Addicted (31 page)

“My life is hell without her.”

“Have you not heard a damned word that I’ve said? She was never yours. You only thought you could have her, but you can’t. Let her go before she kills you.”

“You’re overwrought, Father. This outburst cannot be good for you.”

“
Goddamn you!
Must you make me say it? Very well,” he huffed. “Broughton and the Darnby chit are keeping secrets from you!”

Lindsay felt as though he’d taken a blow to his middle as he stared at his father. The longer he looked at his father, the more wild and rampant his thoughts were, and they flooded his brain like water rushing through a dam.

“I’m sorry,” his father grumbled, rising from the chair. “I know what she means to you, I’ve known since I found you in the stable doing your best to make me think that you were not there with her. You wore your heart on your sleeve, but when I turned and saw her, I knew,
knew
she didn’t love you as you loved her.”

“That’s a damned lie!”

“Her affections come with conditions, boy! That isn’t love. You’ve never seen her faults, you’ve always been blinded to her imperfections because you always wanted to worship the ground she walked on. Damn me, I cannot stand by and watch you kill yourself over someone who is so undeserving of the sacrifice. She is not the woman you think she is and it is time you learned the truth of it.”

His father took an unsteady step toward him. “People think I’m a drunkard, and I am, but I tell you, I have eyes, and I see things that people don’t think I do. Ask her about her secrets, and remember, Lindsay, that you’ve always been a gentleman with her.”

The door of the study closed with a bang and Lindsay was left with the gruff words of his father reverberating around his head. What secrets could he mean? What had he seen? No, the
old man was not in his right mind. Alcohol had poisoned his thoughts—he couldn’t be trusted. There was only one thing in life he could count on, and that was Anais’s goodness and her unfailing ability to tell the truth.

And yet he had purchased the medical text in order to discover what her condition was—the condition she wished to hide from him. The secret, he was certain, that could be answered if he would only believe in his instincts.

With an oath, he hefted the book from the table and flipped through it for what felt like hours. Page after page he read the words until they blurred into a black string of ink. Finally, he came to a chapter that read,
Disorders of the Blood; A Comprehensive Study.
He skimmed the paragraphs and found something that struck a chord with him.

Anaemia: the deficiency of blood and its life forces in the body. Symptoms include frank bleeding, occult bleeding, inability to catch one’s breath—pallor, malaise, and if left uncorrected, irreparable damage to the heart and subsequent death. Treatment is with meats—eaten rare…

He looked up from the page and felt slightly ill. She had all the symptoms, including the heart damage. How many times had she looked unnaturally white, like she had no blood at all flowing through her veins? How many times had she sounded winded? Suddenly, the image of Anais choking down kidneys and rare pieces of beef swimming in juices came to him and he read on, needing to know how a person became so anaemic that their heart was damaged from lack of blood.

The malady is most commonly found amongst women of childbearing years. Excessive flow of the monthly fluxes as well as the result of miscarriage and birth. Confinement is the main causative reason for women who were normally well prior to conception.

Broughton and the Darnby chit have been keeping secrets from you….
His insides curled as if a hand had reached into his belly and was twisting his guts. A wave of nausea washed over him, threatening to spill the contents of his lunch up when he thought of Anais’s softly rounded belly.
Confinement is the main causative reason…

The words tortured him. What was he to think? He wasn’t even certain he was up to the task of thinking with any clarity.

“My lord,” Worthing, their butler, said discreetly. “Lady Anais has requested that one of the footmen take a message to Lord Broughton. I’ve come to inform you that the lady has asked that a mount be saddled within the hour. I, er…” the butler said awkwardly, color painting his cheeks an unbecoming scarlet, “I thought you would want to know.”

“Thank you, Worthing,” he said automatically, feeling like an automaton grinding forward without any purpose or feeling. “I do, indeed.”

“Shall I have the Arabian readied for you, my lord?”

Lindsay tapped his fingertips against the book in his lap as he continued to stare into the fire. “Yes,” he murmured rising from his chair.

Yes, it is time to discover your secrets, Anais.

19

“What is it?” Garrett asked as he brought Anais into his arms. “I’ve been worried sick ever since I received your summons. Have you begun bleeding again?”

“It is nothing like that,” she murmured, sniffing into her handkerchief. “I think he knows. Oh, God, Garrett, I do believe Lindsay has somehow found out.”

Relief flooded his face and he ran a soothing hand down her spine. “Impossible,” Garrett scoffed. “You’re worrying over nothing, Anais. Your emotions are fragile, that is all. My brother tells me that this is all very normal for a woman in your condition.”

“You don’t understand. I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I know,” he whispered. Anais heard the sadness in his voice.

“I don’t want to hurt you, either,” she sobbed. “I swear it, Garrett, I never, ever wanted to hurt you or use you to lessen the pain of what Lindsay did to me.”

“Shh, sweeting, you’re distraught. It isn’t good for you. Here, give me your hands.” Anais allowed Garrett to guide her farther into the cottage. “Now then, shall I make you a cup of tea? You
could use a cup, your hands are cold. You look very pale. Have you not been sleeping?” Fresh tears leaked from her eyes and cascaded down her cheeks. Garrett’s expression softened and he reached for her. “Do not worry. Before you leave here this afternoon, we will have a plan in place. I swear to you, just as I swore to you months ago, I will stand by you and whatever decisions you make.”

Saddle leather creaked in the cold as Lindsay swung his leg around and dismounted Sultan. The animal snorted and tossed his head high into the air. Reaching into his jacket, Lindsay removed three cubes of sugar and fitted them into his gloved palm. Sultan ran his muzzle along the leather, wetting it before taking the sugar. Now quiet, Lindsay left the horse and trudged silently through the snow.

Stealth was the order of the day. He had come to spy on the woman he loved. As he followed her through the woods to this little cottage at the edge of Broughton’s estate, it had taken every ounce of self-control not to charge Sultan ahead and overtake her, demanding to know what the hell she was doing meeting Broughton in such a secluded place. But he knew if he handled her in that manner he might never learn what secrets she was keeping from him.

Reaching for the branches that hung low before him, he swung them up in the air then stooped beneath, letting them fall back into place. Two steps farther, he found himself before a frosted windowpane.

His heart couldn’t seem to find a steady rhythm. He wasn’t ashamed to admit his weakness. He was terrified of what was
going to greet him once he wiped his hand against the glass, removing the dirt and grime and seeing for himself what lay beyond the frost.

He heard them before he could see them. Anais’s gentle voice suddenly rose above Broughton’s baritone rumble. She sounded as though she was weeping. Unable to stand it a second longer, Lindsay put his gloved fist to the window and swirled his hand in a circle. Slowly, as if by magic, the image of Anais greeted him.

Seeing her here now, with Broughton, in Broughton’s cozy, secluded cottage made him shake. So many emotions, swirling like tempests, ate at him—anger, frustration, desire, love—violent emotions, every one of them. He had not lied to her last night when he told her he was consumed by her, for he was consumed. He was an empty shell of himself without her in his life.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lindsay saw Broughton move toward her, his hands, ungloved, stretched out to her and he caught her easily about the shoulders. Just as easily, she stepped into his embrace and wrapped her pale hands around Broughton’s shoulders. Lindsay could not breathe as he watched her nestle her face against Broughton’s chest and close her eyes as if Garrett’s arms brought her the safest of harbors.

This is how she used to come to him. But she had not allowed him to hold her in such a way since he’d returned. She had shared her body, her weakness for passion, but she had not shared her vulnerability or her fears. She gave those, as well as her trust, to Broughton.

His breath, coming in rapid fire, clouded the glass and with a violent oath Lindsay swirled the edge of his fist once more
against the window, enlarging the circle so that he could see more of the cottage.

Broughton was leading Anais by the hand to the bed. Lindsay could not move, could not blink, nor could he breathe. He could only watch in perverse horror as she willingly followed Broughton and sat down beside him, allowing him to remove her bonnet and skim his fingertips along her alabaster cheek. He saw their lips move and would have paid anything to hear what they said to one another. Was Broughton confessing his love? Was she accepting it?

He saw a tear trickle from Anais’s eye and streak down her cheek. He imagined himself chasing away the wetness with his thumb, kissing away her tears until they were ones of utter satiation. Like the tears she shed when he brought her to climax. Happy tears. Beautiful tears. He could not stop from asking himself what sort of tears these were that she was giving Broughton.

Broughton’s dark head tilted to the side and Lindsay watched, jealousy jabbing him, as the man who had once been his close friend closed his eyes and gently kissed her chin. This was a man in love, Lindsay realized, and it took every ounce of his control not to go bursting into the cottage and pummel Broughton until he was nothing but a bloody, broken heap.

Anais’s head tipped back and he watched her lips part—a sob? A cry of pleasure? Of need? Of pain? And then suddenly her shoulders were shaking and her face was pressed tightly against Broughton’s neck. She had wound herself so tightly against him that Broughton was compelled to lift his face from her hair, struggling to draw breath.
Drowning in her.

They sat, meshed tightly, their arms wrapped around the
other as Broughton held tight, rocking her, allowing Anais to give vent to whatever feelings were coursing so violently through her.

There was something profoundly intimate in their embrace. Lindsay could not help but wonder at it. Had she ever come to him so willingly? Had she ever offered so much of herself to him, or had it merely been him taking her succor?
Him needing her?

He tried to think of the times he had held her. He could not recall an occasion in which she had wept this unbridled before him. No, she had never been this vulnerable with him. She had never needed him as much as she now needed Broughton.

For the first time since returning home, Lindsay allowed himself to fully believe that perhaps it was true, she had forgiven him and moved on with her life while he had done neither. He could not forgive himself for what he had done, nor could he go on with his life. Life was not worth living if it did not contain Anais’s smiles, or her warm body against his.

A gentle sound reached his ears, part sob, part sad laughter. He looked up from his hands and saw that Anais and Broughton were now standing, her beautiful face clutched in his palms. Tenderly Broughton dried her cheeks before taking her hand in his. The cottage door opened and the rusty hinges creaked in the quiet as the sound of their boots upon the wooden porch echoed off the leafless trees. Lindsay waited, breath held, heart immobile in his chest for the sound of their retreating footsteps.

“I will see you at The Lodge tonight, then?” Broughton asked. “A quiet dinner will set you to rights.”

“I will be there,” she murmured through delicate sniffs.

“All will be well, Anais. He will not discover our secret—I promise you that.”

“I’m sorry I dragged you away from your work, I know how busy you are. It was just…” She sniffled.

“Leave Raeburn to me. Do not worry so much. You need to take care of yourself. You need your strength.”

The hair on Lindsay’s nape bristled. His insides clenched and twisted as the page in Dr. Stuart’s medical text flashed before him. Good God, he could go no longer denying his instincts.

Closing his eyes, he willed the image of Anais to come forward. He saw her with her rounded belly, which was slightly bigger than it had been the first time he saw her naked in the stable. And her breasts, which were always large, were firmer—fuller. The nausea at the breakfast table? The paleness of her skin?

How could he continue to remain blind?

“Thank you, Garrett—for everything.”

“Shh. We are beyond this now, you and I. We have a tie that binds, do we not?”

He did not hear her reply, nor the sound of them walking to their mounts. He did not even feel the earth shake beneath him as the horses pounded along the path. The only sound that registered in his brain was the sound of his blood rushing violently through his ears. Damn him, his father was right. They were keeping secrets from him.

The cottage door swung open. Lindsay took one step forward, his boot pressing into the uneven floorboard that creaked beneath his weight. The cottage smelled of her—of country
flowers and Anais. He wondered if Broughton was aware of it, the way her scent clung to her hair and clothes. The way it cloaked the air when she was in the room, the way it lingered, caressing his flesh when she left.

He had expected the cottage to smell musty. After all, Broughton hadn’t kept a gatekeeper for nearly three years. It should have been dusty and full of cobwebs, but the sight that greeted him was not ramshackle neglect, but one of recent improvements.