Free Heir of Danger by Alix Rickloff Page B

I’ve been all this time and, most importantly, who I was with.”
    “Tell them you fled to the Continent to escape your gaming debts.”
    “I don’t have any gaming debts. Or at least none I’d be so silly as to fly to the continent to avoid.”
    “So pretend.”
    “And how am I supposed to have survived my unfortunate run-in with Máelodor’s executioner? I imagine the question will come up.”
    “Do I have to think of everything? Use that famed O’Gara ingenuity.”
    “You can’t do this on your own, Brendan. Admit it.”
    “I managed for seven years.”
    “No, you buried yourself away amid a bunch of foreigners and drowned your sorrows in alcohol and opium.”
    Brendan felt as if he’d been struck. His gut rising into his throat, a horrible sick churning as if he might be ill all over Mr. Crowdy’s floor. “How?”
    Jack’s gaze dulled, jaw tightening as if he knew he’d crossed an invisible line. Still, he didn’t back down. A sign of his dogged courage. “No one avoids alcohol the way you do unless they’re blind scared of it. The opium I surmised by things you’ve said. Other things you took pains to avoid saying.” He faced him straight-on. “Are you still . . .”
    “No.” It was all Brendan would allow himself to admit. It wasn’t anyone’s business how low he’d fallen during his years away. He repeated his avowal as if Jack needed convincing. “Not for a long time.”
    “Good. That settles things. I’ll find Ahern. We’ll talk about my resurrection once you arrive in Dublin safely.”
    “You’re not listening.”
    “I’m older than you, Brendan. Think of it as your big brother speaking.”
    “Aidan wouldn’t be so hen-brained.”
    Jack laughed. “It’s surprising how hen-brained your brother can be.”
    “I won’t let you—”
    “You can’t force me.”
    “It’s better this way—”
    “For whom?”
    They spoke over one another until, exasperated, Brendan snapped, “Damn it, Jack. I don’t want you.”
    His cousin gave a slow nod before downing the rest ofhis drink. Slamming the glass upon the table. “Now we come to the crux of it. Typical Brendan Douglas arrogance. He doesn’t need anyone. He can do it all on his own.”
    “It’s not that,” Brendan argued, stung by the accusation. “I can move faster and easier without worrying about you.”
    “Self-sufficiency’s become a habit.”
    “It’s safer.”
    Ice hardened Jack’s blue eyes, a reminder his cousin’s easygoing nature had its limits. “Aye, Brendan. But it’s also lonelier.”
    Elisabeth woke with a vague unease she couldn’t pinpoint.
    No sound but the normal creaks and shifts of the house. A shutter caught in the wind. A fox’s bark echoing lonely and distant. A thin gap in the closed curtains sent an arrow shaft of moonlight over the carpet and up the bed. A chill in the air drove her deeper under the covers for a warm spot. Twisting, turning, and sighing in an effort to get comfortable.
    Was this restlessness the effect of too much gingerbread before bedtime? Last-minute wedding nerves? Or her troubling conversation with Aunt Fitz? Did it matter? She needed her sleep. She’d not managed more than a few snatched winks during the last few days, envisioning every Brendan-initiated, disastrous scenario her creative mind could conjure. If she didn’t manage at least a few hours tonight, she’d risk falling asleep at her own wedding breakfast. Not exactly an auspicious start to marital bliss.
    Rolling over, she punched the lumps from her pillow. Flopped back with a groan. Stared up into her bedhangings. Counted enough sheep to fill a small meadow. Herlimbs grew lax, eyelids heavy. And just as she dozed, a light touch upon her shoulder jerked her awake.
    She had a moment’s horrified impression of hard-jawed, angular features, sun-bright eyes, and a finger pressed against full, sensual lips for silence.
    She couldn’t keep her eyes open. Couldn’t feel her arms or legs.
    So much for