Chapter Four

November 6, 1817

Culpepper House

Berkley Square, Mayfair

London, England

Throughout the previous night, Annabelle had worried and wondered how the Earl of Hazelton had fared on his own. For the first time, she wished her brother was in residence so that she could seek his counsel as well as to ask for more background surrounding the man.

By the time the noon hour struck, she felt far too restless to sit at home, so she took a hired hack to the earl’s residence and didn’t give much thought as to whether such a call was scandalous or not since she didn’t bring a maid or a companion. Not that the ton would be surprised by her behavior—it had been why her brother had sent her to the country to begin with—but Cornelius might be disappointed.

It can’t be helped.

A butler of indeterminate years answered her knock.

“Miss Harding to see the earl, please.”

He frowned at her. “His Lordship isn’t well. He is not seeing visitors.”

When the door began to close, Annabelle put a gloved palm to the panel, stopping it. “I am the person who found Lord Hazelton in Hyde Park last night. If it wasn’t for me, he could have been preyed upon further or even rendered dead, and quite frankly, I’m worried about him.” She blinked away the quick tears that stung her eyes. “I would feel better if I could see for myself that he is well.”

For long moments, the butler assessed her with his faded blue gaze fixed on hers from over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. Finally, he nodded. “You may enter, but the earl is with his private physician presently. He shouldn’t be disturbed.”

Hardly daring to believe the boon granted, Annabelle darted into the entry hall, and as her heartbeat pounded through her veins, she said, “I’ve taken your words under advisement but have found the need to believe the evidence of my own eyes more important than that.” Wagering on the fact the earl was in his private rooms, she ran toward the marble staircase, and as the butler called half-heartedly after her, she lightly trotted up the treads to the third level.

From there, it was a relatively simple task to locate his suite of rooms, for the door off the corridor was half open. She arrived in a bedchamber tastefully decorated in shades of navy, mauve, and gold. It was an exceedingly masculine space filled with heavy, cherry wood furnishings and decorated with oil paintings of English countryside scenes hanging in gilt frames.

Both Andrew and an older man glanced up upon seeing her.

“Miss Harding.” A soft grin curved the earl’s lips, and the gesture was so genuine, flutters went through her lower belly. “You’re here.” When the older man harrumphed, he sighed. “This is Doctor Carsons. He has attended to my needs for the better part of fifteen years.”

She nodded to the man. “Hullo.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” the doctor said in a gruff voice with an even gruffer expression.

The earl huffed. “Miss Harding was the one who found me in the park last night.” He touched his fingertips to the bruising on his cheek and temple, but at least the bandage from yesterday was gone from about his head. “Without her, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Very well.” Doctor Carsons nodded. He cleared his throat. “As I was about to say before we were interrupted, your memory might never return, but you should certainly do the things you have regularly done in the hopes it will help your memories to come back.”

Concern creased the earl’s brow. “I can’t remember anything about my life, so how can I do my regular routine?”

She agreed that it made no sense, but at least it was a start. “Thank you for taking such close care of the earl, Doctor. I will counsel Lord Hazelton on doing exactly as you say.” With an encouraging nod, she gestured to the door. “He will send for you if he should need your again.”

Surprise reflected on the older man’s face. “Your Lordship, do you concur with Miss Harding’s statement?”

“I do,” Andrew answered without hesitation. “Thank you.”

It was a task to mask her amusement while the physician packed up his instruments then picked up his black bag.

“Very well. I shall pay you another visit next week to check your progress.” With his nose in the air, the doctor left the room, leaving her alone with the earl.

“I’m glad you are here, Miss Harding,” he said with a return of that charming grin. “It’s felt far too empty here, and I’ve been far too alone, like a stranger in a strange land.”

Oh, dear.

Belatedly, Annabelle realized she probably shouldn’t be standing in this man’s bedchamber with him. “Perhaps we should order tea. You look as if you could use a good dose of calm. Especially after that news, hmm?” If the same thing had happened to her, she would have been quite upset and possibly inconsolable.

“That sounds like a fine idea.”

She nodded. “Would you like to lead the way?”

A ruddy flush crept up his neck into his cheeks. “I’m afraid I’m not as familiar with the layout of the house as I should be, but if you wish to bumble along with me, I would be delighted to escort you.”

“Poor thing.” Taking pity on him, she went to the navy velvet bell pull and gave it a good tug. “Perhaps instead we should take a tour. It might help with your missing memories.”

“Anything is possible at this point.”

When a footman arrived at the door, Annabelle was already in the corridor beyond.

“Please ready a tea tray and set it up in the drawing room. His Lordship and I are going to tour the house in an effort to jar his memory back into place before we partake in tea.”

“Of course, Miss…?” Confusion reflected on the young footman’s face.

“Miss Harding,” she said with a nod. “I shall keep the earl company for a bit before we go out for the afternoon.” For she meant to take him over to the boxing salon, propriety be damned. Making this man whole was more important than observing the arbitrary rules of a prejudiced society.

“I’ll see to it myself, Miss Harding.”

As the footman scuttled off, she glanced at Andrew.

“We might as well get to it. What did you do once you arrived home yesterday afternoon?”

He shrugged as he fell into step with her toward the stairs. “Those men from the Rogue’s Arcade club talked with various members of my staff. I was shown upstairs to my rooms and had a bath drawn. After, I took dinner with the men.”

“Your friends. Those men are your friends. They would do anything for you, or at least that is how I understand your bond through what my brother has said over the years.” Though her imagination was temporarily snagged on the thought of the earl naked and immersed in a bathtub, Annabelle nodded. “Did you sleep well?”

“Fitfully. There are too many worries filling my mind for rest.”

“Understandable.” She led the way to the second floor where a study, the drawing room, and a morning room resided. “This townhouse is lovely. Can you remember the scenes that inspired some of the paintings? They are quite lovely and tranquil. I wouldn’t mind visiting the property depicted in some of them.”

By that time they were inside the drawing room, paused before the vista of a lake with slight fog rising off the surface and a colorful sunrise in the background. The earl peered at it with his hands clasped behind his back. At times, it appeared that he might recognize the place, but then he shook his head.

“I’m sorry. No. I’m seeing it for the first time just as you are.”

“Don’t try to rush it. This will no doubt prove a process.”

Over the course of the next hour, they went slowly through the rooms on that floor before moving on to the library and parlor on the ground level. A few times he became animated as if he either recognized various pieces of art or paintings or even furniture, but then in the end, he grew frustrated.

“I’m sorry but this isn’t working!” Andrew shoved a hand through his hair. He stormed back up the stairs to the drawing room where a silver tea tray waited on a low table. “This is a stranger’s house; it isn’t my home. I have no idea who any of the staff is, don’t recognize anything contained within these walls.” In the center of the room, he turned abruptly to her. “What if I never do? How am I supposed to go on?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Sadly, there was no advice, but when a trace of fear went through his whiskey-hued eyes, her reserve crumbled. “Please don’t fret.”

“That is far too easy for you to say.” Vulnerability etched through his expression as he bounced his gaze between her and the windows. “You aren’t the one being held captive in an empty room, so to speak, with no history and nothing personal to define you.”

“It sounds horrid,” she said on a whisper as she slowly approached him. He was genuinely upset, and she had no idea how to comfort him. Perhaps no one or nothing could. “But I can promise you this: I’ll be there to help you through it if you so desire.” It had been a reasonable assumption, but when he closed the distance between them and enfolded her into his arms, holding her close, an underlying current of attraction between them left her breathless.

“I would enjoy that, suspect I might need it.” The warmth of his breath wafted against the shell of her ear while the sound of his voice rumbled in her chest. Then he immediately released her while clearing his throat. “Uh, Miss Harding, perhaps we should partake in tea.”

“Yes. That seems like the safest thing at this point.” With awareness prickling over her skin, Annabelle stumbled over to the nearest chair and collapsed into it. The man was quite potent even in an embrace that hadn’t been romantic or sexual. “Please, refer to me as Annabelle.”

“I think I prefer Belle. It suits you better.” As he sat on a sofa near her position, he flashed a grin. “Now, how do you take your tea? At least this is something I can make certain to remember while we discuss plans for the afternoon.”

Oh, dear. Too much more of this and I believe I’ll be in a spot of bother, for he’s just the sort of man a lady can fall for.

Once tea had concluded, Annabelle had proposed a trip to DeBeyers Salon, and the earl had agreed with alacrity.

The sound of his voice brought her out of her thoughts. She turned her attention from watching the streets of Mayfair slip slowly past to focus on his handsome face. “I beg your pardon? I was woolgathering. What did you ask me?”

“It is not fair that both of us remain strangers, so I would like to become familiar with you.” He grinned and resettled the brim of his top hat at a rakish angle over his left eye. “How did you reach the age of what, thirty, without being married?”

“Well, you certainly don’t waste time or words.” In many ways, she appreciated his directness as she clasped her hands in her lap. “I have never been what ton matrons would call the ideal society lady.”

The earl snorted. “Is there that much emphasis put on such things?”

“Sadly, and surprisingly? Yes.” A sigh escaped. “If you listen to my brother, he’d tell you I was a walking scandal, and I suppose it’s true. I dislike all the proper things ladies are supposed to be in our world, and I truly detest embroidery and certainly cannot sing.”

“None of that explains why you haven’t been snapped up.”

Heat infused her cheeks. “I’m afraid I’m quite picky on the man I would choose for a husband. Because of that, I refuse to settle merely to avoid being a spinster.” Annabelle shrugged, for she wouldn’t apologize for how she felt. “That being said, I haven’t merely sat about wringing my hands in the hopes a man would take notice of me. I went out and enjoyed myself, had fun, and sometimes that meant finding myself in scandal with a man every now and again.”

Would he know what she referred to without her actually saying it?

“Ah.” To his credit, Andrew didn’t drop his gaze from hers. “There is no shame in enjoying the physical side of life with men, as long as both parties are aware of the possible consequences of those actions.”

She nodded. Relief twisted down her spine when there was no judgment from him. “After a while, my brother grew annoyed with me flaunting the rules, so he packed me off to Essex as punishment in an effort to keep me from the temptations of scandal, but apparently he failed to realize it’s far easier to do what I wish unsupervised.”

A grin tugged at the corners of the earl’s mouth, which caused her regard to slip. Would he ever kiss her again? “Did he recall you to London?”

“He did.” A chuckle slipped from her throat. “In an effort to keep watch and throw hopeful matches my way.” Some of the joviality fell from the conversation. “I don’t wish to marry some ‘mere’ man simply because he is in need of a wife. I want someone who is willing to become an actual partner to me, who will support me in everything I might do in my life.”

“That is understandable and noble.” Then he frowned. “What are your dreams? What sits on your heart the most just waiting to be given permission to move forward?”

No one had ever cared to ask her that before, and the fact that Andrew did wasn’t lost on her. He was a man without an agenda; he had no idea that he should be making connections or securing promises. The earl was a blank slate who could forge his own path, so his interest in her was nothing except genuine. It was both breathtaking and slightly overwhelming.

“I want to help people,” she said in a whisper. “Like I did with you in the park the other night. I might not have skills society wants, but I have talents some of those people need. I can match people with others or services that can heal or help them.” She pressed her lips together. “When a person is at their lowest point, they want to be understood, they want a listening ear, they want support, and until they are ready to request council or aid, I can sit in the silence with them and wait.”

“You do have enormous amounts of patience,” the earl agreed, but one of his eyebrows lifted. “But you are also a woman with an air of making things happen, as if you see puzzle pieces out of order and simply must refit them.”

“What an interesting observation.” There was a certain freedom in telling a stranger about her life and her concerns, and it helped her to feel better about her own failures. “It wasn’t always like that, though. Just as you spoke about consequences, there was exactly that in my life a handful of years ago. I was quite alone with no one to talk with, for my mother is constantly out of sorts with me because I am not proper, married, nor have I given her grandchildren, even though my brother hasn’t the same.”

“Ah.” He frowned. “Where is your brother now?”

“Cornelius is helping Mother settle in Bath. She spends a portion of the winter there to take in the waters and the clearer air.”

“Does she suffer from health problems?”

“Of course not. She only pretends that she does so people will wait on her hand and foot.” Oh, the skeletons in the family closet. “She wasn’t always that demanding, but once my father died, those tendencies came out.”

For long moments, Andrew stared at her. “I remember Timelbury telling us he had a sister who was quite the hoyden. I always wondered if that were true, and tried to hint around that he should introduce us the next time you were in Town.”

They both uttered a gasp.

“What?” Annabelle’s eyes widened. “You can recall that? Or did one of the rogues tell you that last night?”

“No, I remember distinctly when your brother said that.” Surprise reflected on his face. “I can recall Timelbury is your brother but nothing else. That particular memory flitted through my mind without me truly thinking about it.”

Her heartbeat accelerated. “Perhaps relaxing is the key to regaining your memories. We were chatting about matters that had nothing to do with you. Perhaps if we continue to do that in a way where you don’t feel anxious or hopeless, other memories will come to you.” Oh, dear, it was both encouraging and disconcerting at the same time.

“It might be one step closer to solving the mystery of… me.” He gave her the grin that started a butterfly ballet in her belly. “It would seem you do, indeed, know how to help people who desperately need that.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” But her cheeks heated from his praise. For the first time in her adult life, she felt as if she’d found a place where she belonged.

The rest of the trip to the boxing salon was conducted in silence.

“Perhaps I should wait in the carriage,” Annabelle whispered as the vehicle came to a halt on a short side street off Bond Street. “I don’t want to plunge your name into rumor simply because I am a woman, and respectable females do not frequent boxing salons.”

“From what I’ve managed to gather about you, I suspect you are fearless in every avenue of your life. Why should escorting an amnesia victim to one of his favorite haunts be any different?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t.” Though she fretted as he left the carriage and then handed her down the steps.

“However, if you feel strongly about it, you can wait here, and I’ll make certain the driver remains with you for protection.” Without hesitation, the earl proceeded through an unassuming doorway of the equally unassuming building with a plain “No. 6” on a placard on the side.

How did he know where to go? Were some things embedded so deeply into memory or consciousness that one did them without knowing? Interesting. There was no way she would stay behind or let him face any of this alone, for she was all too curious.

“I promised I would accompany you, and so I will,” she said as she trotted up the stairs behind him. Above the door at the top of the stairs, a plain wooden sign bearing the words “DeBeyers Salon” swung in the gentle breeze. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Without hesitation, Andrew opened the door, stood to one side, and let her pass, then closed the panel behind them. Instantly, his body relaxed, and he no longer held himself with the nervous tautness he had since she’d met him.

“I can see why you enjoy spending time here,” she whispered as they moved forward into the acutely masculine space. She wrinkled her nose at the scents of sweat and chalk infiltrated and man in the air. Grunts and groans broke the relative silence, punctuated with barked instructions and corrections of form from a man who was obviously a trainer. Throughout the long, open room, men stood at various stations—punching bags filled with sand or straw—she assumed—were hung from the ceiling where men practiced punches and kicks. Roped off sections that presumably served as rings fascinated her; mats on the floor where basics were taught had a few men doing just that upon them, and wooden contraptions where men built their upper body muscles were being manipulated by two such individuals.

As she and Andrew passed through the room, all activity paused as the men in various states of undress gawked and stared at her, some even went so far as to ogle her. It didn’t matter to Annabelle, for she ignored all of them in favor of taking in the whole atmosphere.

The earl, however, was extremely conscious of the stares. “Stay behind me as much as you can,” he whispered to her and attempted to shield her from the men’s view.

“Pish posh, Your Lordship. Let them look, for I am unattainable.” Still, she was glad for her moss green brocade pelisse that hid her form.

A couple of men hailed him. It took a few moments, but eventually Annabelle recognized the man lying half-dressed on a mat as the Earl of St. Vincent, one of the men who’d taken Andrew home yesterday.

“Oh, dear,” she whispered and didn’t know where to rest her gaze, so she averted her eyes, but every once in a while, peered past the shallow brim of her bonnet.

“St. Vincent.” Andrew nodded to the man. “I’m surprised to see you here, didn’t know you enjoyed fisticuffs.”

Did that mean he remembered? It was too difficult to tell.

“Only upon occasion, but since I’m far too anxious regarding the impending birth of my first child, I thought to pop into this salon and work off some tension.” He accepted the hand a gorgeous man of Caribbean descent offered, and then stood. His gaze shifted to Annabelle. “Miss Harding, you shouldn’t be here, for your own protection and reputation.”

She waved a hand. “It wasn’t that sterling before. Ask my brother when he returns to Town in a couple of days.” Yet knots of worry pulled in her belly. This was deliberately dangling herself in front of the ton tabbies for no discernable payoff.

Amusement danced in the Caribbean man’s eyes as he bounced his gaze between her and both of the earls. “I appreciate her courage.” He turned to her with a wide grin. “I am Loftus Nathaniel Ward, and I’m a part time instructor here.” The veriest hint of a Caribbean accent threaded through his voice.

“Hullo, Mr. Ward.” Annabelle wished Andrew remembered this man, for he looked as if he held a secret or two in those dark brown eyes. Unlike St. Vincent who’d stripped down to breeches, this man wore breeches along with a flowing linen shirt. “I won’t take up much of your time, but I did wish for Lord Hazelton to be back in familiar surroundings in order to help.”

“Ah, yes. St. Vincent has informed me of what happened.” His gaze slipped to Andrew. “It is good to see you, man.” A smile lit the man’s face. “I wondered where you were when you missed our session yesterday.”

“Unavoidable.” Andrew tapped his temple with a finger. “Lost my memories, and Miss Harding thinks if I visit familiar places, I might have them back.”

“I agree with her.” Mr. Ward waved a hand toward one of the empty rings. “Feel like having a friendly round, Hazelton?”

Slowly, the other men in the room returned to the activities they’d engaged in before she and Andrew had entered.

The earl glanced at her. Annabelle gave him an encouraging nod. “I suppose, though I’m not certain I’ll have a blessed clue what to do.” Already, he was well on his way to removing his greatcoat and his jacket of sapphire superfine, which he handed to her. “But there is always a chance…”

Her chest tightened for his circumstances. How must he feel? “Perhaps utilizing the muscles and stretching your body might encourage the brain to do the same.”

“Right.” Without another word, Andrew struggled out of his waistcoat and then removed his lawn shirt, handing them silently to her.

Oh, dear.

Whatever she’d imagined his body to look like, it was nothing compared to the truth. Broad shoulders gave way to a wide chest that showcased well-defined muscles and more than a bit of bruising. A sprinkling of light brown hair covered his skin. It formed a tantalizing ribbon that moved down a flat abdomen and disappeared beneath the waist of his buff-colored breeches. She clutched his clothing to her body, and the scent of him that clung to the fabric was far too intoxicating. What she wouldn’t give to explore that chest, those shoulders, that navel with her fingers and lips! A shiver of need tripped down her spine to lodge between her thighs. It was something she hadn’t felt for a few years at least, and the fact she had such a reaction to the earl left her speechless.

“If you are feeling squeamish, Miss Harding, you can wait outside.” Obvious amusement threaded through St. Vincent’s voice as he and Annabelle followed Hazelton and Mr. Ward over to one of the rings.

“I shall be quite fine, Your Lordship. As long as Lord Hazelton is here, so shall I be.”

Andrew shot her a look of gratitude then slipped beneath the slackened ropes and onto the mats that crunched beneath his booted feet. Were they filled with straw? “I appreciate that, Miss Harding.”

Mr. Ward followed, and then they both raised their bare fists. As the other man tried to circle the earl, Andrew frowned and mimicked the steps. Confusion showed on his face, and it was rapidly certain he didn’t remember anything about boxing.

“Don’t think too much about your movements just now,” St. Vincent called from the opposite side of the ring from where Annabelle stood. “You have done this countless times before; it should be embedded deep within you.”

“I’ll give it a try.” Though he swung out with a fist, it was obvious even to her that it wasn’t in the proper form.

Easily, Mr. Ward dodged the blow. He got off a gentle punch to the earl that tagged him on the shoulder. “Come now, Hazelton. You can do better than that,” the man said with good-natured teasing in his accented voice.

“I’m beginning to wonder.” Frustration wove through Andrew’s tone as he once more circled his opponent. Though his next strike found purchase in Mr. Ward’s midsection, it was sloppily done and hardly slowed the other man.

Again, Mr. Ward’s next punch struck, catching the earl on the chin, which caused Andrew to stumble backward a few steps. “Damn, my friend, you really don’t remember this, do you?”

“Obviously not.” He held up a hand. “Enough.” Embarrassment was evident in his face along with annoyance. “Let us not continue this torture.” In high dudgeon, he clambered out of the ring, nearly tripping when the toe of a boot caught on a rope. One by one, he yanked the various pieces of his clothing from her hold and donned them with jerky movements.

“It’s all right, Your Lordship,” she said in what she hoped was a soothing tone. “We shall just keep trying until something works.”

“ We won’t do anything of the sort.” As he yanked the greatcoat from her hands, he headed back through the long room toward the door. “I’m the one who must endure this damned blankness in my head, and you have no idea how frightening or frustrating that is.”

Well, drat.

With an apologetic glance at the other two men, Annabelle ran after Hazelton. She followed him down the stairs and to the street where his carriage waited. When he slammed open the door and then flung himself into the vehicle, she pointed her gaze to the heavens. To the driver, who had scrambled down to assist with the steps, she said, “Please take me home. Harding House.” Quickly, she gave the direction. “Then you may take the earl to his, and God help you all with his disposition.”

Was this who he was in his regular life? Not that she could blame him, for her heart went out to him and his circumstances. Who wouldn’t be frustrated?

“Of course, Miss Harding.” Once she was in the carriage, he put up the steps and closed the door.

Only then did she settle onto the bench next to the earl. “You had a setback. It is not the end of the world. We will try again tomorrow.” When a sullen expression crossed his face, she shook her head. “No matter that you wish to be cross—with good reason—I still plan to support you until your memory returns.”

“Why?” Raw emotion propelled the word. “Why would you bother with me when I am useless like this?”

“Struggling doesn’t mean you are useless, and neither does it mean you should give up.” She rested a palm on his chest while peering up at him. “It means you are trying, and sooner or later, you will succeed, but you will never do that if you quit.”

“I appreciate the prodding.” As the carriage sprang into motion, he hooked a hand about her nape, drew her close, and then brought his mouth crashing down on hers.

With a sigh of pure indulgence, Annabelle leaned into the kiss, and she unashamedly returned the overture, for he was quite a good kisser. Daring much, she parted her lips, touched the tip of her tongue to his, but the earl proved he was more a gentleman than anything else. After a few silent heartbeats of him moving over her mouth, he gently set her away from him.

“As much as I would very much enjoy seeing where that kiss might lead, I refuse to take advantage of the situation.” The grin he flashed had flutters creating havoc in her belly. “I’m not sorry though, and fully hope to indulge in that again.”

Oh, he was adorable and would be trouble if she would let him. “Then keep trying to regain your memories, Andrew. Don’t you think that reward will be well worth the effort?”

“Quite.”

“Cheeky.” Yet she couldn’t stop her own grin. Life certainly wasn’t dull anymore.