A Risk Worth Taking (7 page)

“Damn you, Adam. Damn you!”

Griff held himself back from refilling his glass. Instead, he made his way to the opposite side of the room and stared out the window. He didn’t have enough courage to do what Adam wanted him to do. He didn’t care. Not anymore.

He fought to catch his breath. Even the liquor he’d consumed already this morning couldn’t make what he had to do easier. Why hadn’t God taken him instead of Freddie? Why hadn’t He let him drown with his wife and son?

“How badly do you want to save Freddie’s sister, Griff? You are all that stands between her and starvation, or worse. If you truly want to protect her, all you have to do is put down that glass and let me help you.”

A knot tightened in Griff’s gut, the panic racing through him like a raging storm at sea. He’d never been more frightened in his life. He had no choice. He knew it was only a matter of time until the liquor killed him just as dead as a bullet would. He couldn’t continue like he had much longer before the black pit he’d fallen into would be too deep to climb out of. He knew Adam’s offer was the only way to help Freddie’s sister. The only way he could save himself.

Take care of Annie. Please.

Griff braced his hands against the window frame and hung his head between his outstretched arms. He had no choice. Not if he wanted to honor Freddie’s last request.

“I’ll bring Freddie’s sister here tomorrow.”

“I’ll tell Patience. And I’ll have a room ready for you in the east wing. You will stay here until you are well.”

Griff shook his head. “I’ll go to the country.”

“No. You’ll stay here, Griff. Thornton’s already explained this won’t be easy. You’ll need help.”

Griff clenched his fists at his side and prepared to argue. Adam’s raised hand stopped him.

“Don’t, Griff. Nothing you say will change my mind. I refuse to allow you to destroy yourself.”

Griff wanted to argue. He wanted to scream his frustration and fear. He wasn’t sure he could do this. He wasn’t brave enough to face the demons that plagued him.

He opened his mouth to make a final plea, then closed it. The hard set of Adam’s expression made him hold his tongue.

“Don’t concern yourself, Griff. I’ll be here for you.”

Griff answered his brother with a sharp nod, then set his empty glass on the corner of the table. With slow, unsteady steps he left the room.

He’d buried his wife and son and somehow survived. He’d risked his life more times than he could count during the war and somehow survived. He’d watched his best friend die in his place and still survived. But this? Surely he could survive giving up drinking just until Freddie’s sister was someone else’s responsibility.

But a part of him wasn’t sure he was brave enough to face all his nightmares sober.

A
nne lifted the blue chintz curtain at the window and watched as a rider made his way up the lane. It was Lord Brentwood.

She pressed her back against the cold outside wall and closed her eyes. Oh, she wished she hadn’t sent Becca to Reverend Talbert’s to return the books they’d borrowed. She dreaded being alone with the marquess. For some reason she did not understand, he frightened her.

The sound of his horse’s hooves neared the cottage, then came to a stop outside the door. Anne smoothed down the skirt of her black bombazine gown as he knocked. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Good day, Lord Brentwood.”

A harsh shiver raced down her spine when she looked at the man standing in her doorway.

The expression on his face was pleasant enough, and the lift to the corners of his mouth indicated an offer of friendship, yet the narrowing gleam in his eyes brimmed with predatory intent. The man who owned Freddie’s title and estates was not an easy man to like.

In the various dealings she’d had with him and Mr. Woolsey since the initial reading of the will, she felt his simmering temper lying dormant just below the surface.
Each time he came to call, she saw a malevolent look. An intense look. A hungry look that frightened her more than the threat of his temper.

“Lady Anne. How lovely you look. Just the sight of you is well worth taking a few hours out of my busy schedule to come to visit. You are indeed breathtaking.”

She didn’t answer. How could she when his words were so blatantly false?

“May I come in?”

Her muscles knotted with a nervousness that was unfamiliar to her. “Of course, my lord.”

Anne stood back to allow him to enter, then turned and walked to the small living room. She sat in the center of the faded settee, leaving him no choice but to sit in a worn chair halfway across the room. “I regret I do not have tea to offer you,” she said, folding her hands in her lap.

“That’s quite all right, my lady. I didn’t come for tea, but to look upon your loveliness and enjoy a few moments of your time.”

“How kind.” She felt a blush mixed with unease.

“Are you alone?”

“Uh, no,” she lied. “Becca will be back any minute. She went to Reverend Talbert’s to return some books we’d borrowed.”

“The Brentwood library is at your disposal anytime you want. Please feel free to borrow as many books as you’d like. You are always welcome.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Instinct caused her to lean farther away from him. No matter how desperately she tried, she couldn’t ignore the uncomfortable knot that churned in the pit of her stomach.

“I have a great respect for your late brother,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. “The holdings I inherited are quite substantial, and from the records I see he did an admirable job of efficiently running both the estates and businesses.”

“Frederick was a remarkable man. He was an exemplary individual.”

“I hope to follow in his footsteps with equal ability.”

She found herself unable to answer. The silence between them became exceedingly uncomfortable. She clenched her hands in her lap.

“Have you thought about your future, Lady Anne?”

She gave him a surprised look. “Given our precarious position, my lord, I have thought of little else.”

“Then perhaps I can be of some help.”

She raised her eyebrows and studied the confident look on Lord Brentwood’s face.

“I’ve decided it’s time for me to consider taking a wife.”

Her blood thundered inside her head. Surely he wouldn’t consider her for a bride?

She thought of the hungry look she’d seen when he looked at her. The way he held her hand far too long. She was suddenly frightened of him. Terrified of his intent. She would never consider marriage to him. Her mother had been sold to the highest bidder and was miserable her whole life. Anne would never go down that same road. She would starve before she married a man who didn’t love her.

“I have certain responsibilities now,” the marquess continued, “and as you and I both know from your brother’s mistake, it’s not wise to be without an heir. I’m afraid I’m
the last male Brentwood heir. If something were to happen to me before I could provide a legal heir, the Brentwood name would unfortunately die.”

Anne’s heart thundered in her chest. She didn’t know what was worse—associating the Brentwood name with a man like the new marquess, or not having it in existence at all. His next words pulled her back with a jolt.

“We are not, your family and mine, so closely related that it would be unseemly to form a match between us, being second cousins once removed.”

“Please, do not speak of marriage, my lord. Freddie has not even been gone four months. I cannot possibly consider a marriage. Society would not approve at all.”

“Society has always made allowances. It would, I’m sure, in your case. Two lovely ladies left all alone with barely enough inheritance to support them. Society would consider a marriage before the year’s mourning period was met an essential and wise decision.”

“N-no,” she stuttered. She rose from the sofa and took several steps away from him. “I will not even consider it.”

She thought of spending the rest of her life submitting to someone like Brentwood, and her stomach turned.

“I’m afraid you must, my lady. You cannot go on like this much longer.”

“We will be fine. We’re quite able to take care of ourselves living as we are.”

“That, I’m afraid, is the problem. Things cannot remain as they are.”

She stared at him as she tried to wrap her mind around what he was saying. A feeling of dread built inside her until she found it difficult to breathe.

“I have decided to hire a new caretaker. Since this is the caretaker’s cottage, I’m afraid you and your sister will have to move.”

Anne’s heart fell to the pit of her stomach. They were barely getting by as it was. What would they do now?

“Unfortunately, there is not another vacant cottage for you to move into. I’m afraid that leaves you homeless.”

The Marquess of Brentwood rose from his chair and walked across the room until he stood inches from her.

Now she knew how an animal felt when being stalked by poachers. She stepped as far away from him as she could.

“There is plenty of room at Brentwood Manor,” he continued, “but I can hardly expect you and your sister to live under my roof without tarnishing your pristine reputations. Therefore, I see marriage as the ideal answer to solve all our problems.”

Anne faced him with a certain amount of bravado she far from felt. “There are other options open to us. We will find another place to live.”

“Do you have the resources to pay the rent that would be required?”

“We’ll find it. There is no need for you to worry about us.”

“But I do. That is why I offered marriage. I’ve grown quite fond of you, Lady Anne. Haven’t you noticed?”

Before she could stop him, he clasped her upper arms and pulled her against him. He smelled of salty sea air and stale smoke and expensive liquor. She thought she would be ill.

“Every time I am near you, I can hardly keep my hands from reaching out to you, from touching you and
holding you. You cannot imagine how I have dreamt of this moment.”

“Please. Let me go.”

He lowered his head to bring his face closer to hers. “Every night you consume my every thought, my every dream.”

“No, please. Don’t.”

She struggled, but he held her tighter, then brought his lips closer to hers. He was going to kiss her.

“No,” she said, pushing her fists against his chest. “I don’t want you to—”

His mouth covered hers, stopping her words.

A small, muffled cry echoed inside her head and she struggled against him.

He would not release her. He moved his mouth against hers, his tongue forcing its way through her lips, his touch rough and bruising. She pounded her fists against his chest and fought even harder.

“I’m not sure the lady appreciates your display of passion, Brentwood,” a harsh, unyielding voice said from the doorway behind them. “Perhaps you would play the gentleman and allow her to voice her consent before you maul her.”

The marquess dropped his hands. He released her so fast she stumbled against the wall.

Anne turned toward the voice. Her gaze focused on the large, imposing man who’d entered her home—Griffin Blackmoor, Freddie’s friend. The man who had come to Freddie’s funeral hurting more from her brother’s death, if that were possible, than perhaps even she.

Brentwood took a menacing step toward the intruder. “What are you doing here, Blackmoor?”

“I came to call on Lady Anne. I didn’t realize it would be my good fortune to come to the lady’s rescue. Or perhaps I am mistaken.” His gaze shifted to hers. “Perhaps the lady would like me to leave?”

“No! Don’t go.”

“As you wish.”

Griffin Blackmoor entered the room as if he owned it and sat on the settee. He leaned back against the cushions and waited quietly.

The Marquess of Brentwood straightened the lapels of his jacket and tugged at his jacket sleeves. “Now is obviously not the time to finish our discussion, my lady,” he said, then made his way to the door. “I will return in a few days. When you have had time to think over my proposal.”

Without a by-your-leave, the marquess stalked from the room. He slammed the cottage door behind him and was gone.

Anne leaned against the wall and clutched her hands around her middle. Her body refused to quit shaking. She took several deep breaths and when she was more in control, she turned her gaze to where Blackmoor sat. Their gazes locked and Anne experienced a strong connection to him. She attributed that feeling to their common tie to Freddie.

She took in Blackmoor’s appearance. The cut of his suit and the pristine whiteness of his shirt exhibited a subtle wealth. His hair was overly long, as it had been the day of Freddie’s funeral, but unlike that day, today he seemed more in control of himself. His cravat was not perfectly tied, but he struck a handsome figure that made him a man to notice. Today more than before he resembled the retired military officer Freddie had admired.

She focused on his features, his broad shoulders, towering height, and long muscular legs. His forehead was wide, his cheekbones high. The strong cut to his jaw gave him an intimidating appearance.

He was clean shaven, which revealed the hard angles of his face. They hinted at a dark, brooding emptiness. The taut flesh at his cheeks sank to shallow hollows, as if he’d recently lost weight he didn’t need to lose. And yet each of these attributes placed him in a unique category of his own.