Addicted (22 page)

She blushed and pressed her face into his neck. She hoped he forgot, or at least thought it was a fantasy induced by opium, for if Lindsay remembered this night, her plan to feign disinterest in him would be ruined. How could she reasonably tell him she no longer desired him after what she had done tonight?

Lindsay held her tight as he smoothed his palm along her spine. Their breaths merged, syncing in time with each other. Anais felt a peace still over her and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to stay for just a moment longer in Lindsay’s arms.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he murmured against her. “So sorry for everything. If you were here now, I could tell you, but you’re just a figment of the smoke. The smoke, it’s always so real, but I know when I open my eyes I will be all alone.” Lifting her head, Anais could not help but kiss him. If circumstances were different, if she had not turned to Garrett for help, if she had not done something so terrible, then they might have been able to be together.

“You’ll be gone. Won’t you?”

“Yes, Lindsay. I will be gone.”

“Then I shall smoke more, and you’ll come back to me. You always come back to me, walking out of the smoke and into my arms.”

12

Morning sunlight streamed through the frosted windowpane and glinted brilliantly off the highly polished silver tea service that sat in the middle of the dining table. Sounds of cutlery eagerly clanking against bone china shattered the quiet of the breakfast table. Conversation was at a minimum and Anais could not have been happier for it. The sooner she laid waste to her plate, the sooner she could leave the room and not have to feel Lindsay’s bold gaze boring into her from across the table.

Keeping her eyes downcast, Anais forced herself to swallow a bitter bite of the deviled kidneys a footman had placed on her plate from the sideboard. Her stomach lurched as her teeth bit into the tough texture. Choking the bite down, she reached for her napkin, shielding her repulsion behind the white linen.

Confident that she was not going to disgrace herself by retching, Anais reached for her teacup and drank the entire contents in one long swallow, washing down the acerbic after-taste of the kidneys.

Finally feeling composed, Anais looked up, straight into
Lindsay’s quizzical gaze. With an arch of a questioning brow and a glance at her plate that was laden with kidneys and a slice of stuffed beef heart.

She looked away, resisting his blatant stare.

“Have Lord and Lady Weston no room for you?” Lord Weatherby grumbled.

“My daughter and her husband are in Cádiz. They are not expected to return until the spring. We shall stay with my sister-in-law in London, just as soon as we are able to send word to her.”

“When shall you write to your husband’s sister?” Lord Weatherby slapped his folded news sheet atop the table. “Soon, I hope. Darnby looks to be out of imminent danger. I’m quite certain he will survive his mishap and will no doubt linger for years to come, delighting in being a damned thorn in my side.”

“I have agreed to undertake the correspondence with my aunt, my lord,” Anais replied after clearing her throat. “If I may bother Lady Weatherby for some paper and nibs, as well as a pot of ink, I shall write to my aunt directly after breakfast.”

“You may have a ream of paper and a half-dozen pots of ink if it will get you out of my house faster,” Weatherby growled before shoving a forkful of eggs in his mouth.

“My lord,
really,
” Lady Weatherby murmured discreetly, but Anais could see the stain of embarrassment tinting the marchioness’s ivory cheeks.

“Well, what am I to say, Eleanor? That I am pleased to have the entire Darnby household thrust upon me? Shall I pretend to be enjoying their company when any fool with eyes and half a brain knows that I wish for nothing but to have my home to myself?”

“We are very thankful, my lord, for your generosity toward our family,” Anais murmured, hoping she sounded contrite enough to placate an obviously surly and hungover Lord Weatherby. “My family and I will make every attempt to vacate the premises as soon as may be.”

“You may thank my wife, not me. It is her hospitality and her damnable, annoying friendship with your father that keeps you here. Had it been up to me, I would have shut the door and not looked back. Damned inconvenient, the lot of ye.”

“Father,” Lindsay growled in warning from down the length of the table. “That is enough.”

“Enough?” Weatherby snorted. “I have been roused from my bed at the god-awful hour of ten when everyone in this house, including my blasted valet, knows that I do not flutter my lashes till at least noon, let alone actually get up out of bed. And if that is not enough, I am ordered, during my morning ablutions, to behave myself in a manner befitting a host by not only my wife, but my son, a son, I may add, who has frigged off to parts unknown for the past year. Oh, no, my boy, I have not yet begun. Perhaps I may start right now, with your unexpected return after months and months of bloody silence. Months of not knowing whether my son was alive or dead. Months of wondering if any day some damn Eastern infidel would arrive on my doorstep with your dead body.”

“Charles,” Lady Weatherby whispered softly and Anais watched as Lindsay’s mother placed a gentle hand atop Weatherby’s wrinkled fingers. To Anais’s shock, the old marquis clutched his wife’s hand.

“The Darnbys are like family, are they not?” Weatherby
grunted. “Is that not what you are forever telling me? Well, damn me, Eleanor, they can listen to our family squabbles. I’m certain that even a woman like Lady Darnby here would feel some inkling of maternal instinct if one of her chits squandered off for parts unknown without a damned word to anyone.”

I wouldn’t bet on that,
Anais thought silently, as she looked at her mother’s bored expression. Her mother was completely lacking in the finer female sentiments. She had conceived her children, carried them and delivered them. After that, she had promptly given her daughters over to a nanny, washing her hands of them until they were of an age to shape into perfect china dolls in order to catch the perfect son-in-law. A son-in-law who would prove perfectly useful in furthering her prestige in society, while generously giving his money to his ever spending mother-in-law.

“Damn me, boy,” Weatherby said with a scowl, “who the devil is to run this place when I am gone? Have you no inkling of responsibility?”

Anais’s gaze swung to Lindsay, whose expression had turned hard and unyielding. His father’s accusation was cruel, for Lindsay had been responsible for overseeing the running of Eden Park since he was sixteen years old, thus allowing his father to spend his days in London, whoring and drinking and frittering away his life. In that, Lindsay had never shirked his duties. Lindsay may have gotten caught up in opium. He might have hurt her, albeit unwittingly, but he was not a gadabout. He did not evade his responsibilities. Without Lindsay’s head for investments and his tireless work ethic, Eden Park would have crumbled into the ground.

And the way Lindsay had always taken care of his mother was something to be commended, and his father, too. A father who had always been too drunk, too indifferent to his son to see him raised in the manner of a gentleman. Despite all that, Lindsay had grown into a respectable man of influence and wealth. And even though his father hadn’t spared a second of his time on his son, Lindsay still provided for him, making certain both his parents were comfortable in their homes. The sudden recollection of Lindsay’s childhood made her realize how soon Lindsay had been forced to grow up. Sadly she wondered who had seen to Lindsay’s needs and happiness.

Their gazes met across the table, and Anais felt her insides twist as Lindsay’s expression, still glazed from the smoke he had imbibed in last night, held an emptiness that tore at her heart. It was then that she had her answer. Opium gave him what he needed.

“Well, what the devil have you to say for yourself, boy?”

“Charles, you’re upsetting your digestion.”

“Hang my damned digestion, Eleanor!” Weatherby thundered. “I am dying. Any simpleton can see that. I am dying and I want to know if my son, my
only
son, is prepared to stick around and see to his duties. Or does he plan to run off the next time a muffed piece of tail decides to hold him captive by the short hairs.”

“Your language would make an old roué blush, Father. This is not the sort of talk considered polite or appropriate for the table, not to mention in front of mixed company,” Lindsay said, glaring at his father. “Might we adjourn this conversation until another time?”

“Coward,” his father taunted, “she still has you by the bollocks.”

Lindsay threw his napkin to the table as if it were a gauntlet. Sliding his chair back, he began to rise, like a cobra uncurling itself, preparing to strike an unsuspecting victim. Anais had seen that implacable look in Lindsay’s eyes before.

“That is quite enough,” Lady Weatherby demanded, her voice shaking with rage. “It is the Christmas season, and we have guests. Can you not behave yourself, Charles? For once, will you please refrain from doing your utmost to humiliate me? Our son is home, safe and sound. Should we not be rejoicing such a fact? I despise this fighting…this constant needling between the pair of you.”

“My pardon, Mama, I seem to have forgotten myself,” Lindsay murmured, nodding to his mother in apology. He slowly regained his chair, but his hands were fisted tightly. Anais knew he was raging inside. She knew, too, that Lady Weatherby was close to tears, and her own mama was smiling that grin that was smug and haughty, a grin that let everyone at the table know how far above them she thought she was.

“I am aware how very difficult it is to have one’s routine upset,” Anais said, avoiding the uneasy glances of her sister, as well as that of Lady Weatherby. “I assure you, my lord, that I will inform my aunt, in the most ardent terms possible, that her immediate assistance is required. In the meantime, sir, we shall endeavor to stay out of your way and attempt to make certain that our presence here will cause the minimal of upset to your routine. I promise you, my lord, that we will not overstay our welcome.”

“Ye already have,” Weatherby muttered as he continued to shovel his breakfast into his mouth. Lady Weatherby shot her an apologizing look that spoke of too many years of shame. Anais could not imagine having to live with such a boor for a
husband and for some reason her gaze shot to Lindsay, whose own eyes seemed to cry out to her,
I’m not like him.

“Tea?” Anais inquired politely as she held the teapot up, hoping to break the considerable tension at the table.

“Please.” Lindsay held out his cup and saucer to her.

“Do you still take sugar?”

He shook his head and raised the steaming cup to his mouth. “Scandal and love are the best sweeteners of tea. We have had a bit of scandal, now what shall we do about love?”

Anais colored and shot him a warning scowl, but he only arched his brow in return. Try as she might, she was drawn to him. Perhaps she was as addicted to Lindsay as he was to the opium.

“I have had a missive from the vicar, Mr. Pratt,” Lady Weatherby said as her gaze volleyed between Anais and Lindsay. “He’s asked permission for the villagers to skate on the little creek that runs from the village through the estate. Might I inform him, my lord—” she turned to ask her husband “—that the villagers may do as they please? It is Boxing Day, after all.”

“I don’t give a bloody damn what the villagers do, as long as they pay their rents they may skate and slide about all the way to London for all I care.”

“I shall inform Mr. Pratt,” the marchioness replied. “Immediately after breakfast. I am taking Lady Darnby and Ann into the village to Mrs. Jennings’s shop. She promised to have at least a day dress ready for each of them. The rest of their trousseau shall be ready within the week, I hope. Anais, you must come, too. Mrs. Jennings was not able to see you for a fitting. But before all that, we shall make the vicarage our first stop.”

Weatherby grumbled and continued eating, and Anais felt her
lips curl in distaste. How had Lindsay’s mother borne the weight of being a wife to such a worthless man?

“Shall you go into the village today, Lindsay?” Lady Weatherby asked. “We would be happy for a male escort, you know.”

“The village modiste holds little allure, Mama,” Lindsay said with a chuckle and an indulgent smile for his mother. “However, the notion of a sleigh ride and skating does hold some appeal. Who can I talk into such a pastime?”

“Excuse me, my lord, my lady,” Worthing, the butler, said with a bow. “Lord Wallingford and his sister are here and are desirous to speak to Lord Raeburn and our guests.”

“Do send them in, Worthing.” Lady Weatherby’s smile lit her face, taking away the sadness that marred her lovely green eyes.

“Christ almighty,” Weatherby spat viciously, “I thought he’d have more sense than to bring that irritating half-wit sister of his.”

Anais heard, as well as saw, her mother’s smile and little chuckle. Her gaze shot to Ann who was seated next to their mother. Shock and disbelief tore through Anais as she watched Ann laugh and mimic the wringing, agitated hands of Lady Sarah, Wallingford’s sweet but simple-minded sister.

“Aye, you’ve the right of it,” Weatherby laughed. “Damned irritating, the chit.”

The door swung open, revealing Wallingford and a nervous, fidgeting Sarah. Catching Ann’s gaze, Anais narrowed her eyes in a message that was unable to be misinterpreted.

“Good day, my lord, Lady Sarah,” Lady Weatherby said with a kind smile. “Do have a seat. Have you dined, yet?”

“Good day,” Wallingford said with a nod. He did not take the chair that was offered him, but instead placed a protective hand
between his sister’s shoulders before sending a black glare down the length of the table toward Weatherby and Anais’s sister and mother. Obviously, he had heard what had been said of his sister, and Anais had never felt shame more acutely than she did now.

“You are looking very lovely, Lady Sarah,” Anais said, waving her over to the empty chair beside her. “Pray, how does your maid get all that lovely hair of yours up into a bun without having any curls escaping?”