by Laura Landon
“Good-bye, Anne,” he whispered.
He walked out of the room and shut the door behind him, closing himself off from the one person whose loss he would never get over.
Chapter 18
She hurt like she never thought it was possible to hurt. The cuts and bruises from the accident three weeks ago were long gone, but not the ache deep inside her heart—the ache that Griff had caused when he had walked away from her without a backward glance.
She cursed him. She cursed herself. Why had she allowed this to happen? Why had she fallen in love with him? He was exactly the kind of man she swore she would never trust with her heart—a man like her father, who would always want a drink more than he wanted a wife and a family. For all she knew, he’d gone back to drinking already. Her father had never been able to stop for more than a few weeks at a time.
Knowing that it had been so easy for him to walk away from her—not once, but twice—was what had given her the strength to accept the Earl of Portsmouth’s proposal when he’d asked.
Thanks to Griff, it was impossible to marry for love.
Portsmouth seemed a kind and gentle man. Perhaps she would find happiness of a different nature. He would give her children to love and care for. He’d made no secret of it. He had three grown daughters from his first marriage, but he wanted an heir, a son. She would give him his heir, and a house full of children besides. Being his wife would give her the security she wanted. And with the earl’s wealth and position, Becca was assured a good match.
Anne laid down the embroidery she was working on and walked to the parlor window to look out over the garden. Patience had gone to a tea at Lady Wimpley’s, but she had stayed home. The Earl of Portsmouth was scheduled to come later this afternoon to discuss the terms of the marriage with Adam, and they thought it best if she were here in case there were any points that needed clarifying.
It sounded so cold, and she supposed in a way it was. But then, neither of them was marrying for love. The earl had made that plain before he’d asked her to be his wife.
He still loved his first wife, and even though she’d been gone for more than five years, he hadn’t gotten over her and said he probably never would. Just as she was sure she would ever get over Griff.
In time, she prayed things would be different. She couldn’t imagine living with such pain for the rest of her life.
Anne leaned her shoulder against the window frame to watch a squirrel scamper about in the garden, but jumped with a start when the door behind her flew open.
The force of the heavy oak door being opened, then the loud crash of it being slammed shut startled her. She turned to face the intruder.
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Anne?”
Her gaze locked with Griff’s.
He stood on the other side of the room, his hair mussed, his face shadowed as if he hadn’t shaved yet today. His eyes blazed with blinding fury. His anger was palpable.
He wore no jacket or cravat, and his white linen shirt hung loose at the neck in a casual, unkempt way. He was ruggedly handsome, and she was reminded again of how much he meant to her. Her heart leaped with excitement before it resumed a rapid beating.
“Tell me you don’t intend to marry him. Not Portsmouth! Tell me I heard wrong. That you wouldn’t do something so foolish.”
She lifted her chin. “I do intend to marry him, Mr. Blackmoor. And I do not consider the match foolish.”
“He’s an old man.”
“He’s not that old.”
“He will never love you. Anyone who knows him knows he’s never gotten over his first wife’s death. He’ll never love you!”
“Perhaps I don’t need love.”
“You do! You need love as much as you need air to breathe. You won’t survive without it. I know you won’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know because I’ve held you. I’ve kissed you. And you’ve kissed me back. I know what we shared. That one kiss barely released the tip of the vast emotions you have stored inside you. The passion you have buried needs to be given to someone.”
“No! That kiss was a mistake. You said so yourself. I don’t need anything more than what the earl can give me.”
“And what is that?”
“A home. Children to love. The ability to provide a good match for Rebecca.”
“That’s not enough!”
“It will have to be!”
“No! There is so much more. You have to marry a man who can unlock your heart and release the emotions you have never let people see. A man who can make you burn with his touch and set you on fire with his kisses.”
“Stop it!”
He crossed the room and grabbed her by the shoulders. He held her close. “You will never feel anything for him, Anne. He’s cold, with the zest for life already burned out of him. You need someone who can show you the wonders of love. The rewards.”
She struggled to get out of his arms, but he wouldn’t release her. “Don’t do this, Anne. There’s so much more.”
“No. I will be content with what he can give me. A love that sets your flesh on fire only happens in fairy tales. It doesn’t happen to plain, ordinary people like me. I’ll be happy with what the earl can give me. It will be enough.”
He pulled her hard against him. “Ah, Annie. No. You deserve more. So much more.”
“Griff, don’t. It’s no use. It’s too late for us. What we did before was a mistake. You said so yourself.”
“I know,” he said on a breathless sigh.
He looked at her mouth as if it were the forbidden fruit, then clamped his hands on either side of her face.
“And I’m about to make an even bigger mistake.”
He brought his mouth down on hers and kissed her hard. The gentle passion she remembered from the last time he’d kissed her was not there this time. He ground his mouth against hers with a frantic desperation she understood. It matched her own desires.
Why did his kisses have to be like this, all turmoil and chaos and violent thunderstorm? Why did his arms have to be the only arms that burned her flesh and made her feel safe? Why was Griff the man to whom she wanted to give all that she had to offer, with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life?
She opened her mouth beneath his and he deepened his kiss. He penetrated her warmth and she met him, her tongue touching his, battling his, mating with his.
Some of the pins in her hair fell to the floor as he raked his fingers through her loose curls, caressing her scalp, holding her closer to him. And still he kissed her deeper, until she was on fire.
Every inch of her burned, from the tip of her head to that mysterious spot deep in the pit of her belly. She was hot as if the gates of hell had opened, and that is where she was afraid she was going.
His touch frightened her. His kisses terrified her. Yet she knew she could not stop him. She did not want to stop him.
She felt his touch on her arms, and her back, and lower, pulling her hard against him. His lips touched her cheek, and her neck just below her ear. Her gown slipped from her shoulder and he kissed her there. Cool air struck her and his warm mouth kissed her flesh at the top of her breast, stopping when her confining chemise would let him go no further.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him to her, begging him to show her what it could be like.
He brought his mouth up to hers again and kissed her, deeper than before. With more desperation than before.
How could it be like this? She couldn’t breathe. She was too weak to stand. And she didn’t have the ability to put two coherent thoughts together. She couldn’t do anything but hold on to him and run her fingers across his muscled shoulders and chest.
“Griff! What the bloody hell are you doing?” Adam’s voice raged from behind them.
Griff lifted his mouth from hers and stiffened beside her.
She couldn’t stop the tiny gasp that escaped her.
Neither of them could bre
athe. Their gasps were ragged and harsh.
“Are you all right?” he whispered, then ran his fingers over her hair to smooth it.
She nodded.
He dropped his hands from her and turned to face their intruders. When he turned, Anne got her first look at the men on the other side of the room—Griff’s brother, Lord Covington, and the Earl of Portsmouth.
Covington wore an angry scowl. The Earl of Portsmouth’s face was an unreadable mask.
For several long minutes, no one spoke. The Earl of Portsmouth was the first to break the silence.
“I’m afraid we have a problem, Covington. You failed to mention that the woman I had asked to take as my wife was involved with your brother. Who, I might add, spent numerous weeks living under your roof.”
The muscles in Adam’s jaw clenched. “I assure you, Portsmouth, the lady’s reputation is beyond reproach.”
“Is it?”
“That’s enough,” Griff said, his voice low and angry.
Portsmouth stiffened, his demeanor taking on a hint of anger. This reaction was the first emotion she’d seen from him.
“You will have to excuse me,” he said. “The display I witnessed when I walked into the room hardly assures me that my intended is the paragon of virtue I was led to believe she was.”
Portsmouth turned his attention to her, scanning her from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. She knew her hair was tangled from Griff raking his fingers through it, and her gown was still slightly askew, with a button near the top gaping open. Her cheeks burned like fire and her lips felt swollen and abused. She had no doubt she looked thoroughly wanton. Used.
Portsmouth pulled his gaze away from her and turned to Adam. “You understand anything we discussed earlier is no longer valid.” The tone of his voice held a strained emotion.
“Of course,” Adam replied.
“I consider the matter closed, and bid you good day.” He turned to leave, then paused at the door. He turned to address Griff. “I will anticipate word of your upcoming nuptials. I’m sure you will not want to wait for the reading of the banns.”
She saw Griff nod and felt a heavy rock fall to the pit of her stomach.
The earl walked out of the room, and Adam followed.
“No, Griff,” she started to argue when they were alone. “We don’t have to—”
“Shh. It’s too late.”
“No. It’s not too late. We can—”
He held out his hand to stop her, then pulled her in his arms and held her to him. “God help you, Anne. You are mine to protect now.”
Chapter 19
The storm tossed the ship over the water like a little toy boat. Each angry wave smashed against the hull like a battering ram. Water came at him from every direction, and with each assault, Griff felt a fear unlike any he’d ever known before. He’d been in his share of storms, but this was by far the worst.
He made his way to the wheelhouse, hanging on to anything fastened down. One violent wave after another slammed against him, threatening to throw him into the watery brine.
“Blackmoor! Is that you?” the captain’s voice bellowed through the roaring winds.
Griff grabbed on to the railing and made his way across the slippery deck to where Captain Morton struggled with the wheel. “Yes, Captain. It’s me.”
“I need your help. I’ve given the order to abandon ship. Alert all the cabins in your section and bring your wife and son on deck. We’re putting the passengers in lifeboats.”
“Is it that bad? I thought the winds showed signs of letting up.”
The captain paused. “They are, but we’re taking on water. A huge hole, starboard side.”
Griff took a deep breath. The ship was going down. His thoughts raced to Julia. He had to get to her and Andrew. It was his fault they were here. He’d forced her to come with him even though she was terrified of sailing.
“How much time do we have?”
“My guess is about an hour. We’ll wait as long as we can to lower the boats and hope the wind dies down even more.”
Griff nodded his understanding, then hugged the railing as he made his way back to the hatch that would take him below. Unrelenting rain pummeled his face and body, stinging his flesh. He stumbled down the stairs, then pounded on each door to order the passengers to go topside.
When he reached the cabin across from his own, he pounded on the Dowager Countess of Marchon’s door and warned her and her maid to gather their wraps and go on deck. Then he stumbled across the hall to his own cabin and threw open the door.
The sight of his wife huddled in the corner, clutching little Andrew so tightly the lad could barely breathe, tore his heart from his chest. Wide-eyed terror flashed from her beautiful blue eyes. Her purple lips trembled violently and her whole body shuddered with near uncontrollable fright.
“Julia. Come here. We have to go on top.”
“No!” She clutched Andrew closer and burrowed farther into the corner.
Griff staggered over to them and pulled his wife’s stiff arms from around their son. “Everything will be all right, sweetheart. We just need to go up on deck. The captain has another boat for us.”
“No! I won’t go up there. We’ll be washed overboard.”
“No, we won’t. I’ll be with you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“No!”
Griff didn’t give her time to argue. He threw a blanket over two-year-old Andrew to protect him, then wrapped an arm around his wife. He forced her across the room and out the door.
She fought him every step of the way, but finally they made their way to where the crewmen were lining passengers to board the lifeboats.
“Is everyone up from your area, Mr. Blackmoor?” the captain yelled.
Griff looked around and saw everyone from their section of the ship except the dowager countess and her maid.
“No! The dowager countess.”
“I can’t spare anyone to get her,” the captain shouted. “The men are busy with the lifeboats.”
Griff had no choice. “I’ll go.”
“No!” Julia screamed, digging her fingers into his flesh. “Don’t leave me, Griff. You promised.”
“I’ll be right back, Julia. I have to get the countess. She can barely walk.”
“Griff! Don’t leave me!”
Griff placed Julia over by the railing where one of the stewards was lining up passengers. “Stay right here, Julia!” he ordered, kissing little Andrew then handing him to her.
“I’m afraid, Griff! I want to go home.”
“I know.” He held her and Andrew close for a moment. “We’ll be home soon.”
She was terrified. He saw the panic in her eyes, heard it in her voice. She had an irrational fear of the water. The whole trip had been agony for her. He swore when they reached England, he would never ask her to step foot on another ship again.
“Don’t leave this spot, Julia. I’m going to get the countess and I’ll be right back.”
“No, Griff! Don’t leave me!”
“I’ll just be gone a minute. Stay right here. You’ll be safe.” He took a step away then turned back to her. “I love you, Julia. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”
Griff found the dowager countess and her maid halfway up the narrow stairs.
The moment they stepped on deck, a loud explosion shattered the air. The ship shuddered, and splinters of wood rained down on them. They were going under!
With renewed determination, he led the dowager and her maid to where the last of the passengers were loading. He handed them over to the captain, then turned to get Julia and Andrew. The spot where he’d left them was empty.
“Where’s my wife and son?” Griff yelled at the captain.
“I don’t know, sir. I haven’t seen them since you left.”
Griff bolted for the passageway that would take him below. He knew she’d gone back to hide.
“Julia!” he screamed.
Gr
iff tried to make his way to the stairs, but with the ship tilting at such an angle he couldn’t make any headway. They were going under!
“Julia! Come here!”
“Griff! Help me!”
“Julia! Come here!”
“Help me,” she cried again, but it wasn’t Julia’s voice he heard. It was Anne’s.
“Help me, Griff!”
“Anne!”
Griff heard another loud boom, then looked up as a huge section of one of the yardarms crashed down on him and everything went black.
Griff woke with a start and bolted from the bed. His legs trembled beneath him and he grabbed onto the poster at the foot of the bed to keep from falling.
He couldn’t breathe. He gasped for air but still felt the panicky suffocation of Anne’s cries while the water rushed in around them. He swiped his hand over his face, then reached for a towel and wiped away the chilling sweat that covered every inch of his body.
It was a nightmare. The same nightmare as before, only this time it wasn’t Julia, but Anne who was drowning. And he couldn’t save her.
Griff pitched the towel angrily to the floor, then walked to the other side of the room. He threw open the window and stood in the darkness to let the cool night air wash over him.
When would the nightmares end? How long would he be tormented by Julia’s death? By Andrew’s?
Griff tried to come to grips with the turn his life had taken. He tried to tell himself that he wouldn’t be responsible for another person’s death, but he nearly had been. Anne had nearly been run down because of her association with him.
Griff reached for a glass of water to wash away the bitter taste of fear. He threw the liquid down his throat, then smashed the glass in the lifeless fireplace. He wanted a drink. He wanted to find a bottle of brandy and lose himself in the fiery liquid.
He looked at the decanter of cool, clear water. Water couldn’t drown out Julia’s and Andrew’s last cries for help. Water wouldn’t give him the courage to say the vows that would make Anne his wife. Water couldn’t make him pretend that marrying him wouldn’t put Anne in danger.
He didn’t want a wife. He couldn’t protect a wife. With Anne, the risk was even greater. Someone had already tried to harm her and they would try again. And again. Until they succeeded.