A Return of the Wicked Earl

by Sadie Bosque

  He leaned closer to her then, and she licked her dry lips. His gaze immediately dropped to her mouth.

  “Miss Annalise,” he said in a husky voice. “Would you do me the honor of allowing me to court you?”

  Annalise bit on her lip and looked at him through her lashes. “Would you do it in a proper fashion?” she asked, her voice breathy.

  “Absolutely not.” He looked into her eyes, and Annalise felt as though he stared right through to her soul.

  She swallowed. “Then absolutely yes.”

  Blake dipped his head and took her mouth in a scorching kiss.

  Chapter 5

  Music flowed around Annalise, surrounding her with beauty, peace, and love. She’d always felt peaceful when she played. This new melody struck a special chord in her heart, however. It reminded her of Blake.

  The tragedy, her sorrow, and everything else they went through seeped out of her fingers and onto the keys of the pianoforte. The precious moments between her and Blake passed before her eyes. Their first meeting, the courting, the betrothal ball. The happiness that had been too fleeting. And then came the cold season of winter. The stormy nights spent alone in bed, worrying about him and worrying even more if he’d been spending those nights with another. The way he’d changed right after marriage had cracked her fragile heart, but what had happened later had broken it to pieces.

  So immersed was she in the hauntingly beautiful melody and in the sorrows of her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed anyone enter the room. It was only after she tapped the last key on the pianoforte and the echo of the note stopped reverberating through the room that she felt a presence behind her.

  Annalise stiffened and turned slowly. A tear streaked down her cheek, and she wiped it away discreetly before raising her head.

  Blake stood in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the doorframe, his arms folded on his chest. He was in his shirtsleeves, no coat, waistcoat, or cravat, sleeves rolled up on his forearms, displaying his arm muscles and his bulging chest and shoulders.

  Blake had always been a large man, but he had never been muscular, not in the way he was now. His forearms were dark and tanned, and a couple of veins popped under his skin. Annalise forced her eyes to meet his gaze. His face was thoughtful, almost tragically so. His wide lips puffed out—as they always did when he was lost deep in thought—his eyes narrowed. What could he be thinking about? As the silence stretched between them, Annalise started to feel uneasy.

  “Is there something you wanted?” she asked, just to dispel the tension between them. It hadn’t quite worked, because his gaze intensified on her.

  “Is that original?” He tipped his head toward the pianoforte.

  Annalise turned back at the instrument before returning her gaze to his. “No. It’s Antonio Vivaldi.”

  “Let me guess. Italian,” he said with a grin.

  “Yes. It’s one of his latest and less popular works. At least on this side of the English Channel, I don’t know if it’s well-received in Italy.” She paused. “I personally think it’s hauntingly beautiful.”

  “Very,” Blake said without taking his eyes off her.

  Annalise cleared her throat, uncomfortable under his intense perusal. “I heard it once and couldn’t get it out of my head. But I couldn’t find the sheet music for it anywhere.” She clamped her lips shut, wishing she hadn’t said anything at all.

  “How did you find it?” he asked and stepped inside the room. He walked slowly toward Annalise, looking around.

  Annalise licked her lips. “Kensington brought it to me as a betrothal present.”

  Blake halted in his tracks. His head snapped back to look at her. Annalise sat still, waiting for his jealous diatribe, but there was just silence.

  “It’s called ‘L’inverno,’” she whispered. “Winter.”

  Blake unclenched his jaw with an effort and resumed looking about the room as if seeing it for the first time. “You’ve redecorated here,” he said, circling the room with his gaze.

  “Yes,” Annalise said tightly. “A month after we married.”

  “A month—” His gaze returned to hers, puzzled at first, then she saw as the realization dawned on him.

  She’d decorated this room while he was still in London. While they were still, technically, honeymooning. Or at least they should have been.

  He came closer and then swung his leg around the bench and sat astride, facing her. He was sitting so close that his inner thigh brushed against her knee, and his breath stirred the wisps of hair at her temples. His closeness, after such a long time spent in loneliness, sent pleasurable shivers down her spine. But with pleasure came the sense of uneasiness, discomfort. What did he want from her?

  “I love to listen to you play,” he said and brushed a tendril of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Annalise felt another shiver pass through her, just as she felt a tingle low in her belly. “Did I ever tell you that?” Blake’s voice turned low and gravelly.

  She knew he’d done it on purpose. But why? Was he trying to seduce her?

  “No,” she answered before swallowing hard.

  His eyes followed the ripple in her throat, then ventured lower, and Annalise felt her pulse quicken.

  “I was an idiot,” he said, still staring at her bosom.

  She was wearing a regular day gown, but it had a low-cut neckline, and she felt naked under his intense perusal. Perhaps, she should only wear gowns with high necklines from now on. At least until she got used to Blake’s presence in the house. The way he looked at her was as if he wanted to devour her.

  It was a pleasurable feeling, to be wanted again, to be admired. She had wished for that every day after their wedding night. She wasn’t ready for that now, though.

  Blake finally lifted his gaze back to her face and raised his hand as if to touch her again, but Annalise flinched, and he stopped mid-motion. He closed his eyes in agony as he swore and stood from the bench.

  “I thought we might want to start attending social events,” he said, walking back toward the exit. “Start dispelling some rumors, show up together, smile politely at the lords and ladies.” He stopped at the door and turned back to her.

  “I think you’re right.”

  “How about a ride in the park? Tomorrow.”

  Annalise wanted to refuse. Her instincts screamed at her not to trust him. But she’d promised to give him a chance. And even if she intended to keep him at arm’s length, she needed to keep her promise.

  She cleared her throat. “I think it will go a long way toward dispelling some rumors. You need to be prepared, though. People will ask a lot of questions.”

  “Do not fret. I am versed at steering the subject to other pastures.”

  Yes, I am well aware. “An afternoon in the park is a good start. But we received many invitations for the upcoming gatherings. And they’ve doubled since your return. Would you like to take a look at them and decide which social engagement will be our first one to attend?”

  He frowned thoughtfully. “I am not certain I am the best person to do this. How about you pick a gathering you’d like to attend? I am convinced you’ll do far better than me.”

  Annalise smiled tightly. “I shall think on it. I also think it is important for us to host a ball. To celebrate your official return home.”

  “Hmm.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You are right. Perhaps about a month from now?”

  A month wasn’t a long time to prepare for a ball. But it would give her something to do with herself besides agonize about Blake’s return.

  “As you wish,” she said.

  Blake gave a swift smile. He paused then, hesitating at the door. “I would like to ask you another favor. I know I do not deserve it, but I’d like to spend more time with you if you’ll allow it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When we just married, one of the things that drove us apart was that we barely saw each other.”

  And whose fault was
that?

  Blake grimaced uncomfortably as if he’d heard her thought. “I am not asking for much. Just your company during the morning meal and supper.”

  Annalise licked her lips. Perhaps it wasn’t much for him, but it meant too much for Annalise. It was all she’d wanted of their marriage back when it just started. But he rarely spent evenings at home and even fewer mornings. On the rare occasions he spent nights home, he came in so late that he slept through the morning meals. But it wasn’t like Annalise had anywhere to go. So she conceded.

  The meals were not the most frightening part of living with Blake, though. There was a question that had plagued her from the moment they struck the deal. She wished she didn’t have to ask, but a mix of hope and distress settled in the pit of her stomach.

  “Do you… Do you plan on coming to my bed?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  She didn’t know which answer she dreaded more, yes or no. But she’d rather hear it now.

  He narrowed his eyes on her as if trying to decipher her thoughts. “Not unless you want me to,” he finally answered.

  She swallowed. “Not just yet.”

  “It might be winter in our relationship right now,” he said and tipped his head at the pianoforte. “But spring will come, eventually.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

  * * *

  Not just yet. The words rang in his mind as Blake entered his room. They haunted him as he performed his nightly ablutions and settled into his soft, warm bed. He lay there awake, running every interaction he’d had with Annalise since his return in his mind.

  When Annalise had asked him whether he was planning to come to her bed, her face was vulnerable, her eyes full of doubt.

  Blake couldn’t fault her, really. The only two times he’d come to her bed, he hadn’t been exactly gentle, nor had he been eager to please. Hell, he hadn’t even been sober. Blake was determined to make her forget those sordid memories and replace them with pleasant ones. Blissful ones.

  He listened to the sounds coming from her bedroom as she prepared for bed. The light dimmed, and he turned to see that his bedside candles were burning out. How many candles had he gone through since his return?

  He sat up and massaged the tense muscles of his neck. He was fooling himself. He wasn’t going to sleep in this bed tonight either.

  Blake picked up the candle and sauntered out of the room. He entered the study, lit more candles, and grated the hearth. The brighter it was, the better he would feel.

  When the night came, his mind always drifted to the darker memories. He tried pushing them aside and thinking of Annalise, but the darkness, the loneliness, had an unwanted effect on him.

  Well, if his mind insisted on remembering the horrid events, perhaps he could make use of them. He took a sketchbook and a pencil, settling on the settee in front of the hearth. His mind revolted at the idea of remembering someone who’d inflicted terrible pain on him. It was over a year ago, and he had been under extreme duress at the time, and as good as Blake’s memory usually was, it didn’t cooperate now. But he had to.

  If these people knew Blake was back, they would undoubtedly try to get to him again. This time, they would probably just kill him and throw his corpse in the Thames. And this was a best-case scenario.

  What if they hurt Annalise instead?

  No. He wouldn’t let that happen.

  He rotated the pencil in his hand and started sketching. The only thug he remembered clearly was the one who came to him the most. He was burly and tall. He delighted in torturing Blake, and his voice was stuck in Blake’s head. But as he started sketching him, his face eluded him. It was covered in shadows.

  It didn’t help that every time Blake tried to recall his captors, he remembered all the things they did to him. His breathing grew shallow, and sweat started appearing on his forehead.

  His vision blurred, and the light flickered in the room. Blake fought to keep his eyes open, but it was a struggle. His chin lowered to his chest, and his head grew heavy.

  Suddenly, Blake felt the burning sensation on his skin. Then his blood slowly dripped down his chest. Blake opened his eyes and saw as the thug applied more pressure on his flesh with the knife. His shirt was missing, and his chest was shredded to ribbons and covered with blood. Blake’s breathing turned frantic, and he clamped his lips shut so as not to cry.

  “He won’t talk,” came the gravelly voice of a thug in front of him. The man bent at the waist and peered into Blake’s face. “Are you awake, mate?” he asked right to his face, a nasty, rotten smell wafting from his mouth.

  Blake grimaced in disgust.

  “He’s awake, all right,” the thug told someone behind him.

  As the bandit moved, Blake saw a silhouette of a man in front of a small window. A few strands of light were peering through, outlining the man, but shadowing his face, so it was impossible to make out what he looked like. The man took a step forward.

  Sweat dripped from Blake’s forehead into his eye, and he blinked, his vision blurring in front of him.

  “Take his tongue then,” came a familiar cultured voice.

  Blake narrowed his eyes, trying hard to make out who the silhouette belonged to. The thug laughed like a madman at the words. He stepped in front of Blake and took his face in his dirty hands. He held Blake’s neck at an uncomfortable angle, prying open his mouth. Blake clenched his teeth together and clamped his mouth shut, trying to twist away.

  “Don’t fight it, Blake,” the voice came from behind the thug.

  Suddenly, everything changed. The dirty bandit disappeared, and the lights started flickering in the room as if the wind was blowing out the torches. What is going on?

  Blake cocked his head to the side as the man by the window stepped into the light, revealing his face. Jarvis.

  “If you won’t talk,” he said slowly. “Then we shall have to alter our approach.”

  He tipped his head to the side. Blake turned, and his eyes widened in horror. Annalise, dirty and bloodied, was tied up to a chair in front of him.

  Blake tried to scream, but his voice wouldn’t come out.

  He jerked awake and sat up on the settee.

  The sketchbook fell from his lap to the floor with a loud thump. Cold sweat ran down his forehead. His breathing was heavy and irregular.

  He was back home. It was just a dream.

  He looked around to make certain everything was where it was supposed to be. He was in his study, and Annalise was peacefully sleeping in her bed. His hand instantly went to the locket and he rubbed it between his fingers.

  He stood, his neck muscles aching from the uncomfortable position he’d spent the night in. He needed to see Annalise and make certain she was all right. That dream had frightened the devil out of him.

  Was it even a dream? Or was it part of his memory resurfacing? Could the man behind his capture really be one of his best friends?

  And would he, or whoever his captors were, dare to take his Annalise, now that Blake was back? He wouldn’t let that happen. No matter how things stood between him and his wife, he had no intention of letting her out of his sight.

  He jerked his head toward the mantelpiece; it was half-past noon.

  Damn. They were supposed to spend the morning meal together. How did he expect to keep her safe when he couldn’t even keep his promises? He had been looking forward to sharing a meal with her, feasting his eyes upon her the first thing in the morning, bathing in her light and innocence. Instead, he’d probably alienated her again.

  Blake readjusted his banyan, scrubbed his face with his hands, and ventured out of the study. He hurried toward the dining room, and the moment he opened the door, almost collided with Annalise.

  She started with a squeak and put a hand to her chest, panting. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open.

  “Good morning,” Blake rasped and cleared his throat.

  “Good morning.”

  “Are you already done with breakfast?”

 
“Yes, Blake. It’s afternoon,” she said accusingly.

  “Apologies. I-I didn’t sleep well and…” He raked a hand through his hair. “Please forgive me.”

  She raised her brow, then dropped her gaze to his rumpled appearance.

  “I shall make it up to you. I promise,” he said with a smile, but Annalise gave him a look full of doubt.

  He couldn’t fault her. In a way, he was proud of his wife, that she didn’t let him off easily. After all, when was the last time he kept his promises?

  “Do you want to reschedule our outing in the park?” she asked.

  “No,” he said hastily. “Do not reschedule. I’ll have some coffee, change, and we can go. Will you meet me downstairs in an hour?”

  Annalise gave him a reluctant nod. “Of course,” she said and walked away.

  Well, that wasn’t the enthusiastic response he was hoping for, but that would have to do.

  * * *

  They rode in silence all the way to the park. Blake seemed distracted and on edge. Something was definitely bothering him. But it’s not like he would tell her what that was. When they were courting, Annalise had an illusion that she could talk to him about anything. She thought once they married, there would never be silence between them.

  Oh, how wrong she’d been, how naïve.

  Blake cleared his throat as if he heard her thoughts. Or perhaps the deafening silence between them bothered him, too.

  “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” he asked.

  “Caroline, the Marquess of Roth’s niece, holds a nuncheon every Tuesday.” Annalise paused and then added with an apologetic smile, “Ladies only. I do not want to miss today, because I can imagine I shall spend all afternoons starting tomorrow entertaining callers. I can guarantee we shall have our drawing room full of town gossips after this outing. Everybody must be intrigued by your sudden reappearance.”