He'd probably be dead by nightfall.
His eyes were small, hard balls of fire. The inside of his mouth had been swabbed with something too foul to imagine. His stomach clutched and seized like a nervous fist.
He began to hope he'd be dead long before nightfall.
Since there was no one around, he indulged himself in a few whimpers as he stepped under the shower. He'd have sworn the smell of whiskey was seeping out of his pores.
Moving with the care of the aged or infirm, he climbed out of the tub, wrapped a towel around his waist. He did what he could to wash the hideous taste out of his mouth.
When he stepped into the bedroom, he yelped, slapped his hands over his eyes in time-he hoped-to keep them from bursting out of his head. Some sadist had come in and opened his drapes to the sunlight.
Brianna's own eyes had gone wide. Her mouth had fallen open. Other than the towel hanging loosely at his hips, he wore nothing but a few lingering drops of water from his shower.
His body was... the word exquisite flashed into her mind. Lean, muscled, gleaming. She found herself linking her fingers together and swallowing hard.
"I brought you a breakfast tray," she managed. "I thought you might be feeling poorly."
Cautious, Gray spread his fingers just enough to see through. "Then it wasn't the wrath of God." His voice was rough, but he feared the act of clearing it might do permanent damage. "For a minute I thought I was being struck down for my sins."
"It's only porridge, toast, and some coffee."
"Coffee." He said the word like a prayer. "Could you pour it?"
"I could. I brought you some aspirin."
"Aspirin." He could have wept. "Please."
"Take them first then." She brought him the pills with a small glass of water. "Rogan looks as sad as you," she said as Gray gobbled down the pills-and she fought to keep her hand from stroking over all that wet, curling dark hair. "Uncle Niall's fit as a fiddle."
"Figures." Gray moved cautiously toward the bed. He eased down, praying his head wouldn't roll off his neck. "Before we go any further, do I have anything to apologize for?"
"To me?"
"To anyone. Whiskey's not my usual poison, and I'm fuzzy on details after we started on the second bottle." He squinted up at her and found she was smiling at him. "Something funny?"
"No-well, yes, but it's not very kind of me to find it funny." She did give in then, sleeking a hand over his hair as she might over that of a child who had overindulged in cakes. "I was thinking it was sweet of you to offer to apologize right off that way." Her smile warmed. "But no, there's nothing. You were just drunk and silly. There was no harm in it."
"Easy for you to say." He supported his head. "I don't make a habit of drinking like that." Wincing, he reached for the coffee with his free hand. "In fact, I don't believe I've ever had that much at one time, or will again."
"You'll feel better when you've had a bite to eat. You have a couple of hours before you have to drive over for the wedding-if you're up to it."
"Wouldn't miss it." Resigned, Gray picked up the porridge. It smelled safe. He took a tentative bite and waited to see if his system would accept it. "Aren't I going with you?"
"I'm leaving in a few minutes. There's things to be done. You'll come over with Rogan and Uncle Niall-since it's doubtful the three of you can get into any trouble on such a short drive."
He grunted and scooped up more porridge.
"Do you need anything else before I go?"
"You've hit most of the vital points." Tilting his head, he studied her. "Did I try to talk you into going to bed with me last night?"
"You did."
"I thought I remembered that." His smile was quick and easy. "I can't imagine how you resisted me."
"Oh, I managed. I'll be off, then."
"Brianna." He sent her one quick, dangerous look. "I won't be plastered next time."
Christine Rogan Sweeney might have been on the verge of becoming a great-grandmother, but she was still a bride. No matter how often she told herself it was foolish to be nervous, to feel so giddy, her stomach still jumped.
She was to be married in only a few minutes more. To pledge herself to a man she loved dearly. And to take his pledge to her. And she would be a wife once again, after so many years a widow.
"You look beautiful." Maggie stood back as Christine turned in front of the chevel glass. The pale rose suit gleamed with tiny pearls on the lapels. Against Christine's shining white hair sat a jaunty, matching hat with a fingertip veil.
"I feel beautiful." She laughed and turned to embrace Maggie, then Brianna. "I don't care who knows it. I wonder if Niall could be as nervous as I am."
"He's pacing like a big cat," Maggie told her. "And asking Rogan for the time every ten seconds."
"Good." Christine drew in a long breath. "That's good, then. It is nearly time, isn't it?"
"Nearly." Brianna kissed her on each cheek. "I'll be going down now to make sure everything's as it should be. I wish you happiness... Aunt Christine."
"Oh, dear." Christine's eyes filled. "How sweet you are."
"Don't do that," Maggie warned. "You'll have us all going. I'll signal when we're ready, Brie."
With a quick nod Brianna hurried out. There were caterers, of course, and a houseful of servants. But a wedding was a family thing, and she wanted it perfect.
The guests were milling in the parlor-swirls of color, snatches of laughter. A harpist was playing in soft, dreamy notes. Garlands of roses had been twined along the banister, and pots of them were artistically decked throughout the house.
She wondered if she should slip into the kitchen, just to be certain all was well, when she spotted her mother and Lottie. Fixing a bright smile on her face, she went forward.
"Mother, you look wonderful."
"Foolishness. Lottie nagged me into spending good money on a new dress." But she brushed a hand fussily along the soft linen sleeve.