Chapter Five

November 7, 1817

DeBeyers Salon, Mayfair

London, England

Andrew frowned as he once more entered the boxing salon. After his failure from yesterday, he had hearty misgivings about continuing this activity, but the Earl of St. Vincent had come ‘round and insisted that he get out of the house and start making inroads of creating some sort of life and schedule for himself.

“I am not certain indulging in fisticuffs is what I’m comfortable with,” he said as they moved further into long room. There were different men inside than there had been the day before, but when his gaze met that of Loftus Ward and the other man gave a cheerful nod, some of his anxiety quieted.

“That is only because it is still new. Once you become used to it again, you’ll look forward to it.” The earl gave him a tight grin. “The man I knew spent a good portion of his leisure time here, so perhaps you will eventually come to that realization again. You’d even made a name for yourself with your boxing in illegal matches held on the outskirts of Town.”

“How interesting.” Especially after his poor showing.

“Indeed. So what do you want to start with today?”

Well, he certainly didn’t wish to repeat his performance from yesterday in the ring. “I need to familiarize myself with the basics of the sport.”

“Absolutely, you do.” Mr. Ward joined them, and his wide grin was infectious. “If I might suggest the sandbags? Or Lord St. Vincent can don padded mittens and you can punch into his hands. Both options will help you find a rhythm and know what punching feels like and how to hone that power.”

Andrew looked at his friend for guidance. “Perhaps the bags first. I want that tactile feel of my fists hitting the fabric. Perhaps it will bring something back to me.”

“Excellent choice. I’ll meet you both over there, then.” The faint lilt of a Caribbean accent in the man’s voice spoke of foreign places far away, and made Andrew crave travel and adventure. Yet, as he walked beside St. Vincent to the middle of the room where two rectangle bags of sand were hung vertically by the ceiling on chains, his mind jogged to Annabelle. How did she fare today? He missed her calming presence. Without her by his side, too many fears crept in to undermine any peace he might acquire.

“You are thinking far too much, my friend,” the earl said as Mr. Ward indicated a chair where Andrew might lay his clothing. “What has you bothered?”

“Beyond the large issue of not knowing anything about myself?” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice.

“Yes, but I can see it in your eyes. There is something else troubling you.”

“Am I that transparent, then?” He removed his greatcoat and then draped it over the back of the straight-backed wooden chair.

“Now? Perhaps a bit, but the man you used to be was not, which is why it’s so strange seeing you like this.” The earl frowned while Andrew removed his jacket. “It is almost as if you are haunted.” He shrugged. “But then, most men in the Rogue’s Arcade are. One cannot escape that by-product of returning from the war alive.”

“Ah, that explains much.” His hands shook as he struggled out of his gray satin waistcoat with the black embroidery then his fine lawn shirt followed. He put both on the chair. “I woke a couple of times last night due to odd, disjointed nightmares regarding being abroad, fighting, cannon fire, blood, and oddly enough, jewelry.” Balancing on one foot, he removed one of his boots. “It made no sense.”

“On the contrary, it makes perfect sense.” One of St. Vincent’s eyebrows went up as Andrew took off his other boot. “You saw several battles during your stint in the war. Hell, you fought alongside me and a few of the other rogues. None of us could have survived without the others.”

He blew out a breath. “Do you suffer nightmares?”

“Occasionally, and I have found they aren’t something one can easily ignore or even forget. It is something men like me—like you—must suffer through, a hallmark of our freedom, of England’s freedom.”

“It’s terrifying.” In his mind’s eye, he recalled one of the more strenuous nightmares. They’d been rushing over muddy fields, intent on beating back the French. All around had been cannon fire, the scents of mud, blood, and smoke, while his ears still rang with the screams of dying men and horses. “I can still feel the weight of the rifle in my hand.” He flexed his fingers. “Feel how the mud sucked at the soles of my boots.”

“Just a part of who we are; we’ll never forget.” St. Vincent rubbed a hand along the side of his face. “The best we can do is come to terms with what we did on those battlefields, what we had to do in order to protect England, and sometimes, we cannot do that alone.”

“Even though I am unable to remember who I am, I now have to contend with the nightmares from the man I used to be. It’s maddening.” Once he was barefoot, he sighed and positioned himself in front of one of the bags while the earl stood behind it to hold it steady. “Perhaps retraining in fisticuffs will help with that as well.”

“It has seemed to work with Aldren and Twinsfield.”

Though Andrew didn’t recognize the names—perhaps titles—it was lovely knowing there were so many men he could call on as friends who would understand. The Caribbean man drifted back over to them and patiently instructed him on how to form the perfect fist and how to guide his hands so that his punches would find the best purchase in a target.

Holding up his fists felt comfortable, right, as if his body remembered this in the vast emptiness of his memory. The first time he drilled his right hand into the supple leather of the sand-filled bag, the sensation of pure joy and satisfaction filled every portion of his body.

Damn, that’s lovely.

When the two men exchanged grins, Andrew did the same. “I rather liked that.”

Mr. Ward beamed. “Good! Now use that excitement, that energy, and discover what else you can do. I’ll be around if you should need me.”

After another couple of punches into the bag, Andrew found a rhythm, and each time his fists connected with that leather, his confidence grew. He glanced at the earl. “How are we friends? Where did we meet?”

“Beyond being members of the Rogue’s Arcade?” St. Vincent smiled. “We met in the military as we both came up the ranks, but being jewel thieves in our pasts is what bound us together along with the remnants of the war.” Shadows clouded his eyes, and Andrew felt those things to his core.

Another couple of punches into the bag helped to focus his thoughts. “You said I would never rid myself of the nightmares.”

“This is true. We all suffer to an extent. Some of the rogues more than others. Hell, one of our members has difficulty even leaving his home. Marriage helped some, but I rather doubt he will ever overcome that fear.” St. Vincent shrugged. “From what I could see of your life—or rather your former life—you seemed to handle yourself—and your nightmares—well.” He stumbled back a few steps when Andrew’s punches came harder and faster. “From all accounts, you are quite popular amidst the ton . Never lack for dance partners or bed partners but keep those personal details close to your chest.”

“Ah.” Heat went up the back of his neck. “Do I keep a mistress?” If he had, the woman obviously didn’t care all that much if she hadn’t come to seek him out or show concern.

Interestingly enough, there had been a blurb about Andrew in the papers yesterday, small enough that it wouldn’t attract much notice. The writer called him the stranger earl, who had been attacked and had no memory. The writer had gone on to say Andrew was still a bachelor, so now was the time to throw society daughters his way. At the end of the piece, it had been stated that Miss Harding had the rescue of him, that she was the one to restore him to the ton . Then they’d speculated if that would be enough to restore her reputation.

“Not that I’m aware.”

“Am I courting someone?” He gave the bag another one-two punch.

“I don’t believe so.” St. Vincent shrugged. “You are free, so once you come to terms with the new life you might have, perhaps you should put yourself on the Marriage Mart and make use of the upcoming Christmastide season in society.”

“Thank you. I shall bear that in mind.” Though his mind might be empty of memories, the only recent one that mattered was Annabelle, and how everything seemed infinitely better when she was near.

Annabelle alighted from a hired hack in front of Hazelton’s residence. It was a pretty townhouse, all brick with ivy clinging here and there to that fa?ade, some of the green leaves turning brown in preparation for the colder winter.

When she knocked on the gray-painted door, it was opened by the butler, who immediately told her that the earl had gone out to his boxing salon.

“Oh.” She hadn’t been aware of his schedule, of course, but she had thought he might have shared some of his plans. “Uh, do you know when he will return?”

“I’m afraid I do not. However, the Countess of St. Vincent is taking tea in the drawing room as we speak if you would like to visit with her.” One of his graying eyebrows rose in question.

“That would be lovely. Thank you.” No sooner had she been shown into the drawing room than she was given an enthusiastic welcome by the countess. Annabelle frowned. “I’m certain we’ve never met, Your Ladyship.”

The woman waved a hand in dismissal while scratching a finger of the other into her honey-brown hair. A saucer with a teacup resting on it balanced precariously on her very swollen pregnant belly. Perhaps several years older than Annabelle, there was a glow about her and an air of supreme happiness that was enviable. “No, we have not, but my husband told me all about how you found Hazelton in the park the other night. Please, join me for tea.”

“Thank you.” She sat on a chair near the countess’ position and then poured out a cup of tea for herself. “If I may ask, why are you here?”

“I told St. Vincent I’d wait for his return instead of going back home.” The countess shrugged. “It’s easier than trying to travel in my condition, and Hazelton’s staff makes a lovely tea.” She took a sip from her cup. “I’d imagine the men will return presently.”

“I’m content to wait.” The urge to fill the silence grew overwhelming. “I just wanted to check on Hazelton and find out how he fared. Ever since I came across him in the park, I’ve felt responsible for him somehow and perhaps a bit protective of him.”

“I heard the story, and I can’t say as I blame you.” Amusement danced in the older woman’s eyes as she regarded Annabelle over the rim of her cup. “I haven’t seen you at society events.” Yet there was a question there.

Heat stung her cheeks. “That is because over the past several years, I’ve been more or less banished to my brother’s estate in Essex.”

“Ah, you’re more familiar with scandal than propriety.” The countess chuckled. “That means you are vastly more interesting than most people.”

“I’m glad you think so. While it’s freeing not to follow a crowd or fit in with other women my age that are all doing the same things, there is a certain amount of loneliness and a bit of confusion mixed in there.”

“Understandable.” The countess lowered her voice. “After my first husband died, I was much like you and often chased scandal because it was much more exciting.”

“Is that how you managed to attract St. Vincent?” Though she didn’t know much about the members of the Rogue’s Arcade or their wives, it always seemed as if those stories were fraught with adventure and excitement and romance.

The other woman laughed as if that was the funniest thing she’d heard in a while. “Absolutely it was. In fact…” She lowered her voice further. “I had met St. Vincent years before but life took us away from each other, so when we came back into each other’s lives, it was the height of scandal.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one, I was waiting in a bedchamber for a very different man, and for another, my wrists were secured to the headboard when the earl came in through a window…”

“Oh.” Annabelle frowned as she thought upon the problem and then her eyes widened. “Oh!” When the countess nodded, she gasped. “Did he and you…? Was there…?”

“He did and there was.” Lady St. Vincent winked. “Quite scandalous, and we carried on from there, along with arguing like cats and dogs throughout.”

“I suppose that goes along with the men from the Rogue’s Arcade.” Had her brother conducted affairs of that magnitude? And if he had, would he have told her?

With a wince, the countess shifted her position on the sofa. “Pardon. I’m a bit uncomfortable.” She set her cup and saucer onto the cushion next to her. “While I adore being expectant, it is rather annoying here at the last.”

Annabelle wouldn’t know. “Uh, you won’t give birth right here, will you?”

“Of course not.” The older woman waved a hand as she laughed. “I still have a month yet.” She settled her gaze on Annabelle. “However, now that I’m here, we might as well discuss something else.”

“Like?”

“Do you fancy the earl?”

“What?” She frowned. “Your husband?”

“No!” But the countess chuckled as if that were a merry joke. “The Earl of Hazelton. St. Vincent tells me the two of you have been together quite often since the incident.”

Heat invaded Annabelle’s cheeks. “I am concerned about him. Imagine how difficult it would be to forget everything about yourself and the world you live in, but you are expected to move forward anyway.”

“That is something I cannot fathom.” The countess shivered. “Surely you’ve had cause to see how handsome he is.” A knowing twinkle appeared in her eyes. “My husband also told me you went into the boxing salon the other day without regard to scandal or reputations.”

“Again, I wished to make certain Andrew was settled.”

“Ah, he’s Andrew, is he?”

Drat. The heat in Annabelle’s cheeks intensified. “Perhaps it’s a bit more confusing than all of that.” Quickly, she related the facts as she knew them, including the necklace she’d been encouraged to keep safe. “However, we have shared a couple of kisses.”

“How lovely!” The countess rocked to the edge of the sofa. “If you feel even a smidgeon of a spark or connection between you and the earl, please pursue it. There may come a day when you both fall back on those feelings and that might be the only thing you have for a time. Especially if his memories never return.”

“But he’s an earl.” That was intimidating, for she’d never talked with let alone contemplated anything else with someone so high on the instep.

“What does that matter? You could be a magical creature from fairyland and he a chimney sweep, but if there are feelings between you, none of that matters.” Her grin was wide. “And I shall need a juicy story to hang onto that will distract me from the remainder of this pregnancy.”

Annabelle heaved a sigh. “I shall think about it.” She shrugged but couldn’t help a grin of her own. “He does have some skill with kissing.”

“Even better!” The countess’ merry laugh helped to chase away self-doubt. “I’ll wager that’s not the only thing he’s skilled at, and if that is true, you are one fortunate lady.” She winked. “Not that I have anything to complain about in that subject. However, if you want to move things along, and because men oftentimes require visual stimulants, perhaps you should wear the necklace and only your chemise the next time you see him.”

A gasp escaped Annabelle’s throat, but before either of them could add to that statement, voices in the corridor beyond heralded the arrival of both earls.

As soon as the men came into the room, Annabelle stood, and while the countess struggled to her feet, St. Vincent bounded over the floor to assist her.

“I trust the two of you had a lovely time?” she asked as she wrapped her hand around his upper arm.

“It was a good session. Hazelton has all the earmarks of regaining his previous skill quite quickly if he makes regular visits.”

Andrew grinned. “Thank you. The lessons are thought provoking and distracting.” He encompassed them all in his gaze. “Would you care for a refresh of the tea service?” The surprise in his expression strengthened when he looked at Annabelle. “If I had an inkling you were waiting on my return, I would have hastened back.”

“I merely wished to pay a call and check on you.” Drat the warmth in her cheeks! It was a silly reaction, for she had been in a male’s company before.

St. Vincent bounced a speculative gaze between them, but he declined the invitation. “I should escort my wife home. No doubt she’s fatigued and should really rest.”

“Oh, he’s overprotective.” With a snort of laughter, she gave his chest a mock smack. “However, I’m more bored than tired, though I wouldn’t say no to a nap, and I did wish to check the progress of the nursery painting. And the cradle maker is supposed to finish his project today as well.”

“I hope everything is as you wish it to be,” Annabelle said. “Thank you for letting me keep you company.”

“Any time you should wish to converse or need advice, please call on me.” Sincerity sparkled in her expression. “Knowing St. Vincent as I do, he’ll soon forbid me from leaving the house, and then I truly will be bored.”

“I will. Thank you.”

After a flurry of goodbyes, Annabelle was left alone in Andrew’s company.

“You seem much happier today.” Perhaps he was slowly acclimating to his circumstances.

“I feel rather uplifted, but perhaps it’s the effect of boxing.”

“No doubt you had good form today.”

A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “While boxing or in general?”

The humor caught her unexpectedly, so she laughed, for he was quite witty. “Does it matter?”

“No, I don’t suppose it does. I am merely grateful to be here. Memories or not.”

“Ah. I could learn much from you.” Once more, confusion came rushing back. “I do have a question.”

“Oh?” Slowly, he closed the distance between them.

Awareness prickled over her skin. Oh, dear. “Did you mean to kiss me yesterday or was it simply a reflexive action, something your body remembered you doing with other women?”

His whiskey-hued eyes darkened with the same desire tripping and twisting down her spine. “Does that matter?”

“Yes.” Actually, it did, for she wouldn’t remain in his company if he was merely trifling with her.

“Why?” That lovely gaze was intense as he held hers.

Heat renewed itself in her cheeks. She lowered her voice. “Because I want to repeat the gesture right now, but only properly.”

“Ah.” The earl snaked an arm about her waist and drew her close to his body. “Well, there is a certain… connection between us. And I’ve never been one to disappoint a lady. I think,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh. Then he lowered his head and claimed her lips with his.

Immediately, a cloud of comforting warmth enveloped her. Slowly, she pushed her palms up his chest to rest on his shoulders. At the same time, she lifted onto her toes and sought to return his kiss while reining in the abandon she wanted to show. Oh, how she reveled in the strength of his arms about her and the heat of his mouth as he moved it over hers. When he deepened the embrace, sought out her tongue with his, she surrendered with a tiny sigh.

For the next few minutes, she was lost in a world where only they existed, where shivery sensations slipped through her lower belly and she could easily see herself with a man of his caliber, but when the chiming of the long-case clock in the corridor made its way to her ears through the fog of passion, reality came crashing back in along with the fears and insecurities about the differences between them.

As he set her at arm’s length, he peered down into her face with a grin that said he wasn’t the least bit sorry. “Was that proper enough?”

“Not nearly,” she responded without thinking, which pulled a chuckle from him.

“I suspect I should escort you home, or the two of us will set London on its ear with a whole new set of scandals.”

And that would be so terrible? But she didn’t say that. Instead, she nodded and wiped the lingering moisture from her lips. “I look forward to seeing you again soon, then.” In what capacity, though?