A Measured Risk

by Natasha Blackthorne

  Jon scowled. “I think she’s had enough of your potions for one evening.”

  “This will counteract any ill effects. But first let’s have a look at her.”

  Jon’s mind flashed to how he’d left Anne. Naked and well fucked in his sheets. He jerked the bottle from Kean’s hand. “I don’t think so. Just tell me how much to give her.”

  “Well, how much punch did she take?”

  “She claims four cups.”

  Kean told him the dose. “Put it in some wine. It should bring her down in about a half hour.”

  “Half an hour!” Jon grasped his lapels. “Don’t tell me half an hour. Her heart is racing—it can’t be safe.”

  Kean’s already dilated eyes enlarged even more. “Calm yourself. She’s going to be fine.”

  Realising that Kean was flying as high as the clouds, Jon felt a frisson of fear race down his spine. He was depending on the medical skills of man under the influence. He caught a rare, sideways glance at the way he had been living. And he’d brought his precious Anne into this world and exposed her to its decadence. To its dangers.

  He released his hold. “She had damn well better be fine.”

  “In half an hour she’ll be asleep. Until then,” Kean grinned. “Just enjoy her.”

  * * * *

  The chamber door coming open sounded unnaturally loud in Anne’s ears. Too frightened to move, she lay on the bed, curled into a ball.

  “Jon?”

  “I am here, love.” Glass clanked and the bed moved. He touched her. “Sit up, you have to drink this.”

  She looked up into his face. “My heart won’t stop racing.”

  “This will help.” He helped her up and held a glass to her lips.

  The wine flowed cool in her parched mouth but it burnt her raw throat like acid. She coughed.

  “All of it, Nan,” he ordered.

  With difficulty, she complied. Her stomach lurched warningly. “It’s going to come back up,” she said, panicked.

  “It can’t. You have to keep it down. It must get into your blood.”

  “I can’t help it.” She tried to crawl across the bed, heading for the chamber pot.

  He took her in his arms and pulled her back to the bed with him and cradled her head to his chest. “Concentrate on keeping it down. Swallow.”

  She lay against him as he stroked her hair. “Will I die?”

  “No, the antidote will counteract the effects.”

  “Good, I don’t want to die.” She swallowed hard against acid rising in her throat. “I want to go to Scotland. With you. All winter.”

  “Nan—”

  “But for only the winter. After that, I shall go to Ireland, as I planned.”

  “Of course you will.” He didn’t sound like he believed her at all. She could hear the smile in his voice.

  “I shall, you will see.”

  “Hmm,” he said. He slid his hand down her chest and came to rest just above the swell of her left breast. “It’s slowing already I think.”

  She stared at him, her eyes growing heavy, and she knew as sure as she took her next breath that she loved him. Completely. Desperately.

  Jon idly caressed Anne’s tousled hair as she slept, sideways on the bed, her fist pressed to her mouth, her head resting on his stomach. This life he led was useless. It was insane. Anne was the only thing that mattered. Truly mattered. Damn, he’d been terrified for her. And now he fully realised how important she was to him. She was his and he wasn’t about to let her go. For one thing, he’d be sick with worry the whole time she was away from him.

  He’d have to marry her. And she was going to have to accept that.

  He’d never broken his word to anyone in his entire life. Not willingly. But was this really his will? When he’d pledged himself to Maria Waterbury, he’d believed himself too burned and jaded to fall in love with anyone. But love her he did and no one and nothing was going to keep him from claiming her in every possible way. Not even the lady herself.

  * * * *

  Fully dressed and hollow eyed, Jon watched Anne sleep. She hadn’t moved in hours, just lain there like a dead woman. How much of last night had been her consent and how much had been the effects of Kean’s punch? He ought never to have brought her here, should never have insisted she attend the party. Shame burned into him relentlessly. He ought to have watched her more closely last night.

  A knocking at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He got up and answered it. Maria looked up at him, looking little better than he felt. Hazarding a glance at the bed, he took his fiancée’s hand and led her into the smaller adjoining sitting room.

  “You’re going to marry her, aren’t you?” Maria was never one for hedging anything.

  “Yes.”

  She compressed her lips and her eyes widened. She paled a shade or two. “I see.”

  “I am sorry, Maria. I didn’t intend for this to happen.”

  “Of course, no one ever does.” She laughed softly, maybe a little bitterly. “I wish you happiness of her, but it does leave me quite in the lurch.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that. She was a beautiful woman. She’d find many eager to take his place.

  There was nothing more to be said and she left him.

  * * * *

  Anne opened her eyes and blinked in the harsh sunlight streaming through a crack in the curtains.

  “So you’re finally awake?”

  She moved her gaze to the chair by the bed. Angry blue eyes stared back at her. Stiff and sore in all sorts of unlikely places, she pulled herself into a sitting position, then gasped. Her bottom stung mightily. Moreover, every twinge reminded her all over again of last night and caused a wave of lust to pulse through her sex. She wanted his weight on her, pressing her down, his cock thrusting into her without any delay.

  However, he did not look particularly amenable to erotic play this morning.

  “I told you last night, only two cups of punch. And you disobeyed me.”

  “Others were drinking the punch quite heavily,” she said, offering the only defence she knew.

  “They are used to it.”

  “I thought you meant it to bully me.”

  He sighed. “What am I to do with you? You will not trust me. Even in Scotland, you’re going to test me, aren’t you? I’ve spent the whole night wondering what I can do. How can I keep you safe when you won’t trust me to know what’s best? How can I demonstrate my sincerity? And I have come to a decision. We should be wed.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Anne’s mouth fell open. Last night, she’d made promises to him she could never keep. Going with him to Scotland was totally out of the question. But could she be rightly held to blame? She’d been intoxicated. She must still be a little foxed, because couldn’t have heard Jon right. “What?”

  “You’re going to marry me and the sooner the better.”

  Marriage.

  Yes of course, it was the only way. She’d never be his mistress. Not long term like he wanted. She couldn’t be a proper sister to Dorothea and carry on with Ruel. She also had too much pride to be just a mistress to a man.

  So it had to be marriage.

  But no, no, no. It was too soon. She needed time to think things through. Time away from him. She had to know her own mind.

  Sudden fear beat at her, making her heart pound almost as hard as the wicked punch had. She loved him. Probably had since the first moment she’d set eyes on him. She wasn’t sure. She loved him, adored him, craved his strength, even his domination and control, at least in the bedchamber.

  But wait… What was she thinking? He couldn’t be hers.

  “You’re already engaged to be married.”

  “Yes, I was engaged to be married to Lady Maria Waterbury.”

  “Maria…” The shock of that rendered her speechless. But the shock was quickly replaced by confusion. “But you are engaged to her, correct?”

  “I broke with her this morning.”

&n
bsp; Her stomach sank to the floor. “You broke with her?”

  He scowled. “Yes, am I not speaking clearly, Anne?”

  No, she’d heard him clearly. Good God. He was free to wed her.

  But she’d never take him like this.

  By breaking with Maria, the very thing that freed him, he’d proven himself a man of wavering intentions and attention. Just like the duke and William and countless other blue-blooded gentlemen.

  “Oh, no.” She shook her head. “No, no, no.”

  “What the devil do you want from me, Nan?”

  “I want something you can’t give. So it doesn’t matter what I want.”

  He frowned at her. “What is the problem?”

  “You believe Goethe is correct—all that business about instinct and senses.”

  “Yes, I thought I made that clear.” He laughed softly. “Anne, that’s a philosophical difference between two people, what the hell does it have to do with marriage?”

  “That’s all this is, between you and I. It is just senses and instinct.”

  “I love you, Anne.”

  She stared at him, hearing his words. Comprehending them. Yet wholly disbelieving them.

  “God damn it, don’t look at me like that.” His voice boomed in the chamber. Her heart began to pound. He sounded—and looked—angry. One of the things that had made him so approachable had been his emotional control. Now he seemed like everyone else. Unpredictable. “I said I love you.”

  Her heart swelled at his words. She ruthlessly forced the feeling back. “I love you too, but we cannot make an emotional decision. Not about something like marriage.”

  His features went taunt, his gaze intense. “Anne, I never wanted to be married. I never wanted to inherit, never, ever wanted to be Ruel. I thought it meant giving up all my personal liberty and ability to follow my interests without hesitation. But through your eyes, the way you see things related to Whitecross—the way I feel about you—I think everything could be very different. I feel that you and I could be quite harmonious and happy together.”

  “Yes, you feel this. It is not based on any rationality.”

  “Does it need to be?”

  “All decisions on life should be based on thought and carefully measured. Not so long ago, you decided to marry Maria Waterbury. So your feelings changed. Your feelings will change about me as well. You will spend your energies on one mistress after another.”

  “I thought I wanted a marriage based only on mutual understanding and respect. I thought Maria was the woman to give me that. I didn’t think married love with a woman of my own class was possible, due to the expectations and power dynamics of marriage at our level. I thought I might find love someday with some opera dancer.”

  “And so you still might,” Anne snapped.

  “No, Anne I found love with you. I was wrong in my views of marriage. You made me see that.”

  How seductively tempting it was to believe him. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I am merely your latest bauble. A piece of petticoat. A conquest. And it just so happens that you’re ready to wed at this moment as well. Ready to fill your nursery. Some odd fluke has made you think I am the woman to do it. It doesn’t matter. You’ll grow just as bored with being a husband and father as any nobleman ever did. I had one disinterested husband. I don’t wish for another.”

  He gaped at her a moment. She’d never seen him at a loss. It made him look younger. Vulnerable. He jammed his hand into his hair at the back of his head. “Damn it Anne, that’s not fair. You can’t compare what we have to anything that happens with other marriages. I know how easy it is to do that, but it isn’t fair. Not to you and not to me. We deserve a chance to make this work between us.”

  No, no. She couldn’t let him sway her. He put too much faith in sensual and emotional matters. Once she’d given him her all, given him children, who would so desperately need a father, he’d leave to seek his pleasures and distractions elsewhere.

  She would be crushed then. Far more so than she would be to leave now. She still had enough of herself left now to make a dignified exit.

  Yes, she’d adore being Ruel’s wife, with him all the time. But she couldn’t bear to share him with mistresses and serving maids as she had William. And yes, it would be wonderful to be the Countess of Ruel. He owned an estate twice the size of Whitecross and other properties besides. But that wasn’t worth the emotional price and risk. This was no measured risk—it was a dangerous gamble on everything, her whole heart and soul.

  It would be an emotional decision on her part. Something wholly unforgivable. A betrayal of herself.

  She’d been able to trust herself and no one else her whole life. She had no reason to believe things would change now just because her youthful body held momentary appeal for some gentleman. Better she cut the ties now and settle into her new life in Ireland and depend only on herself.

  She also had a responsibility to Dorothea now. She donned a frosty expression and squared her shoulders. “I should like you to leave so I may dress and meet my carriage today.”

  He jolted out of the chair. Her heart beat triple time as he approached. He sat on the bed and drew her into his arms. “Stop it, Nan. Stop acting as if you don’t need me. We both know you do. You’re going to marry me and we shall have a wedding trip and if you still must go to Ireland, well then, I shall take you.”

  She pulled away and glared up at him. “You need me to need you.”

  He blinked, looking taken aback. “Yes, of course. That’s how it works, Nan.”

  Fierce longing tugged at her heart. He was offering her everything. Everything she hadn’t known she’d wanted. However, she didn’t trust it. Fear pressed hard on her. “Forget about Scotland. I am going to Ireland.”

  “So no matter the love you declared for me just last night, you will withdraw your promises to me as suits your wont of the moment?”

  Something beneath the hard, arrogant tone tugged relentlessly at her heart. She hardened against it. “Go back to London, to your mistress. I am sure she feels neglected.” She spat the words out in pure self-defence.

  Silence hung between them. Then he laughed, the sound hollow and humourless. Always he made sport of everything. Always. That he would do so at a moment like this put a welt over her heart, to rival the ones on her arse.

  Just look at how being in this house, among his regular companions, had changed him. The other had been an illusion. A beautiful dream. This was the real Jonathon Lloyd. He was truly a fickle and shallow man, despite all his care and attention to her while living in the cottage in the wood.

  He sighed, one long sound of sheer exasperation. He released her and stood staring down at her. “You have the body of a woman but you’re just a scared little girl inside.”

  Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. “Little girl? How dare you—”

  He held up a forestalling hand. “Enough. You’ve made your feelings clear. All right. Go running back to your little cloister at Whitecross Hall. I won’t stop you.” He walked to the door. Then he paused with his hand on the knob. “But when you’ve had enough self-punishment, just send word and I’ll come for you.”

  She gaped at the door for a long time after it closed.

  * * * *

  Two hours later, Anne wandered alone, lost in the large, unfamiliar house. Thunder broke the eerie stillness, rumbling around the walls, and the corridor was dark. Light shone from an open door. She approached hesitantly.

  “Well, come on in, darling,” Lady Waterbury’s throaty voice called.

  Anne entered slowly. Lady Waterbury lay on the bed, naked and cradled in David Kean’s strong arms.

  “Looking for Ruel?” he asked, his voice low and lazy, his eyes hooded.

  Kean dropped a kiss on Lady Waterbury’s dark red hair, then he disengaged from her and arose, tightening the belt on his dressing gown as he did. “He went into Bedford, to see about your carriage.”

  “Oh,” Anne said. Soon she would
be back at Whitecross Hall. She’d expected to feel relief. Instead her stomach sank to the floor.

  “He left a couple of hours ago,” he said from the sideboard where he was pouring a brandy.

  Anne shifted on her feet, uncomfortable under Lady Waterbury’s languorous, grey gaze. What did one say? What etiquette rules were at play here? “I am sorry…about last night.”

  Lady Waterbury waved her hand. “Do not worry. I know Ruel well. He has never been very mindful of other’s feelings.”

  Discomfort twisted through Anne’s stomach at the emphasis Lady Waterbury put on ‘I know Ruel well’.

  “Well, he’s not usually so insensitive,” Anne said.

  “Oh, darling, he’s really cut a sham with you, hasn’t he?” Lady Waterbury’s tone dripped with sympathy.

  Anne didn’t know what to say.

  “Don’t take it personally. He treats everyone else the same way. Life is strictly one amusement after another for men like him.” Maria Waterbury’s laugh twinkled like music on the air. Kean turned and shared a meaningful glance and a wink with the naked lady gracing his bed. Anne’s ears burned and hurt bloomed in her chest. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling like a stupid schoolroom chit who had wandered into the ballroom unawares.

  “Did you know we were engaged to be married?” Maria’s gaze cut her sharply. “Did you know he has broken with me, over you, his newest interest?”

  “Yes. He told me this morning.”

  “He once pursued me with heated passion. As he does every new interest. I have known him forever. The war changed him. He’s a jaded man now—nothing touches him.”

  “Maria, you’re disturbing her. Look she’s gone quite white,” Kean said in chiding tones.

  “No, she should know exactly what kind of man Ruel is.”

  But I do know, Anne wanted to say. But she would never reveal herself so much. Not in front of these two.