Addicted (12 page)

“I’ve got Darnby,” Wallingford called from his horse, jolting Lindsay out of his stupor. Anais’s father was in the saddle in front of Wallingford, barely conscious. Lindsay could see that the man had suffered a deep wound to his head and that it was bleeding heavily.

“I’ve sent one of the stable boys to Broughton’s estate,” Wal
lingford called over his shoulder as he took the reins in his gloved hand. “Broughton says Robert is in residence. I shall meet you back at Eden Park, then?”

Lindsay nodded, his gaze straying back to Broughton, who continued to hold Anais in his arms. Still he was unable to slow his breathing or the shaking of his hands. He felt like a damn weakling, but Christ, he had nearly lost her. The thought was more than he could endure.

“The carriage,” Broughton yelled as he brushed away a mass of curls from Anais’s face. “Somebody get me a bloody carriage—
now!
”

Something inside Lindsay snapped as he watched his friend bring Anais’s body closer into his. “Give her to me,” Lindsay begged as he ran down the steps. “I will take her on horseback and be there much quicker than the time it will take a carriage to make its way through the roads.”

“You’ll do no such thing. She’s been ill—
gravely ill.
She can’t be out in this weather. Jesus, she’s turning blue as we speak,” Broughton snarled, clutching her hard against his chest, shielding her from the biting wind and cold just as a loud crack exploded through the roof. Seconds later, the attic of the house caved in, sending sparks and flames jumping up into the sky that resembled black velvet.

“Now is not the time to argue, Broughton.” Lindsay eyed the tower of flame that erupted through the opening that was once the attic. The wind was up, making a dangerous situation that much more. “For God’s sake, the entire house is engulfed in flame. We have to get away from here, and get Anais to safety. Give her to me!” Lindsay was prying Anais, who was in the midst
of a deep swoon, from Broughton’s arms. “For the love of God, man, my stallion can have her at Eden Park in minutes.”

Broughton looked down at Anais, who was still asleep in his arms. Lindsay didn’t care for the possessive, familiar look in Broughton’s eyes. Nor could he tamp down the fierce jealousy that pierced his breast. Bloody hell, Broughton was far too comfortable with a half-dressed Anais draped in his arms.

“Smith,” Lindsay called, beckoning Darnby’s groom. “Bring me the black Arabian.”

The stallion was brought round. Lindsay gained the saddle swiftly before snatching a cloak from a maid who had run outside to check on her mistress.

“Give her to me, Broughton.”

“What the devil do you think?” Broughton snapped, his angry expression glowed in the orange glare of the flames. “That you can come traipsing back here as though nothing has happened, like you’re some goddamned knight in shining armor?”

“Give her to me,” Lindsay thundered. “It’s cold. She shouldn’t be outside any longer than needed.”

Broughton continued to clutch Anais protectively against his chest. “Do you actually think I’ll sit back this time and allow you to hurt her once again?”

Lindsay narrowed his gaze. They were no longer talking about Anais’s safety and getting her out of the cold. It was very clear that Broughton was staking a claim to the woman Lindsay loved. “I don’t deny I was wrong. I don’t deny that I have very little right to expect anything from Anais, but that is not the most pressing detail now. I’ve been on the roads in a carriage, Broughton. It’s slow and icy, and frankly, treacherous. I can be there
faster on horseback. Put aside your anger with me, to realize it’s in Anais’s best interest. After, if you want to call me out again and put a bullet in my chest, then be my guest. Right now, I’m thinking only of Anais.”

With one last look at her face, Broughton reluctantly placed her into Lindsay’s outstretched arms. “I’ll be right behind you,” he muttered, turning to his carriage, which had just been brought around.

Covering Anais from head to toe with the cloak, Lindsay sunk his stirrups into the Arabian’s sides, tearing off into the blowing snow for the short ride to Eden Park.

By the time he reached his estate, the house was rife with disorder and shouting. His father, irritated and inebriated, was bellowing obscenities, irked to have his home descended upon by unwanted guests and in such a haphazard fashion.

“Bloody hell, boy, is that you?” his father grunted as Lindsay emerged through the do or carrying Anais. “Or am I seeing visions?”

“It is me,” Lindsay grumbled. “Where is Mother? I will need her help.”

“Church, where else would she be on Christmas Eve?” his father snapped. “You might have sent word that you were coming home. Christ, you might have sent word that you were still alive.”

“Might you lecture me later, Father?”

His father, who looked jaundiced and haggard, narrowed his eyes. “What the devil are you going to do with her?”

“Might I suggest the guest wing?” Worthing, their butler, announced.

“You may not,” Lindsay grumbled. “She will stay in my
chamber until she is well enough. I want her close in case she requires anything. I will use my sitting room.”

“That isn’t wise, boy,” his father bellowed. “Things have changed since you’ve been gone. I’ve a feeling your friend Broughton will raise hell when he finds out.”

Lindsay stopped on the top riser, his gut turning to stone as he pivoted on the heel of his boot to glare down at his father. “Broughton can go to the devil. She is in my care now, and I will say what is to be done for her.”

Ignoring his father’s grunt, Lindsay stalked down the hall and flung open the door of his chamber. Placing her atop his bed, he pulled the cloak from her face, his fingers tracing her cheeks as he whispered for her to wake up.

“I’ll tend to Lady Anais first.”

It was Robert Middleton’s voice. “In here, Middleton. She’s breathing, but still in her swoon.”

Robert passed him and turned to shut the door, but Lindsay stayed him. “Your brother said she’s been ill. What the devil does he mean? She’s never been sick a day in her life.”

“Now is not the time, for God’s sake,” Robert snapped. “Many things have changed since you’ve left, things that are not of your concern. Now, get out of my way and let me attend Anais.”

The door to the room slammed shut, and Lindsay had the horrible, gut-wrenching sensation that he’d just been shut out of Anais’s life. As he stared at the glossed cherry wood, he saw himself on the outside, looking in. No longer was he welcome. Now, he was just a ghostly image standing on the peripheries, no longer wanted, no longer needed.

The door to Lindsay’s sitting room clicked shut. Tension—taut and pulsing—filled the atmosphere. A year ago the three of them—Lindsay, Broughton and Wallingford—would have taken their leisure amongst the pillows and divans scattering the room.

Now they stood separate, shoulders squared, jaws locked. Striding to the window, Lindsay clutched the casement frame and watched the blinding whirl of snow on the ground below. His gaze immediately strayed to the left, searching for Lansdowne farm, to the scene of his duel with Broughton and the decimation of their friendship.

No honor had been gained in that duel. No satisfaction for the wrongs he had caused. He wondered if Broughton now wished he had not wasted his shot and instead, shot him dead, only to leave him bleeding on the damp grass.

God knew, men had been killed on the field of honor for less weighty trespasses than what he had done.

“She cannot possibly stay here,” Broughton snapped as he started pacing, his wet boots grinding into the delicate threads of the gold-and-blue Persian carpet.

“Where would you have her go?” Wallingford asked, reaching inside his jacket for a cheroot. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but there is a bloody blizzard outside and the girl is lying unconscious in the bed next door.”

“It would be an insult for her to have to spend any length of time in this house. Not after what
he
has done to her.”

“For the love of God, Broughton,” Wallingford mumbled as he lit his smoke. “Where else would you have the girl go?”

“She could have come to The Lodge. Robert and his wife are
in residence for the winter. He could oversee her care from there. Margaret could have acted as chaperone.”

Lindsay’s fingers tightened on the wood.
Anais at Broughton’s estate? Never.
He may no longer deserve a spot in her life, but he couldn’t swallow the idea of Anais staying in Garrett’s home. Christ, he’d rather be dead than to think of Anais together with Garrett. With anyone but him.

“Think of the scandal, Broughton. No one will bat an eye at the Darnbys staying with the Marquis of Weatherby. Everyone in the county knows of the longstanding friendship between Anais’s father and Raeburn’s mother. But to have Anais staying with you, while her parents are with the Weatherbys—it just wouldn’t work, you must see that.”

“And what is a bit of scandal to you, Wallingford? It is not as though you’ve ever batted a moral eye before,” Broughton barked.

Wallingford arched a mocking brow. “So—” he shrugged “—I have the morals of a tomcat. Everyone knows of my proclivities. I make no secret of them. As willing as I am to discuss my numerous affairs, I don’t think that is really the issue here. Unless, of course, you wish to follow in my boot steps.”

“Damn you, Wallingford! You think this is amusing? While you’ve been off traipsing through Europe and the East, whoring and drinking and doing God knows what, things have changed since you and
he
decided to indulge in your vices.”

“I see, so you and Anais have become so intimate in the past months that the villagers would think nothing of her residing with you?”

Lindsay’s entire body tightened. He did not want to hear
Broughton’s answer. He did not want to think of Anais in Broughton’s bed.

“Why were you not at church, Broughton, with the rest of your family? It was apparent from what I saw that Anais was not dressed for entertaining. What had you at the Darnbys’ when Anais was dressed and ready for bed?” Wallingford inquired. Lindsay silently thanked his friend for asking the very same question Lindsay wanted answered.

“Since when do I need to answer to you?”

Wallingford shrugged. “It’s the elephant in the room. Curious minds, and all that.”

“If it was your concern, I’d tell you. But since it’s not, I’ll keep to my own council. I fail to see what is so damned amusing, Wallingford,” Broughton muttered as he paced the width of the room.

Wallingford was grinning. “Christ sakes, Broughton, you’re being a prig. Keep your council, then. I don’t give a damn, but realize that for Anais’s reputation, it is far more logical for her and her family to stay here.”

“He betrayed her!” Lindsay caught Broughton’s gaze in the glass. “He betrayed
me.
”

“Do you actually think he was the first?” Wallingford asked, his lips curving into a mirthless smile. “I will not believe you are that naive. Blinded by righteousness, perhaps, but not green.”

“Explain.”

“Rebecca Thomas.” Wallingford smiled as he blew a circle of smoke into the air from the cheroot he had just lit. “Do you think Raeburn was the first man she attempted to seduce?” Broughton sputtered and curled his fingers into fists. “Oh, come now,
Broughton, don’t play the Prince Valiant with me. You know as well as I what sort of woman Rebecca is. You told me yourself the day before you found her with Raeburn that you were not certain she was the one for you. You will recall I told you that you were correct in assuming she was not the sort of female you would want as your countess or the mother of your children.”

“What are you saying?”

Wallingford made a grunt of disgust and reached for his tumbler. “I’m saying that she wanted an heir to a dukedom before she ever wanted an earl.”

Broughton reeled on his heels. “I do not believe you.”

Wallingford shrugged. “Believe what you want, but she came to me a week before she drugged and seduced Raeburn. She was a grasping, manipulative creature and she was willing to bed your friends for the promise of a superior title. She was plotting and waiting, willing to spread her thighs in the hope of one day being a duchess or—” Wallingford inclined his head toward the window where Lindsay stood “—a marchioness.”

“Did you sleep with her? Jesus, you did, didn’t you? You can never keep your prick in your trousers.”

“What man can when a woman is so damn eager for it?” Wallingford taunted.

“Did you know she had set her designs on Raeburn? Good God, were you aware that she was traipsing about that pleasure den of yours pretending she was a servant?”

“I was as ignorant of that as you, Broughton. She was disguised, and if you will recall, I was enjoying the delightful hand of a most skilled courtesan. In that, I may assure you, I did not keep my prick in my trousers.”

“You don’t give a damn about anything, most certainly not women.”

“Not if that woman is Rebecca Thomas,” Wallingford growled. “I told her what I thought of her. I informed her she was a conniving slut. She no longer found me to her liking. Apparently she took umbrage at my honesty. She left before I could get my prick out of my trousers,” Wallingford jeered.

Lindsay continued to keep his back to his friends, preferring to watch the exchange from the window, which acted like a mirror. He did not trust himself to confront Broughton. He did not understand the emotions coursing within him. He was not a coward, nor was he ashamed to meet his friend. It was something more. It was beyond jealousy what he was feeling.

The feeling he had lost everything that had ever mattered to him began to suck him under. All he could think about was Anais in the next room and how she had blindly thrown herself into Garrett’s arms. The pain that knowledge caused him was savage, and the urge to light up his bamboo pipe and smoke until he could feel nothing but numbness began to fire at the base of his brain.

But he fought it, the urge to succumb to his weakness. It was Anais he needed to think about. Anais who needed him. He had failed her that night at Wallingford’s. He had not returned from Constantinople only to fail her again.