Hadleigh. She hadn’t seen him since supper.
Livy wove in and out of the public rooms, looking for him. Perhaps he had gone up to bed, but it was early yet, and she was concerned about him. She hadn’t seen him for a few months, and when he and his duchess had arrived yesterday, he’d looked wearier than she’d remembered. His eyes seemed permanently bloodshot, and he’d dropped a stone, his tall frame approaching gauntness.
Is he ill? she fretted.
She’d tried to ask him about it, but he’d ruffled her hair and told her not to worry. But she was worried. Something was wrong with Hadleigh. She’d tried to ask her parents, but they were also keeping mum about it.
“Perhaps we should send for the physician?” she’d persisted.
Papa had sighed. “Hadleigh isn’t ill. You are too young to understand, poppet, but suffice it to say, the nature of his problem requires that he address it himself. No doctor—and no one—can fix it for him. Trust me, it is best to leave him be.”
Livy did not believe in letting things be. Especially when her friend’s well-being was at stake. Thus, she continued searching for Hadleigh, and her tenacity was rewarded when she found him in the upstairs gallery. He was on the floor, slumped against a wall, his long legs splayed in front of him. His eyes were closed. He’d lost his jacket and cravat somewhere, his shirt open at the throat and his waistcoat splotched with wine stains.
Hadleigh was always impeccably dressed. At the moment, however, he was a frightful mess. Anxiety percolated through her: she’d never seen him this way before.
“Hadleigh?” she said loudly to wake him. “What is the matter with you?”
His long lashes flicked open. He stared at her with eyes that were red-rimmed and more black than blue. This was a stranger’s gaze, and it chilled her nape.
“Livy?” His gaze focused, his voice emerging thick and slurred. “What’re you doing here?”
“The better question is what are you doing.” She peered at him. “Are you in your cups?”
“I’m foxed, all right.” He gave a strange, hoarse laugh. “Wish it were just that, little love.”
Not understanding, she frowned. “What else have you overindulged in?”
He looked at her with those dark, lost eyes. “Life, Livy. I’ve had too much of life.”
“Don’t say that,” she protested. “Life is a gift, and you should be glad you’ve many more years ahead of you.”
“I’m tired,” he whispered.
“Of what?”
“Of running from ghosts. So many of them…” Although his gaze was aimed at her, it was as if he was looking beyond her into some spectral world that only he could see. “One day they will catch up to me and wreak their vengeance.” His lips twisted. “Perhaps they already have. That is why my life is hell…just like I deserve.”
“Why would anyone seek vengeance upon you?” She forced herself to ask the question. “What have you done?”
“What haven’t I done?” Anguish slashed deep lines around his mouth. “I’ve committed every sin, little queen. Everything I’ve done commits me to perdition.”
Unable to bear his pain, she sat down on the floor next to him. She didn’t know what he had done. She only knew that he had saved her life and, in the three years since, been a true and steadfast friend.
“Not everything.” She nudged her shoulder gently against his. “You saved my life, remember?”
“You are my one good deed.” His laugh was mirthless. “And as sweet and pure as you are, even you cannot outweigh my sins.”
As he rubbed a fist over his eyes, she noticed he was clutching something.
“What have you got there?” she asked.
He slowly opened his palm, and Livy recognized what lay within. She had helped her mama tie together the bunches of leaves and bright red berries, hanging them in rooms throughout the house in the spirit of Yuletide cheer.
She tilted her head. “Why do you have a sprig of mistletoe?”
“Wanted a kiss from Arabella. But she wouldn’t kiss me…even with this.”
His misery tore at Livy’s heart. She couldn’t fathom why his wife would refuse a kiss. Her own parents kissed all the time. In fact, her brother Chris had taken to groaning, “Not in front of the children, please.”
“Perhaps she refused because you’re inebriated?” Livy suggested tentatively.
“No, it’s because I’m me. A wreck of a man. Not worth a kiss…not worth anything.” His eyelashes lowered, settling against his cheeks.
Within seconds, he was asleep again.
Livy bit her lip. He looked more relaxed, but she couldn’t leave him here when he was in such a state. Anyone could stumble upon him, and she was certain he wouldn’t want to be found this way.
She pushed his shoulder. “Hadleigh?”
“Hmm?” He didn’t open his eyes.
She spoke directly into his ear. “We need to get you back to your chamber.”
He winced, opening one bloodshot eye. “Too tired.”
“You cannot sleep here, and you are too heavy for me to carry. Get up, and I will support you.”
Grumbling, he managed to get onto his feet, swaying, and she ducked beneath his arm.
“Easy, there,” she said. “I have you. Just lean on me.”
She navigated their way to his guest chamber, which was luckily on the same floor. By the time she got him inside, she was perspiring from her exertions. He might look skinny, but he was all lean muscle, all of it leaning heavily upon her. Somehow, she got him to his bed, and he flopped onto the mattress with a moan.
“Don’t know why you’re complaining,” she muttered. “I did all the work.”
He snored in reply.
Rolling her eyes, she wrestled off his shoes and pulled the counterpane over him. She paused to look at his face, which even in slumber was not peaceful. His muscles twitched, grooves deepening here and there against his sculpted bones. He moved restlessly, dislodging the blanket, and that was when she noticed that he still had the mistletoe clutched in his hand.
I’m me.
