The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,10

moved slowly, easing his legs over the side of the bed until his feet touched the floor. The effort left his head spinning. Determined, he tried to get to his feet and almost fell on his face as his legs gave out. Somehow, he clung to the bedhead, forced himself back onto the mattress, and lay there, shaking and sweating. God. Was this what he’d been reduced to? No wonder Miss Penrose held him in such contempt. He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deep. Clean, cold air from the open window filled his lungs, and he could smell the sea, a salty tang that cut through the stench of sweat and sickness… of him. He opened his eyes again, and noted a small looking-glass on the bedside table. He reached for it, and even that trifling task left him breathless, his hand trembling. How pathetic. He’d been a damned Corinthian once upon a time, until drink and despair had pulled him down into the mire. Though he didn’t want to, he knew he must, must face what he’d become, and he raised the looking-glass.

An old man looked back at him. Christ, he was only five and thirty, yet the man in the glass appeared to be half dead. Grey skin, bloodshot eyes. He looked utterly haggard, and to think once upon a time he’d fancied himself a handsome fellow. None finer. Blasted peacock. He’d likely ruined himself, and all for what? To spite his father, a man who had never given a snap of his fingers for him anyway. Well, he’d never do the old man’s bidding, but he’d been a damn fool to let things go this far. He’d nearly given in, too. If Charlie hadn’t found him when he had….

Anyway, killing himself might infuriate the old man and avoid his grand plan, but it would hardly do King any favours, not when his soul was as black as pitch.

This had to stop. Charlie…Charlie, had done him a service, a great one. He’d pulled him out of the dark hole he’d fallen into, and now he had to stay out. He must sober up and get strong again, and…. Well, he’d think about that when he was feeling less like a shipwreck. For now, he would sleep.

6th December 1818. St Nicholas Day.

The giving of gifts and thanks and slippers…

“King!”

King did his utmost not to grimace as Charlie’s voice shot through his head. He assumed the headache would leave him eventually, but it was bloody persistent. Though he’d almost balked at the indignity of leaning on the silent, morose Spargo to get down the stairs, King thought he really might run mad if he had to spend another day alone in his room. After their words the other morning, Livvy—Miss Penrose—had avoided him. For some reason, this irritated him even more than her presence. If nothing else, being lashed by the sharp side of her tongue had given him something else to think about other than the fact he was crawling out of his skin with the desire for a drink.

Now, however, he was being welcomed into the bosom of the family by Charlie, who came over and shook his hand.

“Good to see you up and about, old man. Thought you’d breathed your last when I found you that night. Gave me quite a turn, I don’t mind telling you.”

“I owe you a debt of thanks,” King replied, meaning it. He knew it was quite likely Charlie had saved his sorry arse. Not Charlie alone, though.

“Well, I owed you first, so we’ll call it quits, eh?” Charlie said, with a lazy grin. “Now I’d best introduce you to the horde.”

King noted that no mention was made of Livvy’s aid to his recovery. Charlie might have bundled him into a carriage and got him here, but Livvy had fed him soup, wiped his fevered brow, and endured who knew what mad ramblings. No matter how much she despised him, she’d cared for him. He knew it had been her who had tended to him more than anyone. He’d gleaned that much from the taciturn Spargo. The only maid was a God-fearing soul and afraid to come near him, and no one else had the time or desire to help. He looked across the room to find that quite startling pair of blue eyes watching him, a look of wry amusement lingering there. King saw from her expression that she’d not expected to receive any credit, but then she’d