Addicted (20 page)

Ann flushed a brilliant shade of crimson, but bravely carried on. “I know I should not be speaking such things to anyone, but
you’re different, my lord. You won’t judge me and find me lacking, will you?”

“No, I will not. Society’s rules can be so silly in regards to the matters of women and men.” He pressed his side against the chair and looked down into her lovely upturned face. What an innocent she was, but beneath the naive expression was an intelligent and curious mind dying to be let free to discover the wonders of the world. He knew a true gentleman would not allow himself to be found in a room alone with a young woman, let alone discussing what he was with Ann, but there was something in her eyes, something that made him think of Anais, and he suddenly remembered all the intimate conversations he and Anais had shared together over the years. It had been him to explain the facts of life to Anais—him that spoke of kissing and the intimacies of love and passion. With Anais, no subject had been off-limits, nor had he judged her harshly for her natural curiosity. He had never found another person whom he could talk to as easily as he had talked with Anais.

He had given her his heart and soul, never thinking that one day she might hand them both back to him.

“This is why Anais loved you so much, why she treasured every minute she spent in your company,” Ann said as she smiled brilliantly at him. “I can’t imagine there is anything one cannot talk to you about.”

“I wish your sister felt that way.”

“I told Anais you were much more sporting than the very proper Lord Broughton.”

Lindsay smiled indulgently. Ann had always been such a sweet innocent. It was amazing to see her now, all traces of the little
girl who had followed Anais and him about was now gone, replaced by a young woman in the first blush of womanhood.

“Tell me more of Lord Broughton, pet.”

“I don’t know. She will not talk of him. I see the way he looks at her, though. I’m well aware that everyone thinks of me as a child, my lord, but I know what it means when a man looks at a woman such as the way Lord Broughton looks at my sister. I also know that something of great import must have transpired between them because Anais thinks nothing of allowing Lord Broughton the intimacy of whispering to her. Anais has never been one to throw the rules of propriety to the wind, but when Lord Broughton is around, it is as if only the two of them exist, even if the salon is full of people. It is as if…” Ann trailed off and looked at the book that lay in her lap. “You will forgive me for saying this, my lord, but I know that you will not think ill of my sister if I voice my feelings.”

“Go on, pet. I will keep your confidence.”

Ann looked up and he saw that her eyes were misty. “I fear…that is—” she licked her lips and allowed her fingers to grip the corners of her book until her knuckles turned white “—I believe that Lord Broughton and my sister have…they have become close.”

“Close?” he repeated, hardly able to say the word.

“Intimate,” Ann clarified before she reached for his hand and squeezed tight. “But she cannot love him. She cannot. I don’t believe she can love him the way…Oh, why did you not prove yourself and ask her to marry you, my lord? You loved her, didn’t you? I did not mistake that, did I?”

“I would bleed myself dry for her, Ann.”

“Do not give up, my lord,” Ann whispered as she rose from her knees to stand before him. “There is much I do not know about Anais and Lord Broughton, but I do know this—she has never forgotten you. I don’t believe that Anais could stop loving you.”

“You have grown into a woman,” he said, looking at Ann with fresh eyes. “A lovely, insightful woman.” She blossomed under that comment and he could not help but tap the sweet tip of her nose with his fingertip. “One day you’re going to make a man jump through hoops to have you. Just as your sister has done with me.”

“Oh, I do hope so, my lord,” she said gaily as she walked from the room. “Oh, Lord Raeburn?” she called before she left.

“Yes?”

“Lord Broughton has proposed to my sister. I am not sure of her answer. I only know that she has not given it yet.”

He will not be marrying her, Lindsay silently vowed as he watched Ann turn and leave. After Ann closed the door, he stood up and tossed the iron poker against the wall. He was lost, so damn perplexed, bewildered. He could barely think straight, could only think of Anais and escape. An escape that would allow him to dream and hope. An escape that was fast becoming his daily life.

11

It was late when Anais slipped into her wrapper and tiptoed out of her bedroom. It had been hours since the last of the noises from the party had quieted down and the guests had departed. Finally, silence had descended, blanketing the house.

Clutching the soot-covered leather-bound book to her breasts, Anais made her way down the curving staircase. In her hand, a candlestick wobbled as she held it high to light the way.

What she was doing, she didn’t care to think about. She was playing with fire, seeking out Lindsay. She should not be doing this. They had left off that afternoon in the salon precisely where they should have, with him believing she no longer wanted him in her life.

She had told herself that she needed to remain aloof and indifferent, but had known the pretense would be so much more difficult after she had returned to her room from visiting her father. When she’d found Lindsay’s Christmas gift to her on the bed, wrapped in a pretty red velvet shawl, she’d known the struggle would be near to impossible.

She had debated about whether or not to open the gift. After all, she did not want to encourage him. In the end, it called to her and she’d pulled the tail of the silk bow and allowed the wrapping to come free.

Inside the folded shawl was an exquisite matching night rail and wrapper that was adorned with a lavish amount of fine lace. Anais had never owned anything as lovely as that. Where he had purchased it, she didn’t know. The blackened book beside the wrapper was entirely too familiar.

She put on the wrapper and studied herself in the looking glass, noticing how the fine spun silk hugged her curves. The firelight shone through it, throwing the silhouette of her figure into relief. Something as seductive as this could not be found at the village modiste.

Anais knew she couldn’t accept a gift like this, especially from Lindsay. But the child inside her hugged the gown to her chest, afraid to have it taken away. She had never been allowed to wear lovely things. Her mother made certain of that. It was something her mother enjoyed doing to punish her. She always ordered Anais’s dresses with no lace or other adornments. Her figure, which had always been full and womanly, always looked dowdy and dumpling like owing to the stripes and heavy fabric her mother insisted she wear.

No, she could not possibly give this up. So instead of giving the gift back, she had donned it with the intention of thanking Lindsay. She did not particularly care to give voice to the other intentions that continually tried to creep into her mind.

The sound of the ticking grandfather clock in the hall drew her out of her musings and told her she was nearing the study.
When she arrived at the open door, she peered in, holding the candle higher. There was no one inside.

Perhaps he was sleeping in one of the other chambers?

“May I be of some service, miss?”

Anais whirled around. When the candlelight revealed a square face and nose that appeared to have been broken several times, she covered her mouth, certain she was ready to scream at the top of her lungs.

“None of that, now,” he said, reaching for her hand. “You’re safe enough with me.”

She had been a part of Lindsay’s life long enough to know the servants of the house. It was Vallery, Lindsay’s valet. With a great exhalation, Anais blew out her held breath. “Forgive me, I didn’t recognize you right away.”

He cocked his thick brow and looked her over. “Well, now, Lady Anais, what would you be doing up at this time of night and in the dark?”

He watched her carefully, his eyes never leaving her face. She couldn’t very well tell him that she was searching for his master. Not this late at night, and dressed in her wrapper. As she fumbled for an excuse he reached for her elbow and steered her toward the staircase.

“Lord Raeburn is indisposed, my lady. I shall tell him I saw you and he will seek you out tomorrow. Will that suffice?”

Digging in her heels, Anais stopped before the servant could lead her to the stairs. “I wish to see him.”

“But he doesn’t wish to see you.”

Anais felt her mouth drop open and her eyes blink in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

The servant colored and cleared his throat. “It’s not that he doesn’t want to see you, Lady Anais. What is more accurate is that he doesn’t want you to see him—that is, not as he is now.” Vallery backed away and stepped into the shadows. “I will tell my gentleman you came by tonight. Take care going back up the stairs, Lady Anais.”

Anais watched the valet disappear into the darkness. She wished she could pretend that she didn’t understand what he was trying to tell her. She knew what he meant. Lindsay was off somewhere smoking opium.

Glancing at the stairs, Anais knew she had just been given a reprieve. She should take it. But the thought of Lindsay alone, smoking that horrid stuff pushed her into motion.

Silently, she followed the steps of the valet, careful to keep to the shadows. She had blown out her candle so that he wouldn’t see her following him.

Through the cavernous halls of the large country house, she followed the servant, down through the portrait gallery and the ballroom, then through a narrow hall that led to double wooden doors, which he opened wide and stepped through. Anais waited a moment, then opened them, stealing through the opening. What she entered was a pleasure den straight out of something from the Arabian Nights.

The room, which she knew had once been Lindsay’s mother’s conservatory, was done in the Moorish style. Vibrant silk veils tented the ceilings in reds and oranges and pinks. Marble pillars stood from floor to ceiling in a square around a bath with steaming water. It was a mineral bath, like the hot springs in Bath
and Tunbridge. Only Lindsay had made it into what the Arabs called a hammam.

“I came across your lady,” came a disembodied voice.

“Oh?”

“She was looking for you.”

“You had the good sense to put her off, didn’t you?”

“Aye. I knew you wouldn’t want her here.”

“No, I do want her here, that is the problem, Vallery. Sick bastard, aren’t I, for wanting her here in my little harem while I indulge in my opium and my lust.”

The servant said nothing. Anais tiptoed farther into the room and peered around a tall potted palm tree that stood on the corner of the bath. Beyond it lay what she would call a tent room, an exotic creation of veils and scarves that acted like curtains. From the ceiling, Moroccan lanterns were suspended with chains, while on the floor a silk divan, fit for a sultan, was covered with tasseled pillows and silk scarves. In the middle of the divan, his back against the wall with one knee bent, was Lindsay. To his left was a table with a silver tray, a lacquered box and a pipe that had smoke curling from a raised brass burner.

She should have been repulsed by the fact that Lindsay was in this room smoking opium. It was a vile thing that turned good men into sinners. But repulsion was the furthest thing from her mind. All she could think about was the mystique, the decadent languor that surrounded her.

The visuals alone were a feast for her senses. She felt as though she really was half the world away in Constantinople or Morocco, wandering through the covered bazaars.

Everything was so sensual, right down to Lindsay, who was
sitting negligently on the divan, dressed only in black trousers and a white shirt that was fully opened. His head was tipped back and his lips parted as a cloud of smoke escaped them. He was the very picture of a dreamy smoker, and the image of him, so beautiful and seductive, posed like this, beckoned her.

“Why don’t you take to your bed,” Lindsay drawled. He kept his head back and his eyes closed as he spoke. “I’ll be up for a while yet.”

The valet said nothing, but walked to the side of the room and slipped through another door. Lindsay lifted his head, shifted his position so that he was lying on his side and reached for the pipe. Through the dancing vapors, their gazes collided.

“You’re here early,” he said, sitting back against the wall. “I usually need much more to see you so clearly.”

Stepping closer, she walked along the cold tiles toward the tented dome where Lindsay sat. His eyes, now a different color of green, were more jade as they seemed to glow amongst the smoke. They appeared to dance, too, as his gaze roved over her body.

Anais didn’t dare speak lest she break the spell that seemed to be weaving itself around them.

“I’ve often tried to imagine you in that gown and wrapper. I bought it last year, you know. A modiste created it from my specifications. I had planned on giving it to you for a wedding gift. Perhaps that’s why I’ve never been able to see you in it. I couldn’t bring myself to think of never having a wedding night with you.”

Her breath caught as the implications of his words settled in. He’d designed this for her and had it made, especially for her.

“I see you’ve brought the book, too. You like it. I’m glad.”

He reached for the pipe and brought it to his lips. Closing his
eyes, he inhaled the fumes. Anais found herself walking slowly over to him, as though she were in a dream. His body called to hers. The sensuality in the room hung heavy, blanketing her in a desire she had tried to forget.

Putting the pipe down, he winced and clutched his fingers. Anais saw then how red the tips were—blistered, filled with water.

“You’ve burned yourself.” Standing over him, she reached for his hand and held it up to the dim light. The lanterns were not lit. Only one candle provided light, and that was the candle Lindsay used to heat his opium.

“It’s not from the pipe, you needn’t worry about that.” Anais felt his hand go to her hair. Slowly he pulled her hair free of the ribbon she had used to tie it back. The thick mass cascaded over her shoulder, and he reached for it, running his fingers through her curls. “I burned them today, going through the rubble of your father’s estate. I tried to salvage the volume of Keats, but it was beyond hope. I didn’t realize how hot it would be when I saw it lying amongst the rubble.”