A Return of the Wicked Earl

by Sadie Bosque

The door opened then, and Lord St. John stuck out his head. “Lady Payne, would you like to come in? The doctor has finished his evaluation.”

  Annalise nodded and scrambled to stand up. Caroline also rose and steadied Annalise as she swayed.

  “Thank you, dear friend,” Annalise said with a smile.

  Caroline squeezed her hands, and Annalise entered the room.

  * * *

  Blake dreamed of her again.

  Of course, he dreamed of her. There was nothing else for him to dream about. The rest of his life had been hollow, useless. What had he been doing all those years before he met her? Before he set his eyes on a charming debutante, standing by the wall of a crowded ballroom, fidgeting with her fan. Before he had followed her out onto the patio.

  Thank God he had followed her. What if he’d listened to his stupid brain, which had whispered that she’d been too young, too innocent for him? He wasn’t ready for marriage, and ruining a young lady was not an option.

  If he’d listened to his stupid mind and not followed his soul, what would he have dreamed about all those nights during captivity? If he hadn’t had her to look forward to, her to live for, would he even have fought to survive?

  Cool fingers ran across his forehead again. A fleeting touch. But so tender, so soft, so full of hope. Hope that someday he’d return home, and her hands would be on him again. This time for real.

  This dream was salvation. But it was also torture. Because once he woke up in the dank dungeon again, or in his cell on the slave-ship, or… where was he again?

  His consciousness threatened to resurface, but he fought to stay in the state of slumber. It didn’t matter where he was. Wherever that was, the reality was too cruel. At times, he wished to never wake up from his feverish dreams, experiencing her touch, surrounded by her scent.

  Lavender. She had always smelled like lavender and a fresh meadow after the rain. The only thing missing in this hazy dream was the sound of her voice. Oh, how he’d missed her voice, her musical laugh, the way she hummed under her breath.

  She couldn’t stand the silence. And now he couldn’t stand it either. Nor the dark. How he wished to open his eyes and see her again. But he knew it was impossible. So he stayed in the state of slumber, drinking in the feelings of what it would have been like to have her near.

  Annalise. Her name was a benediction. A prayer.

  His darling Annalise.

  His mind clung to her name, not willing to let it go. It was fresh on his lips, too. Hadn’t he said it out loud recently?

  Of course, he’d whispered her name into the void too many times to count. He fell asleep and woke up with her name on his lips, but this time, it felt different. It felt… real.

  There was a sound in the room.

  Never a good sign. It meant he wasn’t alone. And in his reality, not alone meant with an enemy.

  Blake opened his eyes and jumped into a sitting position.

  It was soft beneath him. And a flickering light caught his eyes, so he turned toward it. A candle sat on a bedside table. Blake lowered his gaze to the mattress below. He was in a bed.

  “Blake,” said a soft voice from the darkness.

  Her voice.

  Annalise.

  Was he still dreaming?

  Blake turned his head slowly, surveying the room all the while. He was in his old townhouse in London. He had no trouble recognizing the room; it was still the same. Although it had definitely changed. He finally craned his neck and looked at his wife.

  She was sitting in the chair by the side of the bed. She took a glass of water from the bedside table and extended it toward him.

  “The doctor said you should drink a lot of fluids,” she said. “Please, drink.”

  Blake stared at the open face of his lovely wife and couldn’t move. He was too afraid to spook the vision away. If he moved, she might disappear. She brought the glass closer to him. Blake’s breathing grew rapid. He tried to say something, but his throat was too dry and scratchy.

  He took the proffered drink and gulped the entire glass dry without taking his eyes off his wife.

  She was innocence incarnate. So beautiful, so peaceful that he wanted to weep. She wore her hair up, tucked in a neat chignon. Her face was white and bloodless, except for her lush pink lips. Lord, he wanted to taste those lips. He’d missed the taste of her, the soft pressure of those lips against his.

  “One more?” she asked, and he extended the glass to her.

  She took it from him, her fingers lightly brushing against his. Blake stifled the urge to grab her by her hand and tumble her into bed with him, hug her tight, and keep her in his embrace forever.

  She touched him. Which meant she was real.

  The memories started coming back to him slowly. He was home. He was truly home.

  He raked her with his gaze while she poured him more water, not being able to tear his eyes away from her. Not willing to ever stop watching her graceful movements. She handed him another glass of water, and he gulped it down. He gave her the empty glass and looked around the room again.

  “Can you—” he croaked out before clearing his throat. “Can you light more candles, please? It’s too dark here.”

  After fourteen months of separation, torturous weeks in captivity spent dreaming of finally seeing his wife, these were not the first words he’d imagined saying to her.

  “Of course.” Annalise stood to comply.

  Blake settled back against the pillows. His head still thrummed, so he didn’t want to risk getting up.

  Besides, the bed was soft. Too soft. He imagined he wouldn’t be able to sleep comfortably in it for some time. But he’d persevere. Blake smirked.

  Annalise had lighted half a dozen candles by that time, poured more water into his glass from the pitcher, and settled back into the chair.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  Blake looked back at her. He could see her more clearly for the candlelight. Her face looked troubled, or perhaps she was just weary. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and the surrounding skin looked puffy. She’d cried upon his return then. Had she missed him as much as he’d missed her?

  She was still beautiful. Too beautiful to be real. He couldn’t believe she was truly there beside him. Fourteen bloody months without her touch. He needed to touch her.

  Blake extended his hand and took her fingers in his. Her hand was cool to his touch and soft. She didn’t pull away; she didn’t disappear into the void. She was real.

  He ran his fingers along her knuckles, then tugged on her hand until she moved closer to him. He leaned forward and closer still until their breaths mingled and her lips were just a hairsbreadth away. Time froze, and everything around them disappeared as he stared into her eyes. Her beautiful eyes, the color of the sea after the storm, were so dear and… filled with tears.

  Were those tears of happiness?

  Annalise closed her eyes and shook her head as if in answer. One fat tear streaked across her cheek. She swallowed and moved out of his reach, taking her heat, her scent, with her.

  No! Blake thought he yelled the word out loud. Don’t go. Don’t leave me. His panicked gaze roamed over Annalise’s features while she composed herself and wiped at her eyes.

  And that’s when it dawned on him.

  She wasn’t happy to see him. These weren’t tears of joy in her eyes. She was grieving for the betrothal that would never be. The thought sparked an angry chord in his heart. He fisted his hands by his sides and took a deep breath, calming his rioting thoughts.

  “You don’t seem happy to see me,” he observed.

  Annalise raised her troubled eyes to his. “Do not be absurd, Blake. We all thought you were dead. And yet… Where have you been?”

  Blake noticed that she hadn’t answered the question. “Do you love him?” he asked perhaps too sharply because her eyes widened in shock.

  “Do I love him?” A beat of silence.

  “Yes, Kensington. Your betrothed. Do you love him?” />
  “Is that the only thing you could think to ask me? After all this time?”

  “No, not the only thing, but the first thing. You were going to marry him.”

  “You disappeared for months. I thought you dead!” she said, her voice breaking.

  “It didn’t take you long to replace me,” he answered, all his bitterness seeping through his tone. “And you didn’t answer any of my questions.”

  Annalise stared at him with wide-eyed disbelief, her mouth slack. She took a couple of breaths to calm herself before she spoke. “I don’t want to argue, Blake. You’ve just returned. And if it puts your mind at ease… Then, no. I do not love him.”

  Blake nodded. He didn’t want to argue either. He was too tired to argue. But he was irritated that she maintained a distance between them. She spoke to him calmly and politely. Not a distressed widow, happy to see her wayward husband, not a woman reunited with the man she loved. She was also not his bright-eyed and open Annalise. Not the way he remembered her. She was too reserved, subdued. What had happened to her?

  Blake reached for her again, wanting to touch her skin, to feel her warmth beneath his fingers, to wipe that mask of sadness from her face, but she drew away from his touch.

  He curled his fingers, closing on air, and returned his hand to his side, trying to control his temper. Fourteen bloody months without her touch. Why wouldn’t she let him touch her now? Perhaps it was a dream—a nightmare. One where she was within his reach and yet ever unattainable.

  “Where have you been? What happened to you?” Annalise asked quietly, her gaze running along his body.

  Blake closed his eyes as he thought of the nights he’d spent in captivity, tortured. About the months on a slave ship, about the depravities he’d witnessed. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and he shook his head. He didn’t want those memories to assail him. Not now. Perhaps, not ever. He couldn’t fathom what exactly he could tell his innocent wife about what had befallen him either. He cleared his throat. “What I went through is not for a lady’s ears.”

  “I am your wife.”

  “And that’s one more reason you shouldn’t know.”

  She clearly misunderstood his meaning because she reared back before rising from the chair. “If you don’t have anything you wish to discuss with me, my lord, then I shall leave you to rest.”

  My lord. The words were like a blow to his abdomen. She had never called him that. Not since the night they met.

  “Annalise,” he breathed.

  She paused, halfway to the door. “I am glad you are back, and I am truly happy to see you alive… Please, call for me if you need anything.” With these words, she shuffled out of the room and closed the door gently behind her.

  Blake stared unblinking at the door. Not exactly the joyous reunion of lovers he’d imagined a million times in his head. Where the devil did it all go wrong?

  Love at First Sight

  Spring 1739

  Annalise stood by the pillar in her parents’ ballroom, fanning herself. Two other ladies flanked her—Lady Caroline, the Marquess of Roth’s niece, and Miss Olivia, Viscount Landen’s daughter. Both ladies were chaperoned, unlike Annalise, whose parents disappeared the moment after her introduction at the ball.

  “It’s incredibly hot here, isn’t it? I wish I could take a break and sit outside for a moment or two. But the next dance is approaching, and so is my suitor,” Lady Caroline said on a sigh.

  “Well, my parents are too busy flirting with everyone in the ballroom to do anything about the heat,” Annalise answered. “My next dance is open. I might slip out to the patio for a moment. Olivia, would you care to join me?”

  Miss Olivia Landen vigorously shook her head. “My parents would not allow that. Unlike you, I am ridiculously closely chaperoned. I am looking forward to next year when I shall be free to sit with the spinsters and dowagers and not by the sidelines of a ballroom waiting for suitors to never ask me to dance.”

  “Don’t you want to get married?” Annalise asked with awe.

  Olivia talked about the balls as a duty. Sure, it was suffocating, but this was what she’d been preparing for her entire life. Finding a gentleman who’d steal her heart and then marry her and make her the mistress of his estates.

  “Of course, I would. But so far, everyone who asked for my hand was either thrice my age or in insurmountable gambling debt,” Olivia said while biting on her forefinger. She didn’t seem to be able to stand still.

  “I’ve heard Viscount Landen withdrew your dowry to encourage genuine offers,” Caroline chimed in. At Annalise’s questioning look, she smiled. “I make it my duty to know all things. And if I may offer a piece of advice? If you want to attract gentlemen, you need gowns done to fashion. I mean no offense, and I could help you if you wish. My modiste’s the best in town.”

  “I can barely stand still in this one. The gowns made to fashion make me wish I could crawl out of my skin. And I am afraid a change of gowns would not help. This is my fifth season. The reason I am not married has little to do with gowns and everything to do with my lack of social grace.”

  Annalise grimaced at the direct way the lady spoke about her failings. She had read society gossip sheets and saw the caricatures about Graceless Livvie, which was what they called Miss Olivia. She was the opposite of what society dictated a lady should be. She talked out of turn, was fidgety and restless, and never remembered faces or names, which resulted in several instances of her committing a faux pas, which, in turn, rendered her unmarriageable by society’s definition.

  Caroline was the opposite—always calm and collected, always knowing what to say or do—she was perfect. Except she abhorred the idea of marriage and, in her first season, had already rejected over half a dozen suitors.

  “Isn’t there at least one gentleman who doesn’t make you feel awkward and perhaps makes your heart flutter?” Annalise asked Miss Olivia.

  Caroline smirked. “Oh, Annalise, you and your romantic notions.”

  “There might be,” Olivia answered, surprising them both. “But since he is yet to propose, I am to remain a spinster until that day comes.”

  A gentleman bowed before Caroline and offered his arm. Caroline gave her friends a fleeting smile and walked onto the dancefloor.

  “Well, the dance has started, which means nobody is paying us any heed. Olivia, would you care to join me on the patio?” Annalise asked, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

  Olivia shook her head. “Thank you, but my parents would never allow it.”

  “Very well, but you will be envious of me in a moment when I am gulping the fresh air,” Annalise said with a wink and slipped outside.

  She took a deep breath of midnight air and let out a sigh.

  This wasn’t exactly how she pictured her come-out in her dreams. Somehow, when thinking about a ball, she imagined a magical palace and gentlemen lined up to kiss her hand. She would see the man of her dreams and recognize him as that immediately.

  This suffocating room full of old lords and gossiping matrons was not what she had imagined. At least she’d managed to make a couple of new friends. But she wished Lavinia were with her too. A year younger, Lavinia was yet to make a come-out. She’d been left behind in Essex, looking forward to hearing stories from Annalise. Stories, Annalise feared, which would consist of her standing by the pillar and analyzing her abysmal success.

  Annalise’s parents would not forgive her if she didn’t make an acceptable match in her first season. They’d poured tremendous amounts of money into this season, bought her a trousseau, organized an exquisite come-out ball mere days after her eighteenth birthday. Now it was her time to return the favor and secure a marriage proposal before the end of the season. Thankfully, she still had several weeks to meet the expectations of her parents and form a beneficial alliance.

  She was not a wallflower. A few gentlemen had asked for a dance or promenade around the room. Annalise knew all the etiquette rules, and she’d performed them well so f
ar. But she wasn’t as perfect as Caroline. She had trouble remembering most of her suitors’ names and was mortified to ask them to repeat them, afraid to become the second Graceless Livvie and remain forever a spinster, humiliated by the society gossips.

  She took a deep breath again. No need for those thoughts to bother her now. She was alone at last, and she was determined to enjoy it.

  “Not the smartest thing for a debutante, to be found alone, unchaperoned on the patio,” came a gravelly smooth masculine voice from behind her.

  Or not so alone. “I am not unchaperoned.” Annalise turned to face the stranger. “You are here, aren’t you?”

  The gentleman laughed, a deep rumbling sound that held her mesmerized. “I am far from a chaperone, believe me. With me around, you need at least two.”

  “Are you a rake then?” She tilted her head, studying the man in front of her. He was tall, slim, and elegant. He wore a deep green coat and a waistcoat, embroidered with golden thread and matching breeches. His clothing was tailored to precisely fit his build. His skin was snow white, his facial features almost too handsome, his white powdered wig lay about his shoulders in waves. He stepped closer, looming over her, and then sketched a perfect bow.

  “Viscount Moore, at your service.” He looked at her, his dark eyes roaming over her form in a fashion that made her want to squirm under his perusal.

  “Miss Annalise Ardee.” She curtsied and ducked her head, hiding her gaze.

  “Annalise. What a beautiful name,” he said in a low, husky voice. The sound of her Christian name on his lips sent butterflies fluttering low in her belly.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “And what is your Christian name?” She was surprised by her boldness in asking that of a complete stranger.

  He gave her a queer look for a moment before answering, “Blake.”

  He stepped even closer, all the while studying her face. Annalise fisted her hands in her skirts to hide their shaking. Her palms were perspiring, and his closeness sent a strange quiver through her body. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her rioting nerves, only to inhale the scent of his spicy, masculine cologne.