A Risk Worth Taking (25 page)

He dropped his hand from around her and took a step away. “I think it would be best in our case.”

She lifted her gaze. “Why?”

He looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps when we know each other better…”

“I see,” she said, although she did not see at all. “When do you anticipate that will be?”

“In time.”

He turned away from her, indicating that the topic was closed.

“Do you feel well enough to go below and meet your staff, then perhaps eat a bite for supper?”

“Of course. I am anxious to meet them, and to be quite honest,” she said, trying to hide the hurt she felt, “I’m famished.”

He offered her his arm.

She placed her hand on his, then walked with him down the hallway and to the long, spiraled staircase. A tall, distinguished-looking gentleman stood below and bowed elegantly.

“This is Carter,” he said, introducing their butler. “And Martha, your lady’s maid. And Mrs. Buttonsly, our cook. And Hodges…” He walked at her side as they made their way down the long row of servants.

She met the warm smiles on their faces and tried to remember them all. But the fact she was most aware of was the way he held himself away from her. She didn’t understand it. His indifference caused a riot of confusing emotions to race through her body.

“On behalf of the staff, my lady,” Carter said, nodding to emphasize the sincerity of his words, “we would like to welcome you to Covington Manor. We trust you have recovered from the incident this afternoon, and wish to tell you how pleased we are to have you here.”

“Thank
you,” she said. “Thank you all.” Bright smiles greeted her when she spoke.

“If there is anything you need, you have only to ask, my lady.”

“Thank you,” she answered.

“Dinner is ready whenever you are, sir,” the butler announced.

“Very good, Carter. My wife tells me she’s famished.”

They ate the light supper Mrs. Buttonsly had prepared for them in strained silence, and when they finished, Griff stood.

“It’s been an exhausting day, Anne. I’m sure you’re ready to retire.”

Without waiting for her to say otherwise, he held out his hand to escort her to her room. When they reached her bedroom door, he leaned down and pressed his lips lightly against her forehead. “Good night.” He bowed slightly. “Sleep well.”

“Are you retiring as well?” she asked, hoping he could not hear the nervousness in her voice.

“There are several details I promised Adam I would see to when we arrived. I need to take care of some of them immediately.”

She tried to hide her disappointment. Even if there were details his brother had asked that he see to, she doubted Lord Covington expected his brother to see to them on his wedding night. “Very well. Good night, Griff.”

He held open the door, then closed it after she entered her room.

Anne fought the heavy lump that sank to the pit of her stomach as she walked across the room to where Martha
waited for her. A gown and robe lay across the bed and, thankfully, Martha chattered constantly about the working of the house and which stable hand was interested in which kitchen lass.

Anne tried not to think about the words her husband had said before he left her. Surely he did not mean he would not come to her tonight? On their wedding night?

Martha helped her remove her gown and get ready for bed. When she finally met with Martha’s approval, Anne sat on the stool before the mirror while she brushed her hair.

“Everyone was glad you weren’t injured today, my lady.”

“Thank you, Martha.”

“And even more glad the master has married again and brought you here.” She continued to brush Anne’s hair in long, smooth strokes.

“Have you been here long, Martha?”

“Good gracious, yes, my lady. I was born on Covington property. My father was a gamekeeper, and Mother was the countess’s maid. I practically grew up in the manor.”

“Were you Mr. Blackmoor’s first wife’s maid, too?”

Martha stopped in the middle of picking up Anne’s slippers from the floor. “Yes, my lady. My mother decided when the dowager countess died that she was too old to be a lady’s maid. For a few years there wasn’t a need for me to step into her shoes, seeing as how Mr. Blackmoor wasn’t married. Then he brought home his new wife, and I came upstairs to take my mother’s place.”

“Her name was Julia, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What was she like?”

Martha looked uncomfortable, but Anne had too many questions to be deterred. She had to know what it had been like between Griff and his first wife.

“She was very beautiful, with long golden hair, the color of ripened wheat, and laughing eyes as blue as a clear summer sky. She had a soft voice and a smile that never failed to brighten Mr. Blackmoor’s day. The master was devastated when he lost her. We were all afraid he would never recover after the tragedy.”

“There was a son, too, wasn’t there?”

Martha smiled and clutched her hands to her breasts. “Ah, yes. Little Andrew. What a precious bundle of energy. Every time his nurse set him on his feet, he would take off at a run. He never walked anywhere.” Martha put Anne’s shoes in the upright clothes chest. “Someday, it will be your little ones we will chase through the manor. We are all awaiting that day.”

Martha gathered the clothes Anne had taken off. “Will there be anything else, my lady?”

“No,” Anne whispered.

“I’d best be going then so you can rest awhile before…” Martha smiled. “I imagine the master will be here before long.”

Martha reached for the door, but Anne had one more question she needed to ask. “Martha?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Was this their room?”

Martha clutched the clothes in her arms closer to her chest. “No, my lady. The master and his wife had their suite of rooms on the other side of the manor. In the west wing.”

Anne was startled at the relief she felt. “Good night, Martha.”

“Good
night, my lady.”

When she was alone, Anne looked at the big, four-poster bed. A shiver of apprehension raced through her body, warming her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

This may not be how she thought her life would be, but it was too late to change anything now. Even if Griffin Blackmoor was not the husband she’d envisioned, at least there would be children. Children she would love and who would love her in return.

She would not be so foolish as her mother. She would not spend her life waiting for her husband to love her when even the blind could see he could not. She would give her love and attention to the children he would give her and let them be her life.

Anne walked across the room and stared down at the bed. Perhaps he would plant the seed of her first child inside her tonight. Perhaps he would give her a babe to love soon, before she came to care for him more than she did at this moment. Perhaps if she had a child, she would not want him so.

Anne sat on the edge of the bed to wait.

The hours passed in agonizing slowness as she waited for Griff to come to her. She’d moved to the window seat long ago to watch the full moon shine high in the sky.

At first she’d been nervous, anticipating his arrival. But as the hours passed, her nervousness dissipated, and disappointment settled over her like a heavy weight.

She’d waited nearly all night, praying he would come. But he hadn’t.

Her husband hadn’t been able to force himself to come to her.

Anne tucked her legs close to her chest and smoothed the gown of filmy, white gauze over soft peach satin that Patience had given her for her wedding night. The knot deep inside her stomach tightened. She’d lived with the fear her whole life that if she married, her husband might be like her father. That the man she married might want his next drink more than he wanted her. She suddenly realized she had more to fear than a bottle of whiskey.

The master was devastated when he lost her.

She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Griff had told her from the start he did not want to marry. Now she knew the reason why. His reason had wheat-colored hair and laughing blue eyes the color of a clear summer sky. It was Julia’s name he’d called out when he was sick. Julia’s face that haunted his dreams. Julia’s love he still cherished.

How could Anne expect him to care for her when he still loved a wife who had died four years ago?

She closed her eyes to the rising sun and willed the tears not to fall.

T
he promise of dawn brightened the early morning sky, and Griff stretched out over his stallion’s neck to let his thoroughbred thunder across the open meadows of Covington Estate. His horse’s hooves dug up huge clods of wet, grassy mud that flew through the air and splattered against his back and legs. Mammoth drops of sweat formed on his forehead and poured down his face. He flung the salty wetness from his eyes with the back of his hand while he pushed his mount even harder.

He raced as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. They were. They had tormented him since he’d walked away from his bride on her wedding night.

His chest heaved as violently as his horse’s, both their breathing labored and heavy. He knew he should slow down, but he couldn’t chance it. Slowing down meant giving his mind an opportunity to chastise him for what he’d done. It meant giving his conscience time to revolt against his unconscionable act.

He dug his heels into his stallion’s sides and let the early morning air whip his hair as he continued to race over the open spaces even faster. Damn it, but he wanted a drink.

He wanted his wife.

A loud, anguished cry escaped into the hazy, early morning sunshine, and he realized it had come from deep inside him.

He pulled back on the reins to slow his horse. When the stallion stopped, Griff jumped to the ground and doubled over in exhaustion. He braced his hands on his knees and gasped for air as if his lungs might burst.

She was a threat to everything he’d protected himself from since he’d lost Julia. And she was everything his heart cried out to have again.

Every time he was in the same room with her he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her. Every time he looked into her face he wanted to press his lips against hers and feel her mouth open beneath his. Every time he stood near her he remembered how she felt in his arms, how his flesh burned when he held her. How eagerly she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him.

He ached until the pain was unbearable. Thinking about how desperately he wanted to look at every glorious inch of her gnawed a hole deep in his gut. He wanted to touch her, stretch his naked body atop hers, and feel her beneath him. He wanted to bury himself deep within her and truly make her his wife.

He stood, then raked his fingers through his wind-whipped hair. Dear God, how had it come to this? When had he allowed himself to forget the painful lesson he’d been taught? Giving Anne his heart amounted to a death sentence. Attempts had already been made. She’d nearly been run down by a carriage. The carriage “accident” on their way here wasn’t an accident. What more proof did he need that he was incapable of protecting her?

Griff wiped the sweat that poured from his face. He couldn’t be a loving husband to her until he was sure she was out of danger. He couldn’t risk getting her with child until he knew he could keep both her and the child safe. And he couldn’t do either until he knew the identity of the man intent on revenge.

Griff dropped his head back on his shoulders and breathed a heavy sigh that stretched his lungs and burned his chest. He walked back to where his horse stood grazing on lush meadow grass and looked around. If someone was out there, he’d find him. He wasn’t going to let Anne die like Freddie had.

Great rivers of sweat ran down the horse’s neck and his flanks. Griff had worked him hard. He patted the horse lovingly, then put his foot in the stirrup and swung up. He settled himself in the saddle and stopped. A slight movement to his right caught his attention.

Griff slowly turned his mount. He kept his gaze on the grove of trees where he’d seen the disturbance, and urged his horse forward.

Someone was there. He felt him watching.