What the Earl Needs Now (The Earls Next Door Book 2)
Page 1
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
With special thanks . . .
Excerpt: Good Earls Don’t Lie
OTHER BOOKS BY MICHELLE WILLINGHAM
About the Author
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2017
Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
With special thanks . . .
Excerpt: Good Earls Don’t Lie
OTHER BOOKS BY MICHELLE WILLINGHAM
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
London, England
Summer 1846
Lily Thornton reached for the doorknob and turned it. Inside, the room was dark, save for the fire at the hearth and a single candle burning on the mantel. The drapes were closed, shutting out the world.
“May I come in?” she asked softly.
There was no answer. She opened the door a little wider, uncertain of whether she should enter. Matthew Larkspur, the Earl of Arnsbury, had returned from India only days ago after her brother had accompanied him home. James had warned her not to visit him, for Lord Arnsbury had been captured and tortured by the enemy. He is not the man you once knew, he’d warned.
But he is my husband, she reassured herself. Even if no one else knew it but them, she had every right to see him. She took a single step into the darkness, wondering how badly he had been hurt.
Lord Arnsbury was seated in a large wingback chair a short distance from the fire. In the shadows, she could not see his face—only the outline of a man with his head lowered. In his posture, she sensed pain, mingled with frustration. Tension stretched out in the room, and she wondered if she should call out to his mother or a footman to join her as a chaperone. Both were lingering nearby in the hallway.
“Matthew, it’s Lily,” she murmured.
She prayed that when he heard her voice, it would break the spell of melancholy and bring him back. The silence grew heavier, and for a moment, she doubted herself.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she said. “Are you all right?” See me. Know that I love you and always have.
At last, he raised his head, and it felt as if she were facing a wounded tiger. “Go away.”
His voice was slurred, and she heard the traces of pain within it. Upon an end table beside the chair, she saw a glass. Had he been drinking? Or perhaps he had taken laudanum to help him sleep.
She ignored his command and pulled a chair across from him, sitting so close, he could touch her. Her heart was beating hard, and her emotions were tightly strung up inside her. With a glance toward the door, she saw that Lady Arnsbury was standing just beyond the door, allowing them a measure of privacy while still chaperoning her.
Lily spoke in the softest whisper, not wanting anyone to overhear her. “I am so glad you’ve returned,” she said. “I’ve waited so long.”
But again, he said nothing. It was as if he were a stranger, a man haunted by visions she could not see. His hands clenched the arms of his chair, and he demanded, “I want to be alone.”
His assertion wounded her deeply. “I am your wife,” she whispered. “How can you ask me to go? After all that we’ve meant to one another.”
“I have no wife,” he gritted out.
His head dropped forward, and for a breathless moment, she felt numb inside. The silver chain around her neck seemed to weigh against her throat. She withdrew it from her bodice and showed him the gold signet ring. It was his ring, the one his grandfather had given him when he was a boy.
“What do you mean, you have no wife?” Tears gathered in her eyes, and a wrenching fear gripped her. Her heart was pounding so hard, she felt physically ill.
Matthew leaned forward and stared at her. His brown eyes were dilated, chips of flint in a face made of stone. Gone was the rakish earl she had known, and in his place was a man filled with suffering. She searched his expression for some sign of affection, some glimmer of hope for them. But there was not even a hint of recognition, and it hardly seemed as if he’d understood a word she’d said.
“Leave me,” he demanded.
The logical response would be to obey him, to wait another day until he was feeling better. It was clear that he was lost in his torment, and he needed time.
She didn’t know what had happened to Matthew, but she would not turn away from him in his time of need. They would face this together and overcome it.
Lily reached out to touch his cheek. She stroked the dark bristle of his beard, not caring that he appeared so rough and unkempt. He had been to Hades and back again. Even his hair was longer than usual, and she suspected he hadn’t cut it. Across his left cheek was a slash, a healing wound that seemed to have been cut with a curved sword.
“I promised I would never leave you,” she said, stroking the outline of his face. “And you promised to take care of me. Don’t you remember?”
At that, he caught her wrist and stood. He was so tall, she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. His clothing hung against his frame, and the sharpness in his features suggested that he’d known hunger during his time in India.
“How could I promise such a thing?” A faint note of irony creased his expression. “Especially when I have never seen you before in my life.”
The floor seemed to drop out from beneath her, and blood rushed through her cheeks. “I don’t understand.” Her throat tightened at the words. How was it possible for him to forget her? Her brother had said nothing about memory loss.
He started to sit down again, but he swayed like a man intoxicated before he stumbled into the chair, caught in a drugged haze. Something was not right, and she hoped that somehow she could alleviate his pain.
Lord Arnsbury glared down at her and pointed toward the door. “I don’t know your face, and I don’t know who you are. But I want you gone from here. Now.”
She was paralyzed at his words, frozen in place. Then he took her by the wrist and forced her to rise, pushing her toward the door. “I said go!”
He released her only when she was beyond the doorframe, and then he slammed the door in her face.
Lily touched the wood, her fingers shaking. Oh dear God. Tears flowed freely over her face, for she’d never imagined this response from the man she loved.
Now what? she thought. This wasn’t at all the homecoming she’d anticipated. She’d mistakenly thought that she could help him recover from his wounds, remaining at his side as a loving wife.
But he didn’t even remember her face.
His body ached, and his mind was so weary, his eyesight blurred. How long had it been since he’d slept? Matthew couldn’t remember. His days and nights blended together until he could not tell reality from dreams.
He dimly recalled the rocking motion of a ship and nights when he was racked with pain and fever. James Thornton, the Earl of Penford, had brought him back from India, but sometimes Matthew wished his best friend had left him to die. He was a shell of a man, tormented by visions of the past.
He ran his hands over his beard, feeling invisible hands choking him. The candlelight speared his eyes, and he closed them, wanting to escape the horrors of his imagination.
But Lily’s scent lingered.
He had lied, for he did remember her. At least partly. His memories remained fragmented after the nightmarish journey from India. He knew she was James’s younger sister, a kindhearted woman who loved animals. Just as she had loved him, years ago.
Even her scent reminded him of lilies. Pure and white, surrounding him with the softness of an angel. In the candlelight, he’d glimpsed brown hair gleaming with gold and red. Her eyes were hazel, brown with hints of green. And they had looked upon him with love and yearning.
Matthew lowered his face in his hands, breathing slowly, until all traces of Lily were gone. His head was pounding, and the very room was spinning.
His mind felt clouded over by laudanum until he could hardly distinguish dreams from memories. It felt as if he had stepped back into another man’s life. And though he’d recognized Charlotte Larkspur, the woman who had embraced him and called him her son, she felt like a stranger. The servants called him the Earl of Arnsbury, and there was evidence of wealth within this house.
But he would turn his back on all of it if it meant an escape from the nightmares.
Pain had been a part of each day for the past year. His captors had burned the soles of his feet, scarring the flesh until now he hardly felt anything at all when he walked. Sometimes, when the weather changed, his leg ached from where his captors had broken it. And then there was the healing cut upon his cheek, a mild sting he hardly noticed.
Though his physical wounds had mostly healed, his mind had not. If he dared to close his eyes, he relived the agony of their torture, hour by hour.
It seemed incongruous, trying to return to his former life as an earl, attending soirees and taking his seat in the House of Lords. He felt utterly alone, and he didn’t want to drag anyone else down into the torture he’d endured—least of all a beautiful young woman who had done nothing wrong except fall in love with him.
It was as if his mind and spirit had shut down, locked away with no emotions remaining. But amid the chaos, his thoughts drifted back to Lady Lily. The light touch of her fingers upon his face had jolted him back to the present. Like a siren, she beckoned him to follow her out of the darkness.
And he wondered if he dared to take the first step.
Lily returned home to her family’s townhouse and found her brother, James, in the drawing room, staring out the window at the London streets. His face and hands were tanned from the hot India sun, and he, too, had shadows in his eyes.
“You look tired, James.” She came up behind him and embraced him. He turned and gave her a crushing hug.
“I am. I’ve hardly slept in two years.” He mussed her hair with affection and stepped back. Despite his good humor, the journey to India had changed her brother, too—she could see it in his eyes.
“Would you like something to eat?”
He nodded. “I haven’t eaten real food in weeks. And afterward, I intend to sleep for a fortnight.”
Her brother didn’t sit down but returned to the window, staring outside. She waited a few moments for him to speak, and when he didn’t, she voiced her true concern. “What happened to Lord Arnsbury while you were in India?”
James ignored the question. “I suppose you went to see him, didn’t you? Even though I warned you against it.”
“You knew I would. But you never said anything about his memory loss.”
Her brother let out a sigh and turned back to her. “God only knows what he remembers, Lily. We had to sedate him during the voyage. I don’t know what the sailors gave him. Probably opium mixed with alcohol. I doubt he would remember much of anything after that.” He studied her with sympathy. “I know you cared for him, Lily. But he’s very different from the man you knew before.”
There was a long pause, and Lily waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she prompted him once more. “What happened?”
He rested his palm against the glass window, hiding his face from her. “Suffice it to say, Matthew is lucky he survived. He was captured and tortured for information about the British troops.”
She frowned at that. “But neither of you was in the army. Why would they take you prisoner?”
James shook his head. “We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. They believed that because we were English, we must know something about the war.”
Her gut twisted as she imagined what Matthew had endured. “Will he be all right?”
“No one knows the answer to that question. Least of all me.” James’s shoulders lowered, and he turned back to her. “Some wounds don’t heal, Lily. And right now, it would be best if you stayed away from him. Let him convalesce with his family.”
She had no intention of doing so. It would take time, yes, but she’d spoken vows, promising to love him in sickness and in health. There had to be a way to break through his nightmares, to help him recover.
“You’re not going to listen to a word I say, are you?” James sighed.
“If, by that, you mean will I stay away from him? No. I will not leave him.” She moved forward to stand beside him. “Any more than I would leave you.”
There was bleakness in his eyes, and he swallowed hard. “I’m alive, and we made it back to England. That’s all that matters.”
She took his hand in hers. “And what about you, James? What became of you in India?”
He remained silent. “I am not going to talk about it. I would rather hear about what I’ve missed these past two years.”
She hesitated, uncertain of how to begin. “After Father died, we tried to send word. I don’t suppose you received any of our letters.”
James shook his head. “None. But then, we were traveling across India.”
After a pause, she admitted, “I was afraid you might never return. We didn’t know what became of you, and I feared the worst.”
He let out a slow breath. “So did I, for a time. But I am here now, and I will do what I can to atone for my earlier absence.” James put his arm around her and said, “I know I’ve been gone for a while, Lily. But I will do what I can to set things to rights.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I would not hold out hope for Arnsbury, though. He endured far worse than me.”
“I love him,” she murmured. “And I have nothing but hope.”
James lowered his gaze and shook his head. “I fear he can do nothing but break your heart, Lily. He’s lost in a world of his own nightmares.”
She faced her brother. “Then I will bring him back to this world. No matter how long it takes.”
Over the past few days, Matthew’s memories had begun to return. He had ceased taking any medicines, for the sleeping draughts were causing hallucinations. But the depr
ivation made his hands tremble, and his head ached.
Still, he preferred clarity to the haze of forgetfulness. He sat in a wingback chair while his mother stood at the far side of the room.
“Matthew, please,” she pleaded gently. “If you would just eat something, it might help.” She pointed toward the breakfast tray on the end table beside him.
But his stomach twisted at the thought of food. He couldn’t bring himself to eat, though he vaguely recalled his friend James forcing him to choke down stale bread on the voyage to England.
His tongue was dry, and he reached for the glass of water. The taste of it quenched his thirst, but his hands trembled against the cup. “I am not hungry,” he said. “Leave me.”
Charlotte ignored him and crossed the room. When she reached the window, she opened the drapes. The sunlight filled up the room, and he squinted at the brightness. “There, now. That’s better.”
She was wrong. The sunlight burned his eyes, reminding him of the hot India sun against the Thar Desert. The yellow sand had seared his skin, while the dust had choked his lungs. He drank more water in memory of the arid wasteland.
“Close the drapes, please.”
“You’ve been in darkness for two days now. I know you’re not feeling well, but the doctor says—”
“He knows nothing. And I won’t take his medicines.” The man had only given him laudanum, which dulled his senses.
“I’ll bring another doctor to help you. Perhaps Dr. Fraser.”
The name did sound familiar, and Matthew tried to place the man.
“He and his wife are visiting London,” Charlotte continued. “I could ask them to stop in, if you like. I know Juliette would be delighted to see you.”
He recalled now that the Scottish doctor was married to his godmother and cousin, Juliette. When Matthew tried to envision Juliette’s face, he recalled that she had brown hair touched with gold and a few silver strands. She had green eyes, he was certain. And she had always been kind to him.
But then, the idea of facing more guests made him weary. “No, thank you.”
“Matthew, you cannot do this to yourself.” Charlotte stiffened, her hands clenched together. “You are home again and safe. Please, just try to get well. I cannot bear to see you suffer.”