“Because I have something I need to give you. And I don’t want to do it up here.”
He took Angelica’s hand, leaving Bessie behind. If the little maid had any idea what was happening, she didn’t give him away. She simply smiled, and disappeared down the hallway.
Brody tried to sound calm. He was certain Angelica could feel his palm trembling against hers. He needed to pull himself together, or he would never get through this. “How was breakfast?”
“Awkward, as usual. Everyone ignored me—except Marcus, of course. He’s always in good spirits.”
Good old Markie. “No problems with Peter or Mary Rose?”
“They were all too miserable to worry about me. Everyone smelled like they’d drowned in drink.”
He laughed. “A typical morning in the Neill household. Glad I didn’t miss much.”
Angelica’s dark brow furrowed. “Yes…where were you?”
“Upstairs.” They reached the entrance hall. Brody had intended to do this in the library, or perhaps the drawing room, if it was empty, but he couldn’t wait a moment longer.
Dropping her hand, he reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out the vial of morphine. Unconventional, yes—but he knew this would mean so much more to them both.
“Angelica…”
Her arms fell to her side. Those breathtakingly blue eyes of hers stared straight ahead. “What is it, Brody?”
He squeezed the glass bottle in his hand. Not so long ago, it would have been the most important thing in the world to him. Now, he hated the drug, and the power it once held over him.
“The night I first met you, I was on my way here. I’d set out in the middle of a storm like a fool…for this.” Brody reached for her hand, opened her pale fingers, and placed the vial in the center of her palm.
Angelica seemed to instinctually know what it was. She gasped—in shock or horror, he wasn’t certain.
“Small, isn’t it? Nothing much to it, really. A bit of glass, a dash of liquid. For the last seven years, that tiny bottle has been life to me. I would have killed for it. I would have died for it,” he explained. “There were nights when I prayed that it would kill me, so I wouldn’t have to suffer for it any longer.” His voice broke, and it took him a moment to collect himself. “I…I want you to know that I don’t suffer now, Angelica. Today—just now—I made a choice upstairs in my bedroom.”
Brody took her other hand, and put it to his bare forearm. She could feel the half-healed needle marks, the scarred flesh, and the thrum of his pulse through his damaged veins. She felt his rolled up sleeve, and her unseeing eyes searched the darkness, questioning everything.
“I chose you, Angelica,” he said. “For today. For always.”
A tear rolled down her cheek. “Oh, Brody. I don’t know what to say…”
“Tell me you love me, and throw that cursed bottle to the ground.”
She let the vial slip from her hand and shatter on the marble tiles at their feet. “Someone is going to have to clean that up…”
He laughed. “Not you.”
Despite everything, she laughed, too. “Brody, I love you so much. And I know how difficult this was for you. Thank you for always trying to be a better man.”
He looked down at the morphine-slick tiles. Well, so much for going down on his knee. Like most things, he hadn’t really thought that through. “That’s not all, Angelica. I’ve got rather a lot more to say to you.”
Her smile faded. He was nervous, and she could tell. A proposal was the last thing she expected. More likely, she was bracing herself for something unpleasant.
Elegant words be damned—he didn’t want to make her wait. Brody pulled the ring box out of his pocket. Removing the diamond ring from its silk-lined nest, he dropped the small band of gold into her outstretched palm.
“Do not throw that on the ground,” he said, laughing.
Angelica did not laugh. She merely lifted her free hand to inspect the delicate object. Then, he watched her mouth fall open as her fingers explored it.
“Time to finally ask what I should have asked a week ago—months ago, really.” He cleared his throat. “I knew from the moment I met you, that I wanted to spend my life with you. That I could actually have a life with you. So…will you marry me, Angelica?”
“Broderick! No!” There was a crash as a china flower vase smashed to the floor.
Angelica jumped, and he grabbed her to keep her from slipping on the wet glass at their feet. Brody whipped his head around to see every member of his family—including Peter and Cynthia, who had no business there at all—standing in the archway. Marcus looked apologetic. Mother’s face was purple with rage.
CHAPTER FIFTY