Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  Silence for a moment as John considered. She hoped he realized how absurd it was for him to lay the responsibility at her feet though she’d had moments of severe guilt over the entire event.

  “Of course, I don’t,” he said at last, his voice tight. “My apologies for implying anything of the sort.”

  “Your apology is accepted,” Maggie answered, mirroring his formal tone. However, she didn’t feel any better.

  From now on, there would be this issue between them. Moreover, she didn’t want to be intimate with him while he was addicted to opium. She wasn’t even certain she could explain why. Perhaps because he had once mistaken her for a dream. At any time, how would she know if he were lucid or in an opium-induced state, like Coleridge when he wrote his strange Kubla Khan?

  When they were touching each other, had John even known she was real?

  “Margaret, what are you thinking?”

  “We are at an impasse because I will not—cannot—stand by while you are addicted.”

  He made a face of disgust. “Are we back to that again? I told you I am not addicted.”

  “No, you simply cannot stop taking it.”

  He crossed his arms, his expression mutinous. “Again, you shouldn’t ask it of me.”

  Nodding, she realized an awful truth. “As I said, an impasse. I shall leave at once.”

  The words were out of her mouth, and she could not call them back.

  “What?” John uncrossed his arm. “How can you do such a thing?”

  How could she? Yet, how could she not?

  “Margaret, I ask you to reconsider. You think I am weak, but I’m not.”

  Was that what she thought? Every time she mentioned his addiction, he turned it around as her fault for suggesting he should stop. Had he spent a moment considering he couldn’t?

  “When I was a youth,” he began, “I fell from my horse and dislocated my shoulder. It hurt like the devil, but I was far from home and alone. Do you know what I did?”

  She shook her head.

  “Fortunately, there was a fence nearby. I had to use my good arm to lift my useless arm over the fence. My fingers still worked and I grabbed a hold of the lowest rail I could, and then I hung there, using my own weight and a good deal of yanking until the pressure from the top of the fence rail forced my arm back into the socket. Rather with a nasty snap, it went, too. When it was over, I wretched violently from the entire experience.”

  During the recounting of his tale, Maggie had felt the blood drain from her head.

  “That must have been extremely frightening and painful.”

  “It was both.” Running a hand through his hair, he looked up at her with soulful eyes. “I faced the pain, and I handled the situation. I am not weak.”

  “I know you’re not. But, John, you didn’t go home and begin a months-long course of opium.”

  “I will stop today,” he said abruptly. Then frowned. “Or first thing tomorrow morning, after I’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

  Maggie simply did not believe him. Tomorrow, she feared he would say he would stop the following day and then the next. Eventually, she would probably give up asking. Moreover, even if he vowed he had ceased to dose himself, she would not trust his word.

  “How do you feel at present?” she asked him.

  “I am fine.”

  “Then you should be determined to stop at once.”

  “In a few hours,” he reminded her, “I will be in pain.”

  “From the injuries or the effects of the opium?”

  She watched his jaw work, until he clenched it in silence.

  “Does your stomach hurt?” she asked.

  Still, he didn’t answer.

  “Is your mind as sharp as it was? And what of your temperament? You used to be an even-tempered man. Do you not feel at this moment as if you could lash out at me?”

  He shook his head.

  “No? Because your face is reddening, as if flushed with anger. What of this sleep you keep mentioning? So precious to you. Truthfully, do you sleep peacefully, or are your nights filled with vivid disturbing dreams, like De Quincey mentioned?”

  “Damn it all!” he swore. “Again, with wretched De Quincey. I wish to God he’d never written his ridiculous memoir. If he was such an addict, how can anyone believe his words? I’d like to give him a good throttling.”

  “And what about me?” she asked.

  “I wish you would simply drop this infernal nagging. If this is any indication of what you will be like as a wife—a tedious scold—then maybe it is I who must reconsider.”

  Gasping aloud before she could stop herself, Maggie fisted her hands by her side and took a deep breath.

  “Do not bother reconsidering, Lord Angsley. This engagement is over.”

  With that, she turned and stormed from the room. By the time she’d run up the stairs and reached her bedroom, some of her anger had dissipated, as well as the silly notion if she’d had a ring, she would have gladly removed it and tossed it onto his lap.

  Closing the door behind her, she considered what had occurred, acknowledging a feeling of utter disbelief. If she had left the room a few minutes earlier, then they would still be engaged.

  She was no longer the fiancée of John Angsley! What had she done?

  Crossing the room, she dropped onto the chair by the window, which overlooked the back of Turvey House. Maggie Blackwood, middle daughter of deceased Baron Blackwood, examined her emotions. A wall of sadness swiftly built itself around her. Tears welled up in her eyes and then spilled over.

  What about his humor, his intelligence, and his beloved hazel eyes? What of his kissable, sensual, talented mouth? He understood her and suited her perfectly. He said he loved her and, thus, she’d let him touch her intimately.

  Was she really going to walk away from all that? What’s more, she’d come to care for his family, both his mother and his cousin Beryl.

  Eleanor! In all the high drama, she’d forgotten about Eleanor. Standing, Maggie went to the bell pull by the bed and tugged it. Glancing around the room, she considered how quickly the maid could get both their trunks packed. Her sister would be unhappy to leave her friend, but she wasn’t a child anymore. Eleanor would understand the need for a hasty departure once she knew the situation.

  First, Maggie had to find her. Yet, she didn’t want to go traipsing around the house or the property and risk encountering John. How mortifying! And if he’d already told the formidable Lady Cambrey and she ran into her, oh, the humiliation!

  A knock at the door heralded the maid. Or did it?

  “Yes?” she asked softly.

  “It’s Polly, miss.”

  Relieved, Maggie invited her in, instructing her to begin packing in haste, and for her sister, too.

  “By any chance have you seen my sister?”

  “Yes, miss. I believe she recently came in from a ride with Lady Angsley. They were each going to their rooms.”

  “Wonderful, thank you.”

  With her hand on the door, Maggie halted at Polly’s words, “Miss, a moment.”

  “Yes?”

  “I shall be sorry to see you go. I hope you’ll be back soon and not wait until after the wedding.”

  Nodding past the lump in her throat, Maggie murmured her thanks and left.

  Luckily, Eleanor was in her room, alone, changing out of her riding habit. After a brief, painful explanation, Maggie found herself in her sister’s tight embrace, and the tears began to flow again.

  “I’m sorry,” Maggie managed between sniffles. “I know you are having a wonderful time with Beryl. You see why I cannot stay, though, don’t you?”

  “Of course. We must get you back to Mummy and Jenny.”

  “I know this seems cowardly, but I don’t want to see the Angsleys, not any of them. I just want to leave.”

  “Perfectly understandable, though it may be impossible. I’ll go tell Beryl.”

  “Oh,” Maggie moaned.

  “As littl
e as possible. Only that we must leave and that whatever has occurred is between you and the earl. May I say as much?”

  Again, Maggie was impressed by her sister’s maturity.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Then I’ll speak with the butler about readying our carriage and horses and gathering Simon’s staff. We came with four, didn’t we?”

  Maggie watched her sister leave to prepare for their long journey home. Returning to her own room while Polly continued to pack, Maggie penned a letter to Lady Cambrey, one of gratitude for their stay and apology for her abrupt departure, hoping against hope John’s mother would forgive her.

  Somehow, fortune smiled upon her. Half an hour later, she made it down the stairs and out the front door to the awaiting carriage packed with their trunks, without seeing anyone except staff.

  And then, it seemed, her luck ran out.

  “Miss Blackwood!”

  Grayson O’Connor was hot on her heels like a dog at the hunt.

  Nodding to Eleanor to climb aboard and settle in with the many baskets of food and drink Mrs. Mackle had packed for them, Maggie turned to face him.

  He hesitated as if unsure what to say or merely reluctant to speak. At last, he said, “You’re giving up on him?”

  A flash of anger raced through her. “How unfair of you! You said it was my choice to confront him, to learn the truth. You also said he might not be able to relinquish laudanum while still in the cast. You may be correct, but I am not staying to watch what it’s doing to him.”

  “I didn’t think you would leave like this.”

  She wondered what he already knew. “We exchanged unpleasant words.”

  “You know he loves you,” Grayson insisted. “Anything he said was not really from him.”

  “Of course not! It was opium talking. That’s the problem, isn’t it? You, his mother, everyone allows him to behave uncivilly because of his injuries and the influence of that cursed drug. What’s more, I am expected to remain devotedly by his side and let opium be his excuse for every bad behavior? I think not.”

  Pausing, she stopped herself from apologizing in the face of this man’s apparent disapproval.

  “You said I hold the key. But you forgot to take John into account. He said he no longer wishes to take me for his wife.”

  Grayson’s face expressed his shock. “Did he?”

  “Yes, or words to that effect. So, you see, I have no choice but to leave. I am not giving up on him, not on my John Angsley, but …” She gestured toward the house. “The addict he has become is not the man I want to marry.”

  She let him help her into the carriage and close the door.

  At the last moment, Maggie leaned out the open window.

  “Please, Grayson, take care of him.”

  He raised a hand in farewell as the carriage rolled away.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Cam couldn’t believe she’d left. Just like that!

  He’d been absolutely, positively correct in his first impression of her as she was an immature, fickle miss. And stupidly, he’d given her his heart. And then he’d even offered her his hand!

  Fool, dunce, dullard! He deserved every ounce of misery he was now experiencing. Every bloody ounce!

  Gray returned from the front drive.

  “She’s gone,” he intoned.

  “Naturally,” was all Cam said. Margaret had said she would go, and she had. Except she’d also said she loved him and would marry him.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the laudanum. It was a new bottle as of last night.

  Gray eyed him, eyebrows raised, as he unstopped it. Feeling defiant, daring his estate manager to say a word, Cam took a small sip.

  Suddenly, a commotion in the front hall snagged his attention. As Gray had left the door open, they could hear someone had arrived.

  With his heart instantly pounding, Cam dared to hope Margaret had returned. He would crawl out of the pushchair and throw himself at her feet to beg her forgiveness and declare his undying love.

  Cyril entered.

  “Dr. Brewster has arrived, my lord.”

  “The doctor? Whatever for?” He looked at Gray. “Is it possible he’s here to remove my cast?”

  Gray shrugged.

  “Show him in, by all means,” Cam ordered.

  A moment later, the doctor strode through the door and made his greeting.

  “To what do I owe this visit?” Cam asked. If Brewster removed his cast, perhaps he could manage to get on a horse and ride after Margaret.

  The doctor looked around expectantly, for what or whom, Cam couldn’t guess.

  “I’m not entirely sure, my lord. By any chance, is your fiancée available to speak with me?”

  Stunned at the timing, Cam could only shake his head.

  “You do have one, don’t you?” the doctor persisted.

  What an odd question, particularly at that moment. Cam looked at Gray who shrugged again. It was becoming a nasty habit, and he’d have to mention it to his friend in private. In any case, he knew the correct answer.

  “No, I don’t believe I do.”

  The doctor was clearly flummoxed. “Then who summoned me? One of your servants came to my practice and said your betrothed wished to meet with me. Unfortunately, that day, I was called away nearly the same hour and have been treating a terrible case of—”

  “Please,” Cam held up his hand. “You needn’t go into details.

  “What his lordship means,” Gray said, and Cam heard the sardonic tinge, “is he had a fiancée, as recently as an hour ago. Sadly, though, he has lost her. If I may be rather forward, I believe I know what she wished to discuss with you, and I think it’s best if you do so with the earl, himself. What say you, my lord?”

  Cam didn’t appreciate Gray taking over, nor the tone of mockery, nor did he wish to have any conversation with the doctor now he realized the topic.

  “No is what I say.”

  Dr. Brewster looked from one man to the other.

  “Then I am not needed here?”

  “No,” Cam repeated.

  “Not if you think there aren’t any ill effects from copious and continuous use of opium,” Gray said.

  The doctor wrinkled his brow. “It is an extremely safe drug.”

  “Ah ha!” Cam couldn’t resist a small triumphant crowing.

  “Nonetheless,” Brewster continued, “I cannot recommend one taking it, as you said, in copious amounts or on a continuous basis.”

  “Ah ha!” Gray exalted.

  Dr. Brewster looked back and forth between the men.

  Gray pressed the issue. “Why wouldn’t you recommend it, Doctor?”

  “Because it is highly addictive, which is why it is best used to treat an acute pain. Something that is not ongoing, if you take my meaning. If one has a headache, even a migraine, I tell my patients by all means have a little laudanum. However, if one has a chronic issue, gout, for instance, or insomnia or—”

  “Or overall physical aches and pains from healing injuries and too much inactivity,” Gray interrupted, staring at Cam.

  “Why, yes.” Perhaps realizing precisely what the issue was, Dr. Brewster set his leather bag down and approached Cam in his pushchair. Crouching before him, the man stared him right in the eye.

  “My lord, you must be very careful if you’re still taking laudanum this long after the accident. Your body will start to need more and more, and to crave it fiercely. Moreover, the more you take, I tell you, the worse it is for your health. It can severely damage your organs.”

  Cam didn’t like the sound of that. He was quite fond of his innards working well.

  “I assume a strapping man such as yourself wants to live a long, full life. The sooner you stop taking opium, the better. Mark me, though, it won’t be easy. It will take a number of days for the last traces of the drug to leave your body, and a few more for your mind to stop craving it.”

  Then he flashed what Cam imagined passed for an encoura
ging smile.

  “In comparison to the many years ahead of you,” Brewster added, “especially if you find your lost fiancée or get yourself a new one, then the suffering of withdrawal is really only the blink of an eye.”

  A new one? He didn’t want a new one. He wanted Margaret, who had been right all along. He’d been fooling himself, or the opium had.

  Standing, Dr. Brewster retrieved his bag. “Is there anything else, gentlemen?”

  Cam was lost in thought over the words he had exchanged with Margaret and the terrible task ahead of him. He didn’t mind when Gray answered for them both.

  “His lordship would be ever so pleased if you removed his cast today.”

  Dr. Brewster shook his head. “That’s weeks away. I’ve told you that,” he said, staring hard at Cam. “If I took it off now, you might be crippled for life, and if the bones shifted …” he trailed off, shaking his head again.

  Cam couldn’t help shuddering at the thought. “Then I suppose that is all, Doctor. Thank you for coming.”

  Heading for the door, Dr. Brewster turned before he left.

  “I recommend you don’t try to stop the opium all at once. It could be agony. Best if you wean like a baby from the teat whose ready for solid food. If you take it twice a day, then only have it once. If you have a large sip, then make it a small one. You understand me well, yes?”

  “Yes,” Cam said. He understood all too well.

  The doctor bowed to the earl. “Good day, gentlemen.”

  When the echo of the doctor’s footsteps had faded, Cam still stared at Gray.

  “I’m frightened, old chap.”

  Gray nodded. “With good reason.”

  “When I lied and told Margaret I had stopped, I also said how hard it was. She said she would be with me.”

  “You have me,” Gray said. “It’s probably best if she doesn’t see what it does to you.”

  Cam chuckled. “Frankly, I would rather not see what it does to me.”

  Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the dark glass bottle. With a quick flick of his wrist, he tossed it to Gray, who snatched it out of the air.

  “Best start now, I suppose.”

  Gray nodded. “Mind what the doctor told you. We should ease you off of it.”