A Risk Worth Taking by Laura Landon Page B

Adam said. He stalked to the door and walked away without a look back. His stomach lurched and his vision blurred. How ironic. He was going to spend the week going through hell in order to wash away the liquor he’d consumed in excess over the last four months. But right now, he’d chop off his right hand if only someone would give him a drink.
    At least one.

Chapter 8

    A nne lay in the dark, unable to sleep. She’d already spent two and a half days in London. Each day had been a whirlwind of activity. Lady Covington had been wonderful, taking her to one of London’s most famous modistes each morning to select designs and material for the new gowns she would have made. Then they stopped at the milliner and the shoemaker. When they finished, they took their packages home, ate a light lunch, and rested a short while; then at precisely five o’clock, the most advantageous time to be seen, they went for an open carriage ride through Hyde Park.
    Patience had secretly hinted that this would ensure invitations to the most prestigious events where Anne could meet the créme of London’s eligible young men—which, she reminded herself, was the reason she’d come to London.
    She stifled a shiver.
    She had not seen Mr. Blackmoor since the first evening they’d arrived. Perhaps he’d gone back to the country. No one said, and Anne didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know where he’d gone. At the same time, she did. She wanted to know everything about him. That she wanted to know everything about him frustrated her.
    On the surface, the countess had at first seemed reserved, always the epitome of decorum and refinement. Underneath, Anne found her to be charming and witty. She thought they could easily become friends. The earl, however, remained a mystery. Anne had the impression that something was terribly wrong.
    She saw him very seldom. He ate dinner with them each evening but spoke little and excused himself early. The worry lines on his face said something was not right. The look he and his wife exchanged every time he entered the room confirmed it.
    Anne reminded herself that perhaps she imagined a problem. At dinner that evening, the earl had promised he would be in attendance for the dinner party to which they had accepted an invitation for later next week.
    Next week.
    Anne threw back the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. Her search would begin Friday.
    Patience informed her that she’d received an invitation to a tea hosted by the Duchess of Wallingsford next Friday afternoon. Then there would be the dinner party at the Marquess of Edington’s that evening. Although the countess did not expect there to be a huge number of males attending either event, she assured Anne that such small gatherings would be an excellent opportunity to begin her process. She also assured her that by the middle of next week, she would have invitations to more events than she would have time to attend.
    Although the countess never openly mentioned Anne’s reason for coming to London, it was obvious sheunderstood the purpose. She was here to select a prime candidate to be her husband.
    Blood rushed like ice water through her veins.
    She jumped from the bed and shoved her arms into the sleeves of her robe. There suddenly was not enough air to breathe. The wonderfully spacious room was not big enough for her. She had to escape these four walls.
    She lit two branches of the candelabra on the table by the door and slipped out of her room. Perhaps she would go to the library and search for a book to read. Something to occupy her time, to shift her thoughts from why she’d come to London. Something different to concentrate on other than her search for a husband.
    If only there were a different way to guarantee Becca a secure future. But if there was, it was a mystery to her.
    She walked down the narrow hall, careful to take the back way so she wouldn’t wake anyone. Positive she wouldn’t encounter anyone in this part of the house at this