by Laura Landon
There was a loud crack of splintering wood, then the carriage careened headlong down a sharp ravine and through the thick underbrush off the side of the road. The frightened look on Anne’s face and her bloodcurdling scream were the last things Griff remembered before they came to a jarring halt.
Anne couldn’t move. Every muscle in her body refused to obey her orders to move. She had a stitch in her side where she’d slammed against the edge of the seat, and her head pounded as if she’d knocked it against something hard. Otherwise, she thought she was unhurt.
Griff lay sprawled on top of her. He’d taken the brunt of the bruises in his effort to protect her.
She pushed against him to ease him off of her, but she couldn’t move him. She needed to see if he was hurt.
“Griff?” She pressed her hands between their bodies until she touched his face. Her fingers felt something warm and wet. “Griff!” she yelled, pushing harder to ease him from on top of her.
His weight shifted and he moaned.
“Griff, let me up so I can see how badly you’re hurt.”
He pushed himself off her then shook his head as if trying to clear it.
She knew the exact moment he remembered what happened.
He clasped his hands on either side of her face. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. But I think you may need some assistance.”
“No, it isn’t serious.” He touched her arms and straightened her legs, then tipped her face to check for any cuts or bruises. “Are you sure you’re unhurt?”
“Yes.” She looked up. The bottom of the carriage was where the top should be. They had tipped over. “Is it possible for us to get out?”
He pushed on a door until it opened. “Here, let me crawl over you and I’ll help you out.”
Anne moved her skirts and made room for him to step over her, then sat up when he was out of the carriage. She turned around in a very unladylike manner, then climbed out of the carriage with little trouble.
“Are you sure you’re uninjured?” he asked again, running his hands up and down her arms.
“Yes, but you have a gash above your eye. Here, let me see it.”
He stood still barely long enough for her to take the handkerchief from his pocket and wipe the blood away. She was relieved to see the gash was not very deep and had already stopped bleeding. Before she finished, their driver ran up with the two horses in tow.
“Mr. Blackmoor”—the driver dropped the reins and let the horses munch on the thick grass—“are you and the mistress all right?”
“Yes, Franklin. Thank you.”
“I can’t understand what could have happened. One minute everything was fine, then there was this loud pop and the horses took off. It’s a good thing I had just slowed down for that crossing there.” He pointed to a small path that intersected with theirs. “Or it would have been a lot worse. You could have gone into the stream and drowned.”
Griff walked over to where the front of the carriage hung in the air. Franklin followed him, still scratching his head.
“Well, don’t that look odd,” Franklin said, reaching up to touch the splintered bar of wood that was the tongue of the carriage. “You just got this carriage not too long ago, and look how that piece looks rotted through. Like it wasn’t a good piece of wood to start with. Or like someone mighta sawed it part of the way through.”
The breath caught in Anne’s throat. She turned her gaze to Griff’s. The hard look on his face blazed with smoldering fury.
“Did someone tamper with the carriage, Griff?”
His face was pale, the dangerous look in his eyes sent shivers down her spine. He didn’t answer but fisted his hands at his side.
“We need to get you home. Are you capable of riding a horse if I hold you?”
She nodded in answer.
“Franklin, bring the horses. We’ll ride them home, and you can come back for the carriage later. Don’t touch anything until I have a chance to look at it.”
The groom nodded in understanding, then brought the horses over. Griff helped her mount, then got up behind her.
They rode in silence the rest of the way. With each turn in the road, Anne felt him distance himself from her. Even though his arms still held her close and his broad chest shielded her from harm, his silence told her he blamed himself for the accident. The manner in which he kept her at arm’s length told her he was afraid his nearness was what had caused her harm.
As soon as they reached Covington Manor, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the house.
“I’m not hurt, Griff. I am quite capable of walking by myself.”
He ignored her protests and carried her through the front door and up the stairs. He issued orders with every step upward. He instructed the maid, Martha, to follow. For a warm bath to be sent up. For a tea tray to be prepared. For Anne to be waited on and her every need seen to.
The minute he was assured the staff had done his bidding, he turned his back and left without a word.
If the carriage ride were a sign of things to come, it was an ominous beginning to their marriage and her life at Covington Manor.
Chapter 22
Anne was glad he didn’t make her wait long after she’d bathed and dressed before he came to her. She sat in the window seat overlooking the garden below when he knocked. She bid him enter.
“Are you better?” he asked when he came into the room.
She couldn’t keep her eyes from taking in every inch of him. He’d shed the strict black tailcoat he’d worn to their wedding and now wore a casual burgundy jacket that brought out the vivid blue of his eyes and his dark features. The snow-white linen shirt and cravat he wore beneath the jacket only accentuated his bronzed complexion. Her hands ached to reach out and touch him.
“I’m fine. I wasn’t hurt. Just tossed around a bit.” She stood. “Was the carriage tampered with?”
He avoided looking at her. “I’m not sure.”
“Yes, you are.”
His gaze darted to hers, the tight clench of his mouth an indication of his harshly controlled emotions. “Yes, it was. But I’ve increased the guards. You’ll be safe as long as you don’t go any farther than the gardens.”
“I don’t blame you for what happened to the carriage.”
“Well, you should,” he fired back. “You should wish we had never met. We had never married. That we had never kissed that first time.”
“Because that is what you wish?” She was unable to ignore the rigid expression on his face.
She heard him breathe a heavy sigh. When he spoke again, his voice was much softer, his words much calmer. He had distanced himself from her again.
“Does your room meet with your approval? Is there anything else you need?”
“I have everything I need. The room is lovely. Thank you.” She let her gaze focus on their bedroom. It was beautifully decorated in rose and burgundy and cream, and accented in shades of blue. A huge four-poster bed took up most of one side of the room, and a dressing table, mirror, and two chaise longues sat off to the other side. A large, open window covered a major portion of the wall facing the garden, and beneath it was a long, embroidery-cushioned window seat.
“I’m glad you like it,” he answered. “There is a sitting room through here”—he led her beyond a door on the opposite side of the room—“with a sofa and chairs, and a small fireplace. And a writing desk and window seat over here. My bedroom is through that door.” He pointed to the far side of the room.
A small pain stabbed through her. He didn’t intend to share the same room with her.
“Is it normal for husbands and wives to keep separate bedrooms?” she asked.
He dropped his hand from around her and took a step away. “I think it would be best in our case.”
She lifted her gaze. “Why?”
He looked uncomfortable. “Perhaps when we know each other better…”
“I see,” she said, although she did not see at all. “
When do you anticipate that will be?”
“In time.”
He turned away from her, indicating that the topic was closed.
“Do you feel well enough to go below and meet your staff, then perhaps eat a bite for supper?”
“Of course. I am anxious to meet them, and to be quite honest,” she said, trying to hide the hurt she felt, “I’m famished.”
He offered her his arm.
She placed her hand on his, then walked with him down the hallway and to the long, spiraled staircase. A tall, distinguished-looking gentleman stood below and bowed elegantly.
“This is Carter,” he said, introducing their butler. “And Martha, your lady’s maid. And Mrs. Buttonsly, our cook. And Hodges…” He walked at her side as they made their way down the long row of servants.
She met the warm smiles on their faces and tried to remember them all. But the fact she was most aware of was the way he held himself away from her. She didn’t understand it. His indifference caused a riot of confusing emotions to race through her body.
“On behalf of the staff, my lady,” Carter said, nodding to emphasize the sincerity of his words, “we would like to welcome you to Covington Manor. We trust you have recovered from the incident this afternoon, and wish to tell you how pleased we are to have you here.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you all.” Bright smiles greeted her when she spoke.
“If there is anything you need, you have only to ask, my lady.”
“Thank you,” she answered.
“Dinner is ready whenever you are, sir,” the butler announced.
“Very good, Carter. My wife tells me she’s famished.”
They ate the light supper Mrs. Buttonsly had prepared for them in strained silence, and when they finished, Griff stood.
“It’s been an exhausting day, Anne. I’m sure you’re ready to retire.”
Without waiting for her to say otherwise, he held out his hand to escort her to her room. When they reached her bedroom door, he leaned down and pressed his lips lightly against her forehead. “Good night.” He bowed slightly. “Sleep well.”
“Are you retiring as well?” she asked, hoping he could not hear the nervousness in her voice.
“There are several details I promised Adam I would see to when we arrived. I need to take care of some of them immediately.”
She tried to hide her disappointment. Even if there were details his brother had asked that he see to, she doubted Lord Covington expected his brother to see to them on his wedding night. “Very well. Good night, Griff.”
He held open the door, then closed it after she entered her room.
Anne fought the heavy lump that sank to the pit of her stomach as she walked across the room to where Martha waited for her. A gown and robe lay across the bed and, thankfully, Martha chattered constantly about the working of the house and which stable hand was interested in which kitchen lass.
Anne tried not to think about the words her husband had said before he left her. Surely he did not mean he would not come to her tonight? On their wedding night?
Martha helped her remove her gown and get ready for bed. When she finally met with Martha’s approval, Anne sat on the stool before the mirror while she brushed her hair.
“Everyone was glad you weren’t injured today, my lady.”
“Thank you, Martha.”
“And even more glad the master has married again and brought you here.” She continued to brush Anne’s hair in long, smooth strokes.
“Have you been here long, Martha?”
“Good gracious, yes, my lady. I was born on Covington property. My father was a gamekeeper, and Mother was the countess’s maid. I practically grew up in the manor.”
“Were you Mr. Blackmoor’s first wife’s maid, too?”
Martha stopped in the middle of picking up Anne’s slippers from the floor. “Yes, my lady. My mother decided when the dowager countess died that she was too old to be a lady’s maid. For a few years there wasn’t a need for me to step into her shoes, seeing as how Mr. Blackmoor wasn’t married. Then he brought home his new wife, and I came upstairs to take my mother’s place.”
“Her name was Julia, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“What was she like?”
Martha looked uncomfortable, but Anne had too many questions to be deterred. She had to know what it had been like between Griff and his first wife.
“She was very beautiful, with long golden hair, the color of ripened wheat, and laughing eyes as blue as a clear summer sky. She had a soft voice and a smile that never failed to brighten Mr. Blackmoor’s day. The master was devastated when he lost her. We were all afraid he would never recover after the tragedy.”
“There was a son, too, wasn’t there?”
Martha smiled and clutched her hands to her breasts. “Ah, yes. Little Andrew. What a precious bundle of energy. Every time his nurse set him on his feet, he would take off at a run. He never walked anywhere.” Martha put Anne’s shoes in the upright clothes chest. “Someday, it will be your little ones we will chase through the manor. We are all awaiting that day.”
Martha gathered the clothes Anne had taken off. “Will there be anything else, my lady?”
“No,” Anne whispered.
“I’d best be going then so you can rest awhile before…” Martha smiled. “I imagine the master will be here before long.”
Martha reached for the door, but Anne had one more question she needed to ask. “Martha?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Was this their room?”
Martha clutched the clothes in her arms closer to her chest. “No, my lady. The master and his wife had their suite of rooms on the other side of the manor. In the west wing.”
Anne was startled at the relief she felt. “Good night, Martha.”
“Good night, my lady.”
When she was alone, Anne looked at the big, four-poster bed. A shiver of apprehension raced through her body, warming her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
This may not be how she thought her life would be, but it was too late to change anything now. Even if Griffin Blackmoor was not the husband she’d envisioned, at least there would be children. Children she would love and who would love her in return.
She would not be so foolish as her mother. She would not spend her life waiting for her husband to love her when even the blind could see he could not. She would give her love and attention to the children he would give her and let them be her life.
Anne walked across the room and stared down at the bed. Perhaps he would plant the seed of her first child inside her tonight. Perhaps he would give her a babe to love soon, before she came to care for him more than she did at this moment. Perhaps if she had a child, she would not want him so.
Anne sat on the edge of the bed to wait.
The hours passed in agonizing slowness as she waited for Griff to come to her. She’d moved to the window seat long ago to watch the full moon shine high in the sky.
At first she’d been nervous, anticipating his arrival. But as the hours passed, her nervousness dissipated, and disappointment settled over her like a heavy weight.
She’d waited nearly all night, praying he would come. But he hadn’t.
Her husband hadn’t been able to force himself to come to her.
Anne tucked her legs close to her chest and smoothed the gown of filmy, white gauze over soft peach satin that Patience had given her for her wedding night. The knot deep inside her stomach tightened. She’d lived with the fear her whole life that if she married, her husband might be like her father. That the man she married might want his next drink more than he wanted her. She suddenly realized she had more to fear than a bottle of whiskey.
The master was devastated when he lost her.
She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Griff had told her from the start he did not want to marry. Now she knew the reason why. His reason had wheat-colored hair and laughin
g blue eyes the color of a clear summer sky. It was Julia’s name he’d called out when he was sick. Julia’s face that haunted his dreams. Julia’s love he still cherished.
How could Anne expect him to care for her when he still loved a wife who had died four years ago?
She closed her eyes to the rising sun and willed the tears not to fall.
Chapter 23
The promise of dawn brightened the early morning sky, and Griff stretched out over his stallion’s neck to let his thoroughbred thunder across the open meadows of Covington Estate. His horse’s hooves dug up huge clods of wet, grassy mud that flew through the air and splattered against his back and legs. Mammoth drops of sweat formed on his forehead and poured down his face. He flung the salty wetness from his eyes with the back of his hand while he pushed his mount even harder.
He raced as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. They were. They had tormented him since he’d walked away from his bride on her wedding night.
His chest heaved as violently as his horse’s, both their breathing labored and heavy. He knew he should slow down, but he couldn’t chance it. Slowing down meant giving his mind an opportunity to chastise him for what he’d done. It meant giving his conscience time to revolt against his unconscionable act.
He dug his heels into his stallion’s sides and let the early morning air whip his hair as he continued to race over the open spaces even faster. Damn it, but he wanted a drink.
He wanted his wife.
A loud, anguished cry escaped into the hazy, early morning sunshine, and he realized it had come from deep inside him.
He pulled back on the reins to slow his horse. When the stallion stopped, Griff jumped to the ground and doubled over in exhaustion. He braced his hands on his knees and gasped for air as if his lungs might burst.
She was a threat to everything he’d protected himself from since he’d lost Julia. And she was everything his heart cried out to have again.
Every time he was in the same room with her he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her. Every time he looked into her face he wanted to press his lips against hers and feel her mouth open beneath his. Every time he stood near her he remembered how she felt in his arms, how his flesh burned when he held her. How eagerly she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him.