A Risk Worth Taking (18 page)

“I can’t chance caring for someone, then losing them.” His voice was little more than a whisper. “I can’t go through that pain again.”

“Then I feel sorry for you, Griff. There are no guarantees against pain in this life. But if you do not let yourself love, you will have put your heart in an empty box and sealed it shut. You will have missed out on every blessing life can grant you.”

“And I will have spared myself the pain. You don’t know, Patience. You’ve never lost someone you thought you could not live without.”

“No. And I pray I never do. I know losing Julia and Andrew was horrible, Griff. But you can’t spend the rest of your life punishing yourself and pushing away anyone who gets close to you.”

“Falling in love is not a risk I’m willing to take. Not with Anne.”

“Do you think you’re the only one taking a risk? The only one who has something to lose if you risk your heart? You aren’t. This isn’t easy for Anne, either. I think you’re right. I think she does care for you. Much more than she wants to. What kind of a risk do you think she’s taking, losing her heart to someone who throws her gift back in her face?”

“I’m doing what I must in order to protect her.”

Adam entered the conversation. “No, you’re not. You’re refusing to admit how you feel because you’re afraid.”

Griff focused on Adam’s unwavering gaze, but not without a great deal of effort. He didn’t like what his brother said because his words were true. He was afraid. Afraid to risk his heart and have it broken.

“Whether you like it or not,” Adam said without any softness, “Lady Anne is
your
responsibility. If you care for her at all, you won’t let her go through this alone.”

Griff turned away from where Patience stood by her husband. Adam was not going to budge on this. “What time did Lady Anne intend to leave?”

“A quarter to three.”

“Then we’d best get this over with. I have a feeling it won’t be pleasant for either of us.”

Griff walked through the door, dreading the first meeting with her. He knew he’d hurt her, but he’d had no choice. How else could he stop what was happening between them? How else could he protect her from thinking she could be happy with him, when she probably wouldn’t live long enough to find happiness?

He opened the door to the parlor, ready to face her indifference. Ready to steel himself against the shadowed hurt and sadness he knew he’d caused. He was not, however, ready to challenge the raw anger he saw on her face, nor to battle the fire that blazed in her eyes when she glared at him.

“Griff has graciously offered to escort you in my place, Anne,” Adam announced from the doorway. “I have an obligation I cannot ignore, or I would take you myself.”

Her cheeks flushed with color, her jaw clenched with determination. “Mr. Blackmoor doesn’t have to trouble himself. I’d rather wait until it’s convenient for you to escort me, my lord.”

Griff tried to ignore the frigid chill that engulfed the room and not let her words affect him. He kept his voice steady and showed as little emotion as possible. “That’s not necessary, my lady. I’m here. We might as well get this over and done today. Adam tells me Brentwood will be out of the house. From the first meeting you had with him in
the country, and your meeting with him here yesterday, I think it’s best he’s not around when you are.”

“I would rather go alone,” she answered.

“That’s not a possibility.”

“Then it’s not necessary for me to go. I’m sure there aren’t that many items of importance.”

“Would you like me to accompany you and Griff?” Patience asked, her words a conciliatory offering.

Anne turned away from him. “Yes, please. If I must go today, would you mind?”

“No. Not at all.”

Griff braced his shoulders. “Very well. The three of us will go. Adam,” he said, turning to his brother, “have a couple of your men meet us at Brentwood’s with a wagon.”

Adam nodded, then issued the order to Fenwick, who stood just beyond the door.

“Are you ladies ready, then?” he asked, not letting his gaze linger on her any longer than necessary. The sight of her made his heart pound in his chest. The defiant look in her eyes issued a warning. This Anne was not the warm, accepting woman he’d held in his arms and kissed the last time he’d seen her. This woman was furious. She’d been hurt too deeply and wanted to lash out at him.

They walked to the foyer where Fenwick and a maid waited with bonnets and light wraps for the ladies. Even though he made certain he was there to escort her down the steps, she walked ahead of him and made her way to the waiting carriage without any help.

She accepted a footman’s assistance and climbed the two steps into the carriage. Once inside, she insisted that Patience sit beside her. He sat alone on the opposite side.

He did not know which was worse. Having her sit beside him, where her nearness would drive him to distraction, or having her sit across from him, where he had nowhere to focus his gaze but on her beautiful features, her long, graceful neck and upturned nose. And her white-knuckled hands fisted in her lap.

She didn’t look at him once. Neither did she join in the stilted conversation Patience tried to initiate. Instead, she kept her head turned and her eyes riveted on the passing scenery.

When at last the driver pulled up in front of the town house, Griff hastily exited the carriage to escape the explosive tension inside the small enclosure.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the driver, Carney, said when Griff exited. “I couldn’t pull the carriage up in front of the house because of the vehicles already blocking the street. One of the houses nearby must be entertaining. I had to park on the opposite side.”

“That will do, Carney. We can manage the short distance across the street.”

He held out his hand when the ladies descended. Patience exited first. She gave him a sympathetic smile, then walked out of sight around the carriage. Anne came next. He knew if she could have managed the steps in her wide, cumbersome skirts without his assistance, she would have done so. She would have done anything to avoid having to touch him, or look at him, or be near him.

He couldn’t let her continue like this. The next few hours were going to be difficult enough without the barrier she’d erected between them.

“Anne?” he said, before she reached the side of the carriage.

She stopped but did not turn around. “Did you need something, sir?”

“I don’t want it to be like this between us.” He stepped closer to her.

She turned, her anger obviously boiling near the surface. “And how would you like it to be, Mr. Blackmoor?”

Patience had already crossed the street and they were alone. He wanted to console her but had no answer. He didn’t know how he wanted it to be between them. But whatever it was, he did not want it like this.

“None of what happened the other night was your fault. You did nothing for which to feel ashamed.”

“Ashamed? You think what I feel is shame?” She fisted her hands even tighter at her sides, if that were possible, and took a step toward him. “I have one question I would like you to answer, Mr. Blackmoor, and it has nothing to do with the kiss we shared.”

He looked into her eyes and fought the urge to take her in his arms and hold her. He wanted to tell her he wished he hadn’t hurt her, but he didn’t get the chance. Her next words hit him like a battering ram that slammed into his gut.

“Just how big a dowry did you think it would take to force someone to marry me? How much money did you offer to ensure that someone would be desperate enough to take me off your hands?”

The air left his lungs. How the bloody hell had she found out about the dowry? What fool had told her?

He struggled to find the right words. “I didn’t provide the dowry because I thought you couldn’t attract suitors who would want you, but because I wanted to show Society how valuable I considered you to be.”

“And that is why you kept the dowry a secret from me? Because you thought I would be so impressed by your opinion of my worth?”

“I kept it a secret because of what is happening right now. I knew you wouldn’t understand what I’d done and would misconstrue my intentions.”

She took one step closer to him. “Misconstrue your intentions? I think I understand them quite accurately.”

She stopped long enough to gather her control. “You don’t have to worry, sir. I don’t need your dowry. I have no intention of taking one pound from you. You have provided me with the chance to find a husband. Your obligation to Freddie is paid in full.”

“The dowry is already set. It will go to whomever you marry.”

“No! Even though you are convinced I cannot manage without your help, I intend to find a husband on my own. A husband who does not want the dowry you heaped on me. You can be assured your money will not have paid for the man I marry.”

She turned to leave, then stopped. “One more thing, Mr. Blackmoor. I know you consider kissing me a dreadful mistake. But just know, I regret what happened between us a thousand times more than you. But not because I thought it was so terrible. You see, I kissed you because I thought you were worth the risk. And I paid dearly for my error in judgment. You took something from me I will never get back. A part of me I didn’t even realize I was guarding with such care, or realize I would miss so desperately when it was gone.”

“I’m sor—”

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry!” She slashed her hand through the air. “I don’t want to hear any more inept excuses to absolve your guilt-ridden conscience. I have lived with the regrets long enough. You can, too.”

With that, she turned and walked away from him.

He followed but not too closely. There was no use stopping her. There was nothing more for him to say.

If he hadn’t been so angry with himself, he would have paid closer attention to their surroundings. He would have noticed the carriage that barreled down the cobblestoned street toward them sooner. He would have seen it before it was practically on top of them. Would have been able to reach her before it was too late.

“Anne!”

He dove for her, barely missing being run over by the wheels of the black carriage himself. But he couldn’t reach her in time to pull her out of the way.

The carriage didn’t run over her, he was sure it hadn’t, but he knew she’d been struck. Perhaps by one of the horses.

He heard her scream of surprise, then saw her being tossed through the air. She landed with a hard thud.

She lay in the street, her body curved at an odd angle, like a broken doll.

“Anne!” He fell beside her on the cobblestones. Her head was turned to the side, her eyes closed. A red welt already marred her perfect features, where her face had hit the cobblestones.

Griff touched her cheek, then put his face next to hers. Her breathing was shallow, but warm, moist air hit his cheek. She was still alive. He felt her arms and legs and ribs to check for anything broken but found nothing.

“Griff! Anne!” Patience raced across the street and knelt beside them. “Is she all right?”

With trembling fingers, Griff brushed the hair from Anne’s face. “I don’t know. She’s not conscious. She must have hit her head.” He removed her bonnet and placed his hand at the back of her head. Warm, sticky liquid oozed through his fingers.

He ripped his cravat from around his neck and pressed it behind her head. “Carney,” he ordered the driver who’d come running up behind him. “Pull the carriage close. We have to get her home.”

“Yes, sir.”

Griff heard the sound of heavy boots racing toward him and looked up.

“I’m sorry, Griff. I lost him.”

Griff stared into Jack Hawkins’s face. His expression was unreadable. His chest heaved from exertion.

“I saw the carriage coming but was too far away to warn you.”

“Did you recognize him?”

Hawkins shook his head. “No.” He looked down at Anne. “What can I do?”

Griff picked her up in his arms, trying not to notice how much blood had soaked his cravat. “We have to get her home. Follow us?”

Hawkins nodded, then helped Griff lift Anne into the carriage. The minute the door closed, the carriage took off with a lurch. Griff cradled Anne close to him. He was desperate to have her near him.

The trip home seemed to take an eternity, but within minutes, they were there.

“Send someone for Dr. Thornton, Fenwick,” he ordered as he carried Anne up the stairs. “And tell him to come as quickly as possible.”

Patience climbed the stairs close behind him, and raced ahead to pull the covers back on Anne’s bed.

Griff gently laid her on the bed, then looked up at a pale Patience. “We’ll need water and cloths and a clean nightgown. Then tell Fenwick to find a bottle of brandy. She may need it when she wakes.”

Patience raced from the room to get what they would need.

Griff tossed his bloody cravat to the floor then hastily undid the tiny buttons on the bodice of her gown. She didn’t move. Griff wasn’t even sure she was still breathing. If only she would move, or moan, or make a sound. Anything. Then he wouldn’t be so afraid.

He worked frantically, pulling the buttons off as his anxiety for her increased. At last the bodice of her gown was open, revealing her smooth, creamy breasts trapped beneath the corset. He reached for the laces.

“What are you doing?” Patience said, rushing back into the room, her cheeks flushed a bright red.

“We need to get her clothes off,” Griff said, placing a fresh cloth against the back of her head.

Patience ran across the room and called for two maids to help her. “You can’t stay here while we undress her, Griff. Leave long enough for us to put her in a clean gown.”

Griff hesitated, then breathed a heavy sigh and gave in. “Hurry, Patience.”

“We will.”

Griff left the room. The minute they finished, he raced back to her side.

She was dressed in a clean, white cotton gown with pink embroidered flowers on the bodice. A thin blanket covered her. She was breathing but still unconscious.

“When do you think she’ll wake?” Patience asked, the worry in her voice echoing the terror building inside him.

“I don’t know. It can be like this sometimes with a hard blow to the head.”