Chapter Six

November 10, 1817

DeBeyers Salon, Mayfair

London, England

Andrew wiped this face and neck with his handkerchief, for he’d just completed another round of training with Loftus Ward as well as Lord Winteringham.

“Now that was a good session. I might not remember engaging in fisticuffs from my past, but I certainly do enjoy it now.”

It had been a few days since he’d last seen Annabelle, which hadn’t been a planned decision on his part, but she’d had other things on her schedule. Additionally, her brother had returned to Town, and she’d wished to spend time with him, but there had been a note of concern in her voice when he’d last spoken with her that had alerted him to the fact something hadn’t been quite right between her and that sibling.

The natural pause in their relationship was fortuitous for Andrew as he was trying to make the best of his life as it was. The memories hadn’t returned, and perhaps they never would; he would see his physician again in the upcoming days, but it was time for him to acclimate to things as they were. He was an earl, after all, and there were certain responsibilities he needed to attend to, so some of that routine was popping into the boxing salon to retrain and solidify his skills in fisticuffs. Oddly enough, the exercise was cathartic and helped to order his jumbled thoughts.

Having Viscount Winteringham with him today for solidarity had been lovely, since St. Vincent was stretched too thin by domestic matters. Andrew considered how the earl treated and cared for his wife a bit of a goal for his own life. Did that mean he wished to take a wife, to have the chance at that same bliss and companionship? Perhaps, but it was something that required more pondering.

Mr. Ward grinned as he, too, wiped at the sweat on his own brow. “You have always had a proclivity for the sport. It wouldn’t be any different now.”

Winteringham shrugged. “It’s a shame you’re a titled gentleman. If you weren’t, you could easily enter prize fights more often than you do.”

He snorted. “I could do so anonymously.” Though he didn’t think he was good enough to win in an actual bout for a purse of coin. “But as much as I enjoy the fights, I need to meet with my man-of-affairs, find out which charities and causes I sponsor, figure out how to conduct my life as it is now.” With a huff, he moved toward the chair where he’d draped his clothing. “There is a good chance I’ll never be the same man that I was, so I need to do the best I can for my future, and that means gravitating toward responsibility.”

Loftus chuckled. “Where is the fun in that?”

“That depends on what responsibility entails.” Winteringham glanced at Andrew with speculation. “Thinking about courting a lady?

Heat crept up the back of his neck as he tugged his shirt over his head and smoothed the fine lawn over his torso. “Perhaps.” He grinned as they both stared. “What do you know of Annabelle Harding? Is her family of good standing in the ton ?” Though he didn’t care about that sort of thing.

Did he?

Winteringham and Loftus exchanged glances of amusement. “Well, to start, she’s the younger sister to Lord Timelbury. He was given the lordship and a monetary award to buy an estate for extraordinary services rendered to the Crown during his service in the war.” The viscount donned his discarded clothing while Andrew continued his own toilette. “She’s always been headstrong, I suppose you could say. Never followed society’s dictates with any sort of regularity.”

“Oh, I can see that about her.” As he shoved his arms into his jacket of bottle green superfine and struggled into the garment, he couldn’t help but grin. “She has the makings of a stubborn miss, but she is also determined. To say nothing of the fact that she is helpful and caring. Doesn’t seem all that bad a mix, honestly.”

“No, it does not.” Loftus wiped his hands on a rag. “If I may ask, Your Lordship, do you fancy the young lady? From what I saw of her when she was in here the other day, she’s got some looks.” Then he winked. “If you’re into the females.”

“Of course I am.” Not understanding the chuckle that passed between Loftus and the viscount, Andrew ignored the heat that went up the back of his neck. “I suppose I could be interested in her. Miss Harding has been the one constant in my life since I woke up with no memory.”

Winteringham frowned. “So then, you would feel the same way about any woman who more or less rescued from the park.”

“Fair point. Let me think about that.” If it had been someone else who’d come upon him, would he have bonded so quickly with them? Would he have kissed a woman who wasn’t Annabelle? Would he even now be wondering how she was spending her time? He rubbed a hand along his jaw. “There is something about Miss Harding I cannot ignore, and what’s more, there is a connection between us I think is worth exploring.”

The viscount nodded. “Then you wish to pursue a courtship with her?”

“A courtship with the end result of marriage?” he asked, merely to clarify the objective of the conversation.

Loftus snorted. “Unless you merely wish to bed her.”

“In which case, Timelbury will have your head,” Winteringham said in a teasing whisper. “She might bedevil him as a sibling but he’s protective of her.”

“Oh, indeed, which is why he wants her matched and married soon,” the Caribbean man said with a wide grin.

“Yes.” The viscount nodded. “He mentioned to us before he left for Bath that when he returns, his first and foremost task was finding her a suitable husband.”

“I see.” Hazelton frowned. Though he’d only just met the lady, he didn’t find it fair that she might be taken away before he could come to know her better. “What if I wish to court her, then?”

The two men again exchanged glances.

Winteringham sat heavily on a chair. “Do you think Miss Harding is worthy of possibly being a countess?”

“I would have no idea since I only know what she’s told me.” Andrew grabbed up one of his boots and then shoved his foot into it. “Do you assume she cannot rise to the occasion?” From everything he’d seen of the lady, she could be a force when reckoned with.

“That depends.” The viscount shrugged. He then applied himself to the task of donning his own boots. “London gossip holds her reputation isn’t as sterling as it could be. Ton tabbies might tear her apart if you suddenly elevate her position in society. Especially with a hasty engagement.”

Loftus nodded. “To say nothing of the fact she might not wish to marry a title or even reside in London. Hasn’t she spent much time in the country?”

“Ah.” Andrew’s frown deepened. There was much he didn’t know about Annabelle. Perhaps she didn’t wish to remain within society any more than she must. “I shall talk with her, get a feel for what she wants from life.” Beyond wishing to help, but something within him knew that anything he was had only come about due to her short influence.

Silence reigned amidst the group for the space of a few heartbeats before the viscount spoke again.

“Do you suddenly wish for domesticity?” Doubt clouded the younger man’s eyes. “You had only recently discussed the possibility of marrying the last time we saw you, but I never assumed it was a serious discussion.”

“I’m not sure.” Slowly, Andrew shrugged. “Is it so terrible, then? If that wasn’t who I was before, that man might be lost forever. I need to square with the man I am, the man I might be from here on out.” The thought was frightening, and he couldn’t bear to go forward if Annabelle wasn’t there with him. “Right now, that man has the desire to be wanted, needed, I suppose you could say. Miss Harding is interesting, and I feel there might be something there between us I should explore.” Everything was both confusing and exciting at the same time with a bit of terror thrown in for interest. “The sooner I accept things as they are, the better things will go.”

At least he sincerely hoped so.

“Well, I wish you good fortune in those plans, and I hope I’m around the day Miss Harding’s brother meets this new you.” The viscount snickered with amusement. “Out of our little group, he’s the one who knows you the best.”

“I’m certain I can state my position in a way that will prove fruitful.” He stood. “I plan to return to the salon tomorrow afternoon if there is nothing pressing on my schedule. If you gentlemen wish to join me, I would enjoy that.”

“I wouldn’t miss it and cannot wait to see what sort of man you truly are now that Town boredom and ennui have fallen away.” Winteringham clapped a hand to Andrew’s shoulder. “I have a feeling fate is not nearly done with you yet.”

Why wasn’t he looking forward to that?

Culpepper House

Berkley Square, Mayfair

London, England

By the time he returned home, his stomach rumbled with the nice hunger he’d built up from exercise, but as soon as he stepped into the entry hall, the first thing his gaze fell upon was a footman lying slumped on the floor, unconscious.

“Tobbert?” Andrew rushed over the floor and knelt on one knee at the man’s side. After wrenching off his gloves, he put two fingers to the pulse point in the footman’s neck. There was a heartbeat, and it was steady. A good sign. “Where the hell is Banks?” A gasp escaped him as he stood. He’d remembered the butler’s name, and he’d been quite sure the man hadn’t told him the name since he’d come home from the park.

A steady pounding reached his ears as he moved deeper into the house. “Banks?” He bounded up the stairs, taking the treads two at a time. When the pounding continued, he darted into the butler’s pantry that rested across the narrow corridor from the dining room. Inside, Banks had been bound and gagged. Using his feet, he’d knocked them against the wall to apparently call for help. “Dear God.” Quickly freeing the older man from his bonds, he helped the servant to his feet. “Are you injured?”

“A bump on the back of my head. I was caught off guard when I found Tobbert and assumed he was slacking on the job.”

“What happened?”

“I couldn’t say.” The butler shrugged. “But the man who attacked me might still remain in the house. I heard him yelling at the maids, forcing them all into the kitchen. He no doubt told them to remain there.”

“Damn it.” With cold foreboding snaking through his gut, Andrew looked about and finally showed the butler to a stool. “Rest here until I come back, or, if you’d rather, go to the entry hall and see if you can rouse Tobbert.” Once out of the pantry, he darted across the hall only to find that the drawing room had been ransacked. Paintings had been pulled off the walls; bric-a-brac had been flung to the floor. Some had been smashed into pieces while some had merely tumbled to the carpets. Here and there, pillows and cushions from the furniture had been scattered about.

Clearly, the intruder was searching for something.

Was he still in the house? Needing to protect not only himself but his staff, Andrew careened out of the drawing room, ran to the stairs, surged up them, and when he burst into his suite of rooms, he stopped short, for a man dressed all in black with a domino mask over the upper portion of his face and a slouch-style cap pulled low over his forehead was systematically pulling things out of a bureau drawer. Clothes, personal journals, and other random bits had been flung everywhere.

Disjointed memories assailed him. Broken pictures danced through his mind of when he’d received the news of his mother’s death. It was his father who’d told him the grisly details therein, of what his mother had looked like when his father had found her, of what the robber had taken after he’d killed her. With a gasp and a yelp that startled the intruder, he demanded,

“Who the devil are you?”

“That doesn’t matter. I work for a man who wants the necklace you stole from him.” Then the man lunged toward Andrew, got off a punch that connected with his jaw and sent him reeling backward.

Pain exploded through his face, but he was so thankful that piece wasn’t in his possession. “I do not have it. Perhaps you should talk to the nearest pawn shop.” At least the misdirect would keep the thug busy.

“Why would you do that?”

Andrew threw a punch of his own that found purchase in the intruder’s gut. “It was mine; I did with it what I pleased.” When he reached for the man once more, the robber evaded his capture.

“This is not over.” Then he ducked out of the window and used a rope tied to the leg of the bed that he’d already flung down the side of the house.

As Andrew dashed to the sill, he peered outside, but the intruder was much too quick. He’d already jumped to the ground and fled around the garden to gain access to the street toward the back of the house. “Well, damn.” Rubbing a hand to the side of his face and gingerly exploring the spot where he’d been tagged. What the hell was so special about that necklace? Why did the man want it back if the piece had originally belonged to Andrew’s mother anyway?

While untying the rope from the leg of the bed, another thought occurred to him that had the power to chill his blood. Since the necklace was in Annabelle’s possession just now, did that mean his attacker would go after her? How would he even know that’s where the piece was? He yanked the length of rope, continuing to do so until the full coil came back into the room. Protection for her welled in his chest. “No harm will come to you, I swear it,” he whispered into the silence of the room.

But in order to do that, he would need help, and it didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember the names of all his friends or what they meant to him. If the Rogue’s Arcade was truly a band-of brothers who refused to leave any man behind, then he believed it. And he couldn’t move forward in his life now without them. A visit to the club was in order, and perhaps he would take tea there over a council of war.

First things first. He needed to locate his staff and talk the situation over with them, since at least a few of them were harmed by the intruder’s arrival. And perhaps he would ask some of the older members of his staff what they remembered regarding his parents and the necklace that was apparently suddenly at play.

I am the Earl of Hazelton, damn it, and no one comes into my house and harms anyone who I care about. Not even Annabelle.

After that, he would set his mind on just what he wanted from his life and if the lady would feature heavily in those plans. The urge to call at her house grew strong, but he had other more insistent matters at hand, so romance would have to wait.

But how lovely it was to think that romance might be waiting for him.