Read Online Addicted by Charlotte Featherstone - Free Book Online Page B

afraid of alienating her from his life with his lustful thoughts and actions. So he had bided his time, trying to make certain that she returned something of his regard.

    But it hadn’t only been her he’d been unsure of. He’d been worried about his own worthiness.
    Anais might be a shy, and somewhat self-conscious woman, but she was also a gently bred lady who knew what she was about. She wasn’t like the other women of his acquaintance—overblown and concerned only with money and fashion. That was the beauty of Anais. She didn’t have any idea how damn desirable she was or how to use her voluptuous body to get what she wanted. Anais was not that sort of woman. She was strong in her convictions with unwavering loyalty. Anais thought only in black and white, good and evil.
    For Anais, there weren’t any shades of gray in her life—and so much of his life was nothing but a gray veil of mist. And yet, as unbending in her views of right and wrong were, she was kind, thoughtful and sweetly innocent. Simply put, Anais was the angel to his demon.
    Her friendship had meant the world to him. He treasured it as if it were the rarest of gems. He had told her things that he’d never told another soul. She knew him more intimately than anyone did, or, he thought, anyone ever would. There was something about Anais that allowed openness and honesty. She had a way of making him feel calm and peaceful and loved.
    Whether she realized it or not, she had carved out a place in his heart, settling herself so deeply inside him that she would be forever entrenched in his soul. She had stood by him through thick and thin, despite her obvious distaste for his father and his libertine ways.
    How many times had he spoken of his father? How he feared for the way he might grow up? How often had she reassured himthat he was not his father? That his father’s weaknesses and excesses would not be his?
    She had such faith in the man he was, in the man she knew he could be. He would never do anything to harm that trust, because Lindsay knew that if he lost Anais’s faith in him, he had nothing. Without Anais, he would be his father’s son in more than just blood.
    “Evening, Raeburn.”
    Lindsay opened his eyes in time to see Garrett, Lord Broughton, flick his dress tails out behind him and sit on the cushion beside him.
    “Evening, Broughton.”
    “An interesting little scene of debauchery, isn’t it?”
    “Hmm,” Lindsay murmured, before lighting another incense stick and passing it to his friend who shook his head. Lindsay shrugged and waved the opium beneath his nose, inhaling the curling smoke.
    “I don’t know how you abide that stuff.” Broughton coughed. “I damn near suffocated the instant I walked into the room. It makes my head feel damned strange and I nearly always purge my guts into the nearest potted palm.”
    Lindsay shut his eyes once again, allowing his senses to slow. “Nothing like a little quality Turkish Delight to facilitate the mind, Broughton. It is supposed to elevate the senses and carry you to another place and time. It’s like living out a dream,” he murmured, remembering all the wicked dreams he had of Anais over the years. Passionate, carnal dreams of making love to her in every conceivable way. Dreams of passionate lovemaking and heated, carnal fucking.

    “I’m afraid the only Turkish Delight I indulge in is covered in powdered sugar.”
    “Stop being such a stick in the mud and light up. Blowing a cloud would do you wonders, you know. The Magic Mist hinders melancholy, begets confidence, converts fear into boldness and makes the silent eloquent. You’d be amazed at the things you can imagine when the smoke is caressing your face. Hell, you may even discover a hidden poet inside that dutiful breast of yours.”
    “I haven’t the imagination, I’m afraid,” Broughton grumbled.
    Lindsay was no poet, but he certainly had a healthy imagination. Even now, with his blood slowing and thickening in