He could find no excuse for himself. Though he’d never believed himself such a wondrous specimen of manhood, a bloody paragon, for God’s sake, it was painful to realize that he’d behaved in the most reprehensibly conceited manner possible. And now he would pay for it as he’d never paid for anything in his entire adult life. He wasn’t used to pain or disappointment. Now, he feared, he would gain retribution in full measure.
“Dammit to hell. If ever a demented man needed a drink—” He grabbed a bottle of brandy from the sideboard, carried it back with him to his chair, and hurled himself down again.
Mannering hurried to the library when he heard the ring of the bell cord. He hoped that his lordship would be wanting his dinner, for it was growing quite late. The sight that greeted his eyes when he opened the door made him wince. The earl was sprawled in the large stuffed chair, his late father’s chair, an empty bottle dangling in his outstretched hand. His cravat was askew as if he had unsuccessfully tried to pull it away, and his fair hair was decidedly disheveled.
“My lord. Oh, dear.” Mannering was shocked. He’d never before seen his master so obviously foxed.
Julien turned his blurred vision on his butler. “Get me another bottle of brandy, Mannering. And don’t give me one of your looks. There are times in a man’s life when brandy is not at all a bad thing. Trust me, this is one of those times. Indeed, this is probably the only real time. Do be quick, man. I’ve no intention of losing my hold on a world that is for the moment altogether tolerable.”
“Yes, my lord. As you wish, my lord.” He left the room with dragging steps to do his master’s bidding.
As he closed the library door, he heard a curse and the sound of glass breaking. He glanced hastily around, hoping that none of the servants, particularly Mrs. Cradshaw, were within hearing.
Upon his return, he saw that the earl had thrown the empty bottle, shattering it against the marble fireplace.
“My lord.”
“Don’t you dare even think about preaching to me, Mannering.” Julien rose drunkenly from his chair and grabbed the bottle. “And don’t stand there gaping like a black crow. Get out of my sight. I’ll call you if I have further need of you.”
Mannering stiffened at the harsh words but almost instantly forgave his master. He bowed, and with as much dignity as he could manage, walked out of the library, closing the door softly behind him.
With considerable effort Julien forced his eyes open and looked about him. He was lying in his bed, fully clothed, a cover pulled over him. He winced at the bright sunlight and turned his head away, only to find that this simple movement brought on excruciating pain. He lay very still until the pounding in his temples lessened. He had no memory of how or when he had left the library to come to his room. He gave a loud groan upon seeing a half-empty bottle of brandy standing precariously on the night table, and wondered how much he had consumed before falling into a drunken stupor. He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know.
Too soon he remembered the events of the previous day, and he found himself almost welcoming the physical pain in his head, for it forced his attention away from less pleasant thoughts. He lay quietly in the silent room until finally, with a determination born of despair, he rose unsteadily. He glanced at the clock on the night table and was surprised that it was quite early, in fact, only seven o’clock in the morning. He began to feel disgusted with himself, for he had always scorned those gentlemen in his acquaintance whose sole purpose for getting drunk was to escape their misery. And here he had done exactly the same thing, weak sod that he was.
He cursed long and fluently, and it made him feel better. He wanted to cleanse himself, to clear both his mind and his body of the effects of the brandy. He hurried from his room, not even thinking of the odd appearance he presented, made his way downstairs, and flung open the front doors. He strode past two startled footmen, who had barely enough time to bow, and broke into a run across the front lawn toward St. Clair lake. The rapid movement made the pain in his head near to unbearable, but he gritted his teeth and never broke his stride until he reached a large rock that formed a cliff about six feet above the water. He quickly pulled off his clothes and poised himself naked on the edge of the rock, panting a moment from his exertion, then dived, gasping with the shock of the icy water.
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