eventually, the liquor you can’t live without will kill you.”

Griff swiped the back of his hand across his forehead. The room was like an oven. He felt like hell.

“This will not be easy, Mr. Blackmoor. I won’t lie to you and tell you it will. You have to want to stay sober a hell of a lot more than you want to be drunk.”

Griff turned his gaze to Adam and found him watching him. A tightness clenched in Griff’s chest. Dear God, he wanted to be the man he used to be. The loving, caring man he’d been when he still had Julia and Andrew. And even after. After he’d lost them. When he hurt so badly he wanted to die. Even then he’d still found the courage to go on.

Then he’d gone to war and had come home a man who had seen too much and endured too much but who could, if he tried hard enough, forget most of it some of the time, some of it most of the time. But all that changed when Freddie had died. Freddie had been one death too many. The death that should have been his own.

“Decide tonight, Griff,” Adam said. “Before Lady Anne gets too settled.”

Griff stiffened. He could do this. At least until she chose a husband. How hard could it be, after all? It wasn’t that he couldn’t stop drinking anytime he chose to; he just didn’t want to. But he would. Until Freddie’s sister had made a match.

Griff looked at the unyielding expression on Adam’s face and tried to appear in control. But the unbearable pain thundering inside his head and the roiling of his stomach made pretending he was in command impossible.

Bloody hell.

He wiped the sweat from his face and paced the room. “I’ve got to get out of here.” He stopped. Even he heard the
panic in his voice, a terror that bordered on desperation. “I’m going upstairs.”

“There’s a room ready for you in the east wing, at the end of the hall,” Adam said. “Fenwick will show you up. Dr. Thornton and I will be up shortly.”

Griff paid little attention to what Adam said. He stalked to the door and walked away without a look back. His stomach lurched and his vision blurred. How ironic. He was going to spend the week going through hell in order to wash away the liquor he’d consumed in excess over the last four months. But right now, he’d chop off his right hand if only someone would give him a drink.

At least one.

A
nne lay in the dark, unable to sleep. She’d already spent two and a half days in London. Each day had been a whirlwind of activity. Lady Covington had been wonderful, taking her to one of London’s most famous modistes each morning to select designs and material for the new gowns she would have made. Then they stopped at the milliner and the shoemaker. When they finished, they took their packages home, ate a light lunch, and rested a short while; then at precisely five o’clock, the most advantageous time to be seen, they went for an open carriage ride through Hyde Park.

Patience had secretly hinted that this would ensure invitations to the most prestigious events where Anne could meet the créme of London’s eligible young men—which, she reminded herself, was the reason she’d come to London.

She stifled a shiver.

She had not seen Mr. Blackmoor since the first evening they’d arrived. Perhaps he’d gone back to the country. No one said, and Anne didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know where he’d gone. At the same time, she did. She wanted to know everything about him. That she wanted to know everything about him frustrated her.

On the surface, the countess had at first seemed reserved, always the epitome of decorum and refinement. Underneath, Anne found her to be charming and witty. She thought they could easily become friends. The earl, however, remained a mystery. Anne had the impression that something was terribly wrong.

She saw him very seldom. He ate dinner with them each evening but spoke little and excused himself early. The worry lines on his face said something was not right. The look he and his wife exchanged every time he entered the room confirmed it.

Anne reminded herself that perhaps she imagined a problem. At dinner that evening, the earl had promised he would be in attendance for the dinner party to which they had accepted an invitation for later next week.

Next week.

Anne threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. Her search would begin Friday.

Patience informed her that she’d received an invitation to a tea hosted by the Duchess of Wallingsford next Friday afternoon. Then there would be the dinner party at the Marquess of Edington’s that evening. Although the countess did not expect there to be a huge number of males attending either event, she assured Anne that such small gatherings would be an excellent opportunity to begin her process. She also assured her that by the middle of next week, she would have invitations to more events than she would have time to attend.

Although the countess never openly mentioned Anne’s reason for coming to London, it was obvious she
understood the purpose. She was here to select a prime candidate to be her husband.

Blood rushed like ice water through her veins.

She jumped from the bed and shoved her arms into the sleeves of her robe. There suddenly was not enough air to breathe. The wonderfully spacious room was not big enough for her. She had to escape these four walls.

She lit two branches of the candelabra on the table by the door and slipped out of her room. Perhaps she would go to the library and search for a book to read. Something to occupy her time, to shift her thoughts from why she’d come to London. Something different to concentrate on other than her search for a husband.

If only there were a different way to guarantee Becca a secure future. But if there was, it was a mystery to her.

She walked down the narrow hall, careful to take the back way so she wouldn’t wake anyone. Positive she wouldn’t encounter anyone in this part of the house at this hour, she held her candle high as she made her way to the stairs.

If she hadn’t been so lost in thought, she probably would have seen the Earl of Covington approaching, but she wasn’t paying attention.

On the small landing where the stairs from the floors above connected with the stairs going down, she nearly collided with Covington as he raced down the steps. She covered her hand over her mouth to stifle her squeal of fright, then leaned against the wall while her heart thundered in her breast.

“I’m terribly sorry, my lord,” she whispered by way of an apology, but she wasn’t sure the earl heard her. His
eyes were wide with alarm. When he spoke, the worry in his voice added to her concern.

“Would you help me? Please. I need your help.”

The shock she suffered from coming upon him in the dark changed to concern. Then to fear. “Of course. Is something the matter?”

“It’s Griff.”

“Mr. Blackmoor?”

“Yes. Please, come with me.”

She nodded her assent.

The earl took the candelabra from her hand and led her up the stairs from which he’d just descended. They went down a long hallway to the east wing.

She hadn’t been in this part of the house before.

“I’m sorry to involve you in this.” He kept his hand on her elbow and led her down another long, narrow hallway. “But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Of course,” she assured him. She tried but couldn’t come up with a reason Mr. Blackmoor might need her. Then she heard his voice. The tone was strained and harsh. From this distance, he almost sounded hoarse, as if he’d been calling out for hours. She heard it again.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s…sick. He’s getting so very weak. I’m afraid he might…”

Blackmoor called again.

“What is he saying?”

“Julia. He’s calling out for his wife.”

Anne’s heart skipped a beat. “His wife?”

“Yes. She drowned four years ago, but he—he’s not himself right now. I was on my way to get my wife. Dr. Thornton
thought if someone answered him, another female perhaps, he would think it was her and calm down. Will you do it?”

Anne nodded.

Before she had time to prepare herself, the earl flung open the door and ushered her inside.

Three candles lit the room, keeping it shadowed as if it were a sickroom. The lighting was too dim to see the figure on the bed clearly, but when the earl set the candelabra on the bedside table, she got a close look at him.

She covered her mouth with her hands to stop the cry that wanted to escape. Oh, heavens, she couldn’t believe the change in the man who’d brought her to London.

Griffin Blackmoor lay on the bed, his face as pale as the sheet beneath him. A heavy film of perspiration covered his face, his bare chest heaved with exhaustion.

Dr. Thornton wiped his skin with a damp cloth while he tried to hold him steady. But the harder he held him, the more Mr. Blackmoor struggled.

The sight of him desperately fighting to escape was almost more than she could bear. Anne thought her heart would break.

He thrashed from side to side on the narrow bed. Undoubtedly the reason for the heavy cord strapped across his waist. His legs were tied to the bed, but that didn’t stop him from struggling to escape his bonds. He cried out his pleas as if demons only he could see tortured him.

“Julia!”

“Please, my lady. Answer him.”

Anne was unable to move let alone speak.

Dark bruises dotted Blackmoor’s arms, no doubt from where the earl and Dr. Thornton had tried to restrain him.
His hair was matted to his scalp and the growth of stubble on his face made him appear…demented.

“Julia! Where are you?”

He pulled against the bonds holding him with greater desperation. He was frantic with fear for the woman called Julia.

“Please,” the earl whispered again. “Tell him you’re here.”

“Julia. Answer me! Please. Oh, please.”

“Just tell him that you’re here, my lady,” the doctor whispered. “He needs to think his wife is safe.”

“Julia!”

Her legs trembled beneath her as she took a step closer to the bed. “I’m here, Mr.—Griff.”

She hadn’t spoken very loud, but the air in the room crackled with silence. He stopped thrashing and held perfectly still.

“Julia?”

“Yes, Griff. It’s me. I’m here.”

“Oh, thank God,” he cried out. His voice was filled with emotion. “I thought you were dead.”

“No. No. I’m right here.”

“Where’s Andrew? Is he all right?”

She lifted her head to look at the doctor and he nodded emphatically.

“He’s fine, Griff. Don’t worry about Andrew. Just worry about yourself and getting better.”

Anne stepped closer to the bed and reached for the wet cloth the doctor had in his hand. She wiped the perspiration from Blackmoor’s face, then brushed his hair from his forehead.

“Oh, Julia. I was so scared.” His breathing came in ragged gasps. “I couldn’t find you.” His words came out faster and faster as he became more agitated. “I thought I’d lost you.” He tried to rise, but the doctor’s hands tightened around him. The Earl of Covington’s hands held him from the other side. “Don’t leave me. Promise you’ll never leave me.”

“No, Griff. I won’t leave you.”

His hand moved at his side as if he were searching for her. As if he wanted to touch her to make sure she was real.

She couldn’t do this, let him touch her, hold his hand, twine her fingers with his. She looked up and saw the frantic desperation in the earl’s eyes. The dark concern in the doctor’s.

“Julia, where are you?” His hand moved in search of hers.

She didn’t want to feel the heat of his warm flesh next to hers. It would make him too real. It would connect him to her closer than she wanted to be. But she couldn’t stop herself. She reached for him and held his hand in hers.

A thousand jolts of something she could not explain rushed through her body. “I’m right here, Griff. Just stay with me and I’ll help you. Day by day. One day at a time.”

She held his hand while she wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Oh, Julia. I love you.”

The air caught in her throat. “I know, Griff. I love you, too.”