A Risk Worth Taking

by Laura Landon

  She accepted Griff’s decision the only way she knew how—with a calm, serene outward appearance. She vowed to devote every second of the next weeks to finding a husband who would put a roof over her head and provide a generous dowry for Becca.

  If she searched diligently enough, she was certain she could find a man who was desperate enough for a wife.

  One who wouldn’t care if she no longer had a heart to give him.

  Chapter 14

  Griff made his way down the dark, deserted London streets. When he was sure no one was following him, he turned down the familiar narrow alley that would take him to the office of British Foreign Intelligence. He had left as soon as he received the message from Colonel Fitzhugh asking to meet him.

  When he reached the well-concealed entrance, he opened the door and entered. After locking the door behind him, he walked down the hallway to the colonel’s office. He knocked twice, then waited and knocked again before opening the door.

  “I’d almost given up on you,” Fitzhugh said, laying his spectacles on the desk and rubbing his eyes.

  “I wanted to make certain I wasn’t followed.” Griff sat down in the chair facing Fitzhugh’s desk and stretched out his legs.

  “Were you?”

  “No. Sometimes I think this is all my imagination. Maybe it was a robber who killed Freddie, and I’ve spent too much time working intelligence to tell the difference between an ordinary robbery attempt and something else.”

  “And maybe not.”

  Griff focused his attention on the colonel. “What have you learned?”

  “Nothing I’m certain means anything, yet something I wish I’d never discovered.”

  Griff took the sheets of paper Fitzhugh handed him and moved his chair closer to the desk so the glow from the lamp would light the words enough to read what they said. He skimmed the report first, then went back and read it slowly. A lump formed in his chest with every sentence.

  “I don’t believe this.”

  “Neither do I,” Fitzhugh said, breathing a deep sigh. “At least I don’t want to, but if this information is right, it opens the door to a lot of questions. And a lot of conjectures.”

  “Why didn’t we know this before?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he lied. Maybe he didn’t want anyone to know.”

  Griff looked at the information one more time, thinking that if he stared at it long enough, it would change, that the words would disappear that told them that one of the intelligence agents they’d executed as a spy was Jack Hawkins’s brother.

  Griff raked his fingers through his hair. Jack Hawkins had been a fellow agent with him. He’d saved his life more than once. He’d jumped in front of an attacking Russian soldier and been injured himself. He couldn’t believe that same man was capable of trying to kill him. Or that he’d been the one who’d killed Freddie.

  “What do you want me to do with this?” Fitzhugh asked.

  Griff looked at the paper one more time, then held it over the lamp until it caught fire. “Nothing. Do you think if Jack Hawkins wanted me dead, I’d still be alive to wonder when he was going to do it right? He’s too good. He wouldn’t have missed me and killed Freddie instead.”

  “But we executed his brother as a spy, and you were the one who captured him and brought him in.”

  Griff bolted from the chair and paced the cramped room. “But Hawkins wouldn’t play it out like this. If he wanted revenge, he’d have had it by now.”

  “Maybe he’s getting his revenge. Maybe he’s methodically killing anyone you get close to.”

  A feeling of dread sucked the air from his chest. He couldn’t believe Jack Hawkins hated him that much, and yet…Griff had been responsible for his brother’s death. Blood was often a much closer bond than even patriotism.

  Griff took a deep breath. With a shaky sigh, he focused on Fitzhugh. “I want you to pretend you never saw that report. I won’t have a good man’s reputation questioned because of my gut instincts. Hawkins’s never done anything to make us question him. I’m not going to start now.”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not. Hell, other than the bullet that killed Freddie, there hasn’t even been another attempt. Maybe I’m being paranoid.”

  “And maybe the other agents following you have kept you alive.”

  Griff felt like he’d taken a sucker punch to the gut. “It isn’t Hawkins. I know it isn’t.”

  Griff walked to the door and lifted the latch. “I don’t want Hawkins to know we found out about this.”

  “Very well. But watch your back,” Fitzhugh warned.

  He gave Fitzhugh a smile. “Johnston, Turner, and Hawkins are doing that.”

  Griff left Fitzhugh’s office and made his way to the quiet street, where only an occasional carriage carrying some late-night revelers home from a ball or party intruded on his thoughts. He didn’t want to think that Jack Hawkins could have killed Fespoint and Freddie. Just like he didn’t want to think about Anne. But he couldn’t stop himself. He wondered what she was doing, where she’d been, who she’d been with.

  It had been nearly a week since he’d seen her. Perhaps she’d already found the man she intended to marry. The breath caught in his throat.

  He walked slowly, not caring how soon he got home. There was nothing waiting for him in his empty town house, nothing except memories of the way Anne had looked the last time he’d seen her—and an ever-present craving for a drink.

  He pushed that thought from his mind and concentrated on Anne. He could still feel her in his arms, still feel her lips pressed against his, and her arms wrapped around his neck as if she never wanted to be separated from him.

  Bloody hell! If only he’d never kissed her. What a fool he’d been. But he’d wanted her so badly he hadn’t been able to stop himself. And she’d wanted him. It was obvious by the way she answered his kisses. In the way she held him, and touched him, and moaned when he deepened his kiss.

  But when the kiss was over, a ton of guilt pressed down on him until he couldn’t breathe. How could he have been so selfish to take advantage of her like that when he knew nothing could come of it? When he knew loving him was a death sentence for anyone foolish enough to take the risk?

  Julia, Andrew, Fespoint, and Freddie had already given their lives because of him. They were all dead and it was his fault. And now he’d taken an even greater risk and involved her.

  It had been wise to move out of Adam’s town house. The sooner she found someone and was safely married, the sooner he could resign himself to having lost her.

  He made his way up the steps to his town house and let himself in the door. He’d instructed his butler, Childers, not to wait up for him. He preferred to be alone. He wanted to sit in the dark and gather strength from the soft, gentle voice he remembered from the days he’d spent driving the liquor from his body. He knew he’d been hallucinating, but it was almost as if Julia had been there, holding his hand, talking to him, taking care of him.

  He made his way to his study and sat before the lifeless embers in the grate. It was times like these that he allowed himself to think of the past. Times like now that he opened the door to the precious people from his past—the special people he’d lost. There had been too many.

  He closed his eyes and struggled to remember the person he’d loved most—Julia. His heart ached when he thought of her, and that ache refused to go away. Dear God, but he missed her. She’d been his wife. He’d loved her.

  But her memory seemed to fade with each passing day. There were even times when he feared he’d lost her.

  She’d been gone four years now, and sometimes it was difficult to remember what she’d looked like.

  The face he thought he would never forget was now a blurry memory. And her features were being replaced by a picture of Anne’s smiling lips and laughing eyes.

  Chapter 15

  Anne sat on the end of the sofa and kept a smile on her face for the sake of pretense. She joined in
the conversation frequently enough not to draw attention to herself, but not more than was required of her.

  The room was full again today, five suitors who’d come to beg a moment of her time and request either the honor of a dance at the next ball or an afternoon ride through Hyde Park. The attention she received even after all these weeks still astounded her. She never thought she’d be so popular. She was still puzzled that she was.

  There was nothing extraordinary about her. She wasn’t a great beauty and she wouldn’t come to her marriage with any landholdings or accumulated wealth. She had only the gowns Mr. Blackmoor had purchased for her.

  Anne stiffened her shoulders and focused again on the suitors who’d come to pay her court. She wasn’t going to question her good fortune or her acceptance since coming to London. Time was running out. She needed to find a husband soon.

  She acknowledged their invitations, one and all. How was she to find a husband if she had no one to choose from? How was she to find a husband if she allowed herself to crawl into hiding like she wanted?

  The emptiness in her chest ached more painfully. Memories haunted her continually. All she had to do was close her eyes and she would see his dark, handsome face in front of her, feel his arms around her and his lips pressed against hers. How had this happened?

  How had she fallen in love with him when he was the last man on earth she wanted to love? How, when he obviously disliked her so much? It wasn’t something she’d planned, something she’d let happen intentionally. If only she hadn’t let him kiss her, hadn’t kissed him back. If only she hadn’t gone to him when he was ill—hadn’t talked to him and held his hand and told him that she loved him.

  If only she hadn’t come to care for him so much. If only she had a home to go to where she could hide until this didn’t hurt so much. If only…

  But there were no more if onlys. There were only the facts. And the fact was, Griffin Blackmoor regretted kissing her. He’d found it so distasteful that he’d moved out of the earl’s town house so he wouldn’t have to look at her or be around her or be reminded of what he’d done.

  She looked at the five men sitting across from her. Lord Benchley was here again today, as well as the Marquess of Candlewood, Baron Fillmore, and Lord Jamison. And again, for the first time since that first week, the Earl of Portsmouth had come.

  The earl was older than the others, perhaps a score and more, but he was still very handsome. He seemed a quiet gentleman with a sharp mind and a pleasant personality. His hair was graying, which gave him a distinguished look, but his eyes still contained the sharpness of youth. They were filled with a natural humor she didn’t often see. He was tall, and there was not an ounce of excess flesh around his middle.

  Anne felt very comfortable around him, and she had to admit that the qualities he offered her would not challenge or threaten her. He was someone whose company she could learn to enjoy. Perhaps she might eventually learn to appreciate him in a special way.

  Griff would not approve of him.

  “My lady, you have another guest. The Marquess of Brentwood.”

  Anne watched the man who now held Freddie’s title enter the room.

  There was a slight commotion while the five guests who’d been there longer than was polite said their farewells and left. Then, only Brentwood stood before them.

  He greeted Patience first, then stepped in front of her. He held her hand longer than necessary and Anne couldn’t stop herself from pulling her fingers from his grasp. A stabbing of discomfort pierced her.

  “My dear Lady Anne.” He took the seat directly across from her, where he couldn’t help but focus on her every move. “I have been extremely concerned for your welfare. I called the minute I arrived in London to be assured that you were well.”

  She smiled. “As you can see, I am doing splendidly. Lord and Lady Covington have graciously opened their home to me and have invited me to stay with them for the Season.”

  “Do you have plans after that?”

  She felt her cheeks warm. She refused to admit her quest to find a husband. “I haven’t decided.”

  “I did not mean to offend, my lady.” He looked remorseful. “I am simply anxious. You and your sister are my only living relatives. I couldn’t live with myself if I thought that you were in need and I hadn’t come to your aid.”

  “Let me assure you, Lord Brentwood,” Patience said, placing her hand over Anne’s. “Lady Anne is not in need. She knows she is more than welcome to stay with us for as long as she wishes.”

  “How gracious of you and your husband.” He returned his gaze to Anne. “I wish you would have told me that you were coming to London the last time we spoke. I would have been more than happy to let you stay in the Brentwood town house.”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t imagine spending even one night in the house that used to belong to Freddie—the house where the new earl might appear at any moment.

  “As a matter of fact,” Brentwood continued, sipping on the tea Patience had poured, “I realized there are a number of items that might be of value to you. Mementos and personal keepsakes that your brother kept at his London residence. I would like you to have them.”

  His words gave her pause. “Thank you, my lord. That is very gracious of you.”

  “Nonsense. I am only staying in town a few more days. Perhaps you could come tomorrow afternoon and gather anything that is of value to you, and I will have it sent here before I return to the country.”

  She looked at Patience, then back at Brentwood. “I would be most grateful. Perhaps tomorrow at three?”

  Brentwood nodded. “I will expect you then.” He placed his cup and saucer on the table in front of him and rose. “Before I take my leave, I would beg a few minutes of your time in private, Lady Anne. Perhaps a walk in the garden would not be inappropriate.”

  “I—I don’t—” she stammered.

  “Please. It is important.”

  She gave Patience a look that told her to come to her rescue if she was gone too long. “Very well. For just a moment.”

  She rose and walked with him out to the garden. They strolled down the flowered paths in silence for a while before he said anything.

  “I know we did not part on amiable terms before you left the country, my lady, and I want to apologize for my actions that day. They were inexcusable. My only explanation is that I was overcome by your charm and beauty, and was not myself. I deeply regret my forwardness and promise I will never behave so rudely again.”

  He stopped near a bench and waited for her to sit. She reluctantly sat. She did not like having to look up at him. It was a very intimidating experience.

  “Although I handled our conversation very badly before, the one thing about our last meeting I do not regret was that I asked you to be my wife.”

  “Lord Brentwood—”

  “Please, hear me out. I know your reason for coming to London is to procure a husband. In your position that is indeed a wise course to take. However, as I explained before, I am in need of a wife, and have found myself quite taken by you. I beg you to reconsider my offer and agree to marry me.”

  “I couldn’t possibly accept—”

  “Please, don’t make too rash a decision. I realize the staggering dowry that goes with your hand is almost a hindrance, but you can be assured that I have no interest in the money. It is only you that I want.”

  The breath caught in her throat. “My dowry? But I do not have a dowry,” she whispered. “You know what I was left.”

  Brentwood gave her a look that indicated he intended to call her bluff. “Everyone knows how much Mr. Blackmoor put on your hand, Lady Anne. Such an amount would entice half the male populace of London Society who are searching for a bride.”

  She clasped the edge of the stone bench to keep her balance. “Mr. Blackmoor provided me with a dowry?”

  “Enough to make you the catch of the Season.”

  She felt the blood rush from her head. No wonder she’d received
such attention. The thought almost made her laugh. Not only did Blackmoor not want her, but he thought she would be such a valueless commodity that no one else would be interested in her either. Not unless she came with a hefty purse.

  “I know how very fond you were of your country estate,” Brentwood continued. “By marrying me, you would be assured of remaining in your childhood home forever. I am the perfect choice, Lady Anne. I already believe the two of us are well suited to each other, and in time, will develop a certain fondness that will be quite pleasant.”

  Anne felt as if her head were going to explode. She wanted nothing more than to rub her fingers against her temples and pretend none of this was happening.

  “Lord Brentwood,” she began, keeping her voice pleasant yet firm. “Let me first state how flattered I am by your offer. There is nowhere on earth for which I hold greater fondness than Brentwood Manor. I grew up there. Every memory from my childhood is connected there. Which is exactly the reason why I could never spend the rest of my life there. It contains too many memories.”

  “Then we can live somewhere else.”

  “No. Brentwood Manor is yours. It is a wonderful home, a place where the wife you choose can make a life for the two of you. Where the two of you can raise your children, and look forward to your grandchildren.”

  “But you and I—”

  “No, Lord Brentwood. There is no you and I. I am flattered by your offer, but I will not marry you.”

  The look in his eyes turned hard. A stabbing of wariness raced through her. For a moment he appeared dangerous.

  “There is nothing I can say to change your mind?”

  “No. I will not be swayed in this.”

  His face turned red. The veins at the side of his neck stood out. “I will bid you a good day then, my lady.”

  “I am sorry, Lord Brentwood. My intent was not to hurt you. Perhaps it would be best if I did not come to your town house tomorrow,” she said when he turned away from her.

  He stopped but did not look at her. “No. Please come. I intended to leave for the country later tomorrow afternoon. I will change my plans and leave first thing in the morning to avoid the embarrassment of meeting again. I will inform the butler that you will arrive at three o’clock to pick up your personal belongings. Take whatever you want.”