Addicted (19 page)

“Tell me, Anais, that I have another chance to win you,” he whispered, his words shaky and hushed. “Please tell me I haven’t lost you.”

Had she no secrets to hide, had she no shame to turn from, she would have thrown herself into his arms and cried—held him—begged him to hold her. She could forgive him, even those transgressions in the hall with Rebecca she could forgive, but she could not forgive what she had done. There was no magic wand to erase the past. She had made her bed. Now she must lie in it.

With a heavy heart and eyes that stung bitter tears, Anais raised her gaze to Lindsay’s, held it steady and boldly lied to him. “The love is gone, Lindsay. Now, if you will excuse me, I will leave before someone comes in search of me.”

He studied her through narrow eyes. “You haven’t forgiven me. You’re torturing me instead.”

“I have no wish to torture you, Lindsay. I have forgiven you and accepted you are not the man I thought you were. I have moved on. I suggest you do the same.”

He reached for her like a man struggling for life.
“I made a mistake!”

Evading his touch, Anais opened the door and stepped into the hall. As she closed the door, something pummeled the wood, then smashed.

“Damn you!” she heard him cry through the wood and she closed her eyes, envisioning him with his palms to the door in barely tethered anguish. “Damn you for never knowing what it is to be weak.”

Unable to stop herself she placed her cheek against the wood
and raised her palm to the door, imagining that she was resting her hand against his. Closing her eyes, she became aware of his harsh breathing on the other side of the door. The tears spilled down her cheeks. The heat from them was the first warmth she had felt since Lindsay’s touch last night.

“Come back to me, Anais,” he pleaded through the wood. “I will stop. I can stop. Just…give me something to stop for.”

I have made mistakes, too. And I pray that it is a mistake I can hide while I am staying in this house. I can’t be yours,
she wanted to scream, but instead she smoothed her hand down the door and walked away, sickened by the fact she was no longer the sort of woman he needed—that she wanted to be. She was a fallen woman, a weak woman, and soon, Lindsay would know just how far she had fallen.

10

Ignoring the gay voices and merry laughter of the departing guests, Lindsay stirred the embers of the Yule log so that flames once more engulfed the stone grate. It was past midnight, yet he felt restless, not weary. His mind was racing, replaying every facet of his conversation with Anais.

He had not expected to be forgiven. Nor had he expected to be forgotten.

Christ,
he grumbled, flopping inelegantly onto the wingback chair before the hearth. What the hell was he to do? What sort of strategy was he to use when the woman he wanted—the woman he loved—claimed to no longer love him?

She might not love him any longer, he thought savagely, but she sure as hell desired him. He had seen that yearning in her eyes, had sensed her desire flaring up between their tense bodies. She remembered him, remembered the feel of his hands, recalled the way he could bring her to orgasm after orgasm. She could not deny
that.

But she repressed that desire. Those sexual yearnings were
locked up tightly behind her considerable self-control—a control she had always clung to, except for that one incredible night in his stables.

How the devil was he to proceed in getting her back? Anais had never been weak. Had never known what it was like to be chased and tempted by demons. She could never understand the reasons he found solace in the opium.

Bloody hell, but Broughton had grievously misled her. He was no rookery addict spending his days and nights in a tumbledown room at the end of a filthy alley. Hell, he’d only discovered it in Cambridge because he had been looking for a way to cool his raging lust for her. Even then, in university he had a physical need for her, but she was not of an age to indulge his pleasures. He used the opium so that he could dream of her, so that he could see her when he was fucking other women. There was no guilt that way. With the opium, the remorse was deadened. In his hazed mind it had been as if he was faithful to her because he had seen her face atop him and his mind had called her name when he had found release.

It had all seemed so simple and rational then.
He
ruled the opium, not the other way around, despite the lies Broughton had spewed to Anais. But how was he to convince her of that when she believed Broughton. His friend was more creditable than himself. After all, it had not been Broughton who had destroyed her faith. How could she think otherwise? Anais had witnessed the effects of the hashish, had witnessed him in a drugged stupor ravishing her friend. Bloody hell, how was he to erase those memories so that she could once again trust and believe in him?

And what of Broughton? To what end did he speak of his
opium use to Anais? To further discredit him? No, Broughton had never been the vengeful sort, but damn him, Lindsay was beginning to think otherwise. A healthy case of suspicion and jealousy were clouding his thoughts. He didn’t dare allow himself to think of the possibility that one of his best friends had taken Anais away from him. He couldn’t travel that path, to see Anais lying in Broughton’s arms.

The door opened and a shaft of yellow light stole across the carpet, followed by the sounds of gently padding feet.

“Oh!” a woman’s voice shrieked. “You’ve scared me out of my wits!”

Lindsay looked up from the flames and saw a petite blonde standing before him, her large blue eyes round as saucers. “Forgive me, Lady Ann, I should have announced my presence.”

She let out her held breath and he noticed that the candlestick she held in her hand shook tremulously. “Yes, you should have,” she said tartly.

“I thought the household was settled for the night. I did not expect to be found.”

“I came for a book. I thought you had already gone to bed.”

“That would have been a complete waste of time. I would only spend it tossing and turning and cursing away the hours.”

“Hmm,” she murmured before turning to scan the bookcase before her. She held her candle higher as she read the gilt spines. He noticed how her hair was highlighted with pale yellow streaks, not the gold that Anais’s was. He also noted that while Ann was ethereally beautiful and her figure lithe and trim, it did nothing to stir his blood. Unlike Anais’s voluptuous curves that made his blood run hot and his groin throb.

Anais had the sort of body a man could spend hours exploring and savoring—the sort of soft warmth that cushioned a man and made him feel loved. Frankly, Anais had been the image of his ideal for as long as he could remember.

“Any suggestions?” Ann asked over her shoulder. “There are so many books here I don’t know where to begin.”

“What is your pleasure?” He thought he saw her cheeks flame red, but she averted her face and concentrated on picking out a volume.

“I prefer novels.”

“With romance in them?” he teased.

“Possibly. I am, after all, a woman. What woman does not dream of romance?”

“A woman?” he said, enjoying baiting her. “You are all of what, thirteen years?”

She shot him a scathing look over her shoulder. “I am fifteen now, my lord.”

“So soon?” he mumbled, studying her as she rose onto tiptoes to reach for a book. “When I went away to Cambridge, you were nothing but a child.”

“I really despise being thought of as a child,” she snapped. “Everyone forgets that I no longer am.”

“My apologies. Do you still enjoy those gothic tales of foggy nights and mysterious vampires that roam the Carpathians?”

She whirled around, her eyes bright with excitement. “Those are my favorites.”

“Two tomes to the right. The book with the green spine,” he directed as her fingers touched each volume with reverence. “I think you would enjoy it. I have it on good authority
the dark and brooding villain of the work was based on Lord Byron.”

Ann pulled the book from its spot on the shelf and when she turned to face him, she had the book clutched to her breasts and a huge smile on her face. “Thank you, my lord. Dark and brooding heroes are my favorite.”

He laughed. “Then happy reading, Ann.”

She made to pass him, then stopped. He looked up and saw that she was studying him with an expression that could only be described as quizzical. “Why did you not come and join us in the ballroom?” she asked. “It’s Christmas day and you’ve spent it all alone.”

“I am not feeling very merry,” he replied with a shrug. In truth, he had spent the rest of the evening in his hideaway, smoking opium after his talk with Anais. He had not wanted to feel the pain of her dismissal, or accept the reality that she might very well be lost forever to him. So he had smoked away the pain, reveling in the disembodied numbness of the mistress he tried so hard to hide.

“Why aren’t you in good spirits?” she pressed. “Is it because my family is here?”

“Don’t be a pea-wit, Ann. It has nothing to do with that. Besides, how many Christmases have our families shared together? It is not as though it is strange to be sharing the holidays with you and your parents.”

“Then it is about Anais, isn’t it?”

He stilled in his chair, forcing his expression to remain impassive. What had Anais told her sister? Had she confessed to her sibling that he’d taken her virginity? Had she told Ann that he’d taken her in the stable and then run off?

“Why did you leave?” Ann asked, lowering herself to her knees and resting her hand on the arm of his chair. “You were going to propose—I heard you,” she rushed on when he tried to speak. “I overheard you talking with Wallingford. But then you left. I couldn’t understand it, how you could be so earnest with your friend and so careless with the woman you loved.”

“We had a…disagreement.”

“She went to France. Anais claims it had been planned for months, but I had never heard word of it. I discovered the fact the morning she left. I found her standing at the front door with her trunks surrounding her. Louisa, her maid, did not even accompany her.”

“Who did she go with, pet?” he asked, pressing forward and curling his hand around Ann’s slim fingers. “Can you tell me?”

“She went with Aunt Millie and Jane, our aunt’s companion. You remember Jane, do you not?” He furrowed his brow, trying to place Jane, the lady’s companion. “Red hair, freckles and spectacles,” Ann provided.

“Ah, yes,” he groaned. “The young lady who is organizing the women’s Suffrage Society. I recall her all too well, now.”

“Yes, that one,” Ann said with a laugh. “Well, she is a good sort. Anais has always considered her a dear friend. The three of them went to France.” Ann frowned, then looked up into his eyes. “I’m not certain when exactly they met up with Lord Broughton there.”

“I beg your pardon?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice, feeling as though he’d been hit in the middle with a hammer. Every instinct he possessed was on alert, every fear he harbored came to a rearing head.

“Oh, yes, Lord Broughton was there in Paris with them. Didn’t you know?” she asked, sounding puzzled. “It appeared to me like he had stayed with them for an extended period of time. I’m not sure how long, of course. It was Lord Broughton who brought Anais back home when she was so ill. In fact, he’s been a constant fixture at our house for the past six weeks at least.”

Things have changed….
Anais’s words filtered through his mind and he fought the urge to throw something.
Broughton in Paris with Anais? Broughton and Anais? Doing God only knew what.

His fingers dug deep into the leather arms of the chair as he fought to control the feelings that were threatening to drown him. “Tell me about Anais and Broughton, Ann.”

“There really is nothing to tell,” she said with a dainty shrug of her shoulders. “My sister no longer confides in me. We don’t talk—not about anything important, that is. Lord Broughton is now her confidant.”

He
had once been her confidant. It had been him that she had turned to when she needed to talk. Hearing that Anais had turned to another made him feel cold inside. But then, it had all been his own doing. Through his own excesses and weakness he’d brought on this disaster. As much as he would love to blame it on his friend, or to rail at Anais for turning against him, he could not. Through his poor choices he had lost her, and that truth had never been a more bitter pill to swallow.

“I see them whispering when they think no one is watching them. I know there is something very secretive between them. Something happened in France, I’m sure of it. But Anais won’t tell me. She won’t speak of any of it.”

“Her illness?” he asked. “What of that?”

“I’m as in the dark as you, I’m afraid. I don’t know anything other than what Anais tells me and it is the same thing over and over. She contracted an illness while in France, and the sickness, whatever it was, left her with malaise and a bad heart.”

“And Dr. Middleton, what does he say?”

“That’s what is so frustrating. He repeats the same thing, almost word forword. It’s as though it’s all been rehearsed for everyone’s benefit. But I know my sister. I know there is more going on than just a case of fatigue. She’s not herself.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one thing, she’s eating kidneys and liver for almost every meal. Surely you remember how much she loathed organ meats.”

He nodded, recalling how Anais used to push such foods around on her plate, never eating them, but making it appear as though she had at least tried them.

“And there is the fact that Dr. Middleton visits her every day.
Every day,
” Ann said with emphasis. “How can that be when it’s apparent that she is now on the mend? And furthermore, I’ve heard him asking about her bleeding—” Ann’s hand flew to her mouth and her eyes went round with embarrassment. “That was far too bold of me. Mother would lock me away for a month if she knew what I’ve just said, and in front of a gentleman, too.”

“Shh, pet,” he soothed, trying to unruffle her feathers. “I will surely not tell your mama anything that is said in this room.”