A Risk Worth Taking

by Laura Landon

  “Is that so, my lady?” Candlewood asked, refusing to back down from Blackmoor’s effrontery.

  She hesitated. She couldn’t allow them to argue over her, couldn’t allow them to cause a scene. “Yes. I’m afraid it is, my lord. I’m sorry. I had forgotten.”

  She lifted her gaze. The look on Blackmoor’s face brimmed with smug self-confidence. Her blood roared in anger.

  She placed her hand ever so lightly on his outstretched arm. She wanted to dig her fingernails into his skin to show him how furious she was with him. She had never been so outraged.

  She refused to consider that her agitation might also be caused by his nearness. Instead, she convinced herself that the sole reason for her outrage was the high-handed way he’d manipulated her in front of everyone.

  He led her to the dance floor. The minute he turned her in his arms, she glared at him with a look she hoped would singe his dark hair. He’d cut it since she’d last seen him.

  “That was unconscionably rude, Mr. Blackmoor,” she hissed, refusing to walk into his outstretched arms.

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  He smiled. “Because dancing with the Marquess of Candlewood would have been a waste of time.”

  “How dare you.”

  “I dare because I intend to help you find someone suitable to marry.” He paused. “Candlewood isn’t suitable.”

  Their gazes held, and Anne’s heart thrummed in her breast as sporadic shivers raced down her arms. She fought to quash her reaction to the fact that he held her in his arms.

  “Do you intend to stand here arguing while the rest of the couples dance around us, or would you care to join them?”

  She looked around the room and saw several pair of eyes watching them. He pulled her close to begin the dance—a waltz.

  “Why did you force me away from the group I was talking to? I thought that was the objective of my coming to London.” She spoke softly so no one could hear her. “I thought you wanted me to acquaint myself with every eligible male.”

  When he spoke, his voice was hard, with not the least softness in it. “Not the Marquess of Candlewood.”

  “Why? He seems quite pleasant.”

  “I’m sure he is, as well as charming and funny and very handsome. He is also very self-assured, and is fortunate enough to have more than an adequate amount of wealth to make himself quite the catch. But any woman foolish enough to marry him will have to share her husband with a great number of other women, including the mistress he keeps in grand style on Derby Street.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “Everyone knows it. Unless, of course, you wouldn’t mind your husband servicing half the women in London on a regular basis.”

  Anne’s cheeks burned.

  “Ah. I see you would.”

  He firmed his hold around her waist and executed a tight turn on the floor in rhythm to the music. He was an excellent dancer, and her heart raced from the excitement of being in his arms.

  She didn’t want to feel such a connection to him. She wanted to step away, to release herself from the grip that heated her skin through the material of her dress, searing her flesh like a branding iron and weakening her knees. At the same time, she wanted him to pull her closer so she could feel the hardened muscles of his shoulders and back. She wanted to press her cheek against his fashionable black tailcoat and silver brocade waistcoat, and breathe in the maleness of him. She wanted to lift her hand to his cheek and run her fingertips over the strong line of his jaw and his thick, full lips as she’d done when she’d cared for him.

  She wanted there to be one other man in the room who could set her on fire the same as he did. But she knew there was not.

  “There are other men in attendance,” he said, jolting her mind back to the present. “Any of them would be a better choice.”

  “Then what do you think of Baron Fillmore?”

  “Too young.”

  “The Earl of Pendron?”

  “Too broke.”

  “The Marquess of Lancheister?”

  “Too boring.”

  She struggled to break free of his grasp. He would not let her. Instead, he twirled her to the side of the room and out the double doors that led to the terrace.

  Cool air hit her like a slap in the face and she twisted out of his arms and stepped away from him.

  “Is there anyone in attendance who would meet with your approval?”

  “I’m certain there are any number of men who would be suitable.” His nostrils flared slightly and his chest rose and fell. “You have just made the acquaintance of the wrong ones.”

  “Perhaps I should let you choose for me,” she said without thinking. “Since you are such an excellent judge of character.”

  A grin lifted the corners of his mouth, causing the two creases on either side to deepen most seductively.

  “Perhaps I should.”

  “Over my dead body,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “If you want to play matchmaker, sir, I suggest you experiment on yourself. I’m sure there are any number of eligible young females who could be forced to take your name. Perhaps if you paid them the slightest attention, you could find yourself a suitable wife and leave me alone.”

  She had wanted to lash out at him, to say whatever would punish him for causing her such confusion. Her words had somehow hit the mark.

  The smile faded from his face and his eyes turned even darker. “I’m afraid not, my lady. I have no desire to marry. That is one risk I never intend to take again. You, unfortunately, do not have that choice.”

  A cold chill washed over her. She’d been unforgivably cruel. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  He swept a hand across his brow. For the first time, she noticed the light sheen of perspiration that covered his face. He shouldn’t be here. He wasn’t recovered enough, and attending a ball was too big a temptation. Champagne and brandy flowed like water. For a man just resigned never to drink again, this was the last place he should be.

  “I’m doing this because I promised Freddie I would take care of you. I have an obligation to fulfill, and I don’t intend to let you make a decision you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”

  The effect of his words landed in the pit of her stomach like a hollow ache. What a fool she’d been. What an idealistic, muddleheaded romantic. She deserved to feel such betrayal, to feel hurt. If only she hadn’t sat at his sickbed and held his hand—and told him she loved him.

  “You need not concern yourself with my welfare, Mr. Blackmoor. I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

  “I feel it my duty to warn you—”

  She turned on him. “You have done more than is expected of you, sir. I have agreed to find a husband—and I will. The moment I do, your obligation will be at an end. If you will excuse me now.”

  She stepped around him and returned to the ballroom. She kept her back straight and her chin high as she made her way to where Lord and Lady Covington stood. “Is something wrong?” Patience asked, the look in her eyes understanding more than Anne wished to reveal.

  “No. Everything is fine.”

  “Griff?” the earl asked, looking at a spot just behind her.

  He’d followed her. How dare he.

  “Everything is fine,” he answered.

  But everything wasn’t fine. Anne felt trapped. She needed to escape.

  “Oh, there is the Marquess of Candlewood,” she said, looking to the opposite side of the room. “If you will excuse me, I promised the marquess a dance before I was interrupted.”

  She gave Griff a defiant glare as she stepped past him. It was an effort to keep from visibly shivering at the hostile look he gave her in return. Let him be angry. If she had no choice but to marry against her will, it would at least be to a man of her own choosing. Not someone Griffin Blackmoor and his guilt-ridden conscience picked out for her.

  He needed a drink.

  What the hell was she tryin
g to prove?

  He watched as she stood in the middle of the ballroom, the most beautiful woman there, her upswept hair exposing her long, graceful neck, the mass of mahogany curls cascading down her back while delicate peach ribbons twined through the tendrils. She looked elegant, enchanting. Thoroughly kissable.

  He’d never seen anyone more beautiful—far too beautiful, and far too naive to be let loose alone in London Society. Anyone with half a brain could see how innocent and unsuspecting she was. How had Freddie kept her locked away for so long?

  One look at the way Candlewood and the rest of the men ogled her told him she didn’t stand a chance. And the way she was dressed didn’t help. Her gown was much too low, her breasts far too exposed to be considered decent. He would have to speak with Patience tomorrow and insist she have a talk with Lady Anne. Exposing that much of her exquisite body would only lead to trouble.

  Just as letting that womanizing Candlewood hold her hand was dangerous. Bloody hell, she was courting disaster. And all that after he’d warned her about the marquess. What made her do something so foolish?

  Griff couldn’t stand by and watch her. He needed to leave before he said or did something to embarrass them both.

  He left the Fillingtons’ town house and stepped out into the crisp nighttime air. He needed to walk. He needed to clear his mind. But how could he when all he could think about was the way she’d looked tonight. The way she’d felt in his arms when he’d danced with her, the way he’d felt when she was near him.

  She was far too precious to let just anyone have. He would make sure whoever she married was perfect.

  Chapter 12

  In the last six days, Griff had dismissed one duke, three marquesses, five earls, seven barons, and countless other of London’s nobility with lesser titles he could not recall. And he was about to add four more to his list.

  The Covington morning room was as crowded as a receiving line at a ball. Patience and Lady Anne sat on a floral settee in the spacious salon, while he and Adam and four suitors faced them. In attendance today were Baron Pendencarn, who sat in a chair on Griff’s right, and Lord Benchley, on a chair next to the baron. The Earl of Welleby sat to Adam’s left, and the Marquess of Tanhouse next to the earl. Griff sat in his customary place next to Adam on the sofa, drinking tea and eating delicate little sandwiches as if the two of them had nothing better to do with their time.

  Bloody hell! What a bore.

  Since the Fillington ball nearly a week ago, there had been a steady stream of admirers at the door. Patience had played chaperone for so many carriage rides through Hyde Park, Griff was certain they were going to erect a shrine in her honor. And he and Adam had consumed so much tea and eaten so many of those damn little cakes and sandwiches, he wouldn’t think twice about selling half the estates he’d inherited for a thick piece of roast mutton.

  And of the scores of admirers who’d showed interest in Lady Anne, there wasn’t one of the titled imbeciles who was worthy of her.

  “Perhaps you would care to accompany me on a carriage ride through Hyde Park this afternoon,” the Marquess of Tanhouse said, a hopeful expression on his face.

  “Of course. That would be wonderful.”

  Griff sat forward in his chair. “From the look of the clouds gathering outside, I’m afraid this afternoon might bring rain. Perhaps another time.”

  All eyes turned to look out the window—all except for Anne’s. Her hostile glare locked with his, and the expression on her face hinted at a warning he refused to acknowledge.

  “I think Mr. Blackmoor might be right,” the dejected marquess said. “It does look like rain.”

  “Then perhaps Lady Anne would like to accompany me to the Countess of Williamhan’s musicale instead?” the Earl of Welleby interjected, looking pleased with himself. “A little rain never stopped a musicale.”

  The earl laughed overenthusiastically at his little joke. Griff could see by the light in her eyes and the slight nod of her head that Anne intended to accept the invitation. “I’m certain Lady Anne would love to attend,” he offered for her. “I’ll make sure to free up my schedule to accompany her.”

  “There’s no need for you to go to such trouble on my account,” Anne said with a lethal smile that hinted of syrupy sweetness. “I’m quite certain Lady Patience will send one of the staff to chaperone. Or perhaps you intend to go yourself, Patience, and I could go with you?”

  “It’s no trouble,” Griff interrupted. “I don’t mind. I’ve always enjoyed Lady Williamhan’s musicales.”

  “I could not possibly let you inconvenience yourself so,” Anne spoke, her glare shooting painful pinpricks toward him.

  There was a bite to her voice that Griff chose to ignore. “Don’t bother sending a carriage, Welleby,” he said over her protest. “I’ll see Lady Anne and Lady Patience there myself.”

  The Earl of Welleby nodded, but disappointment was clear on his face.

  “Have you been to Covent Garden yet?” Lord Benchley asked, his enthusiasm obvious. Both he and Baron Pendencarn made moon eyes at Anne as if her only competition was the sun in the sky. Since both of them were nearly bankrupt, their attention to Anne was obvious. They’d no doubt heard of the more than generous dowry he’d placed on her.

  “No,” Anne answered, setting her teacup back in the saucer. “But I hear it is wonderful.”

  “The theatre just recently reopened after the fire.” Benchley sat forward in his chair. “Les Huguenots is playing. Mother and I have reserved a box for next Thursday evening. Perhaps you, and Lord and Lady Covington, of course, would care to—”

  “I’m afraid Lady Anne has already made plans for next Thursday.” Griff gave the baron a look that usually wilted the starch out of even the most determined of her suitors. Unfortunately, the argument he received did not come from Benchley, but from Anne.

  “I believe you are mistaken, Mr. Blackmoor.” There was an undeniable tinge of acid in her voice. “I’m certain we are free that evening.”

  “May I be so bold as to suggest you are mistaken?” He leaned back against the cushion and tried to appear more relaxed than he felt. The look the two of them shared resembled two bulls locking horns.

  “And I’m positive I know my own calendar. I am quite capable of making plans of my own.”

  An uncomfortable tension filled the room. Several long seconds stretched by while Patience lowered her gaze to her hands. The marquess and the earl looked around the room as if the pattern in the wallpaper held their fascination. Baron Pendencarn fidgeted nervously with the ruffles on his shirt while Lord Benchley repeatedly cleared his throat.

  “You are already engaged that evening, Lady Anne,” Griff repeated, struggling to keep his voice soft and factual. “You have accepted—”

  “I would appreciate it if you would allow me to speak for myself.”

  “Of course. I just did not realize you had changed your plans to attend the Duchess of Stanfields’s ball.” He made sure his voice contained a hint of conciliation.

  “I’m afraid Blackmoor is correct,” Lady Patience said. She was undoubtedly trying to soothe the troubled waters churning in her parlor.

  Anne’s cheeks turned a delightful shade of rose.

  Bloody hell, but she was a beauty. Today she wore a gown the faintest shade of alabaster, with delicate pink flowers embroidered throughout the material. Her dark, mahogany hair was loosely pulled back, and delicate tendrils cascaded around her face. She looked almost too pretty to be real. No wonder every male in London searching for a bride was beating a path to her door.

  “Oh, I had forgotten,” she said, flashing him another angry look. “That is the same evening.”

  “Perhaps it will not be a total loss,” the Earl of Welleby said, placing his empty teacup on the table beside his chair. “I hear the duchess has procured that renowned pianist, Van Seffeld, to provide entertainment for the evening. Quite a coup, too, since he’s playing for the Queen that very morning.”

 
There was a moment of awed silence, then the Earl of Welleby sat back against his chair. “I also have an invitation to attend the duchess’s ball. Perhaps I will be fortunate enough to find an empty chair next to you during the performance.”

  Griff opened his mouth to give a reason why he was sure the chairs on either side of Anne would be occupied, then clamped his lips together when she flashed him a look that brimmed with violent threats.

  “That would be delightful,” she answered, smiling ever so sweetly at the earl.

  Thankfully, the conversation turned to more general topics. For the next fifteen minutes, they spoke of the weather, the beautiful flowers just coming into bloom, and the crush of carriages forming the five-o’clock parade through Hyde Park. All bland and inconsequential matters that occupied them until the customary time allotted for afternoon visits expired. The guests made their excuses, then left.

  Griff breathed a sigh of relief. This afternoon had been a damned circus.

  When the room finally emptied of their guests, he crossed one ankle over the other knee and sat back against the cushions. When he looked up, he noticed all eyes in the room were focused on him. “What?” he said, looking from Adam to Patience, and finally to Anne. “Is something wrong?”

  “You know very well there is,” Anne said. The hostility in her voice matched the fire in her eyes. “You were unconscionably rude. Again.”

  He noticed the clenched hands she held in her lap and the pursed line to her beautiful full lips, and felt a slight twinge of guilt.

  “Do you have to practice at being obstinate and disagreeable whenever I have guests?” she continued. “Or is your irritability something that comes naturally?”

  He shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t have the slightest idea what she meant.

  “You were overly critical, and most of your objections were totally unjustified,” she added.

  “I was not that disagreeable.”

  “Yes, you were. You were horrible, sir. I swear you would have found something objectionable if Prince Albert himself had come to call on us.”