The Cold Earl's Bride: A Historical Regency Romance Read online

  “Oh, yes,” she agreed. “I think you are right. Since you returned, she has regained a new spirit in life.” Annabelle lowered her head. She loved her mother very much, but sometimes she did not understand the least what was going on inside her. Her last sentence clearly indicated that her mother had noticed Felicity’s state, and yet, mama had not pressed urgently to get to the bottom of it. It would have been her job to persuade or even force Felicity to talk.

  What was happening with her? Annabelle did not understand herself anymore. So little time had passed since she had left her childhood home as a reluctant bride-to-be to the Earl of Grandover, and yet she had changed an awful lot.

  She could not shake this thought. Not even when she sank into the fragrant embrace of the Countess of York was she able to suppress her defiant thoughts. If only she could live with the Countess instead of her parents! There were endless unanswered questions, which she dared not to ask amidst the hubbub of the social event. How had the countess preserved her independence after her husband’s passing, in the face of society’s expectations of a widow’s behaviour? How did she fill her days and nights?

  “How delightful to see you, countess.” Annabelle’s hostess greeted her, giving her a wink when she mentioned the new title. “I am glad that you have chosen to stand up against the gossip of a separation.”

  Annabelle returned the warm smile of the older woman. “It is my honour and pleasure to be here,” she said sincerely. “Perhaps I can invite you to visit me for a nice cup of tea, in not too distant future?”

  The Countess of York draped an arm through Annabelle’s, while the other guests around them wandered about the parlour with refreshments in their hands, chatting, or giving Annabelle appraising glances. At least, that’s how it felt to her.

  “But of course, my dear,” the countess replied. “I would love nothing more than to have a proper and undisturbed conversation – woman to woman. I always assumed that you were not interested in talking with an old bat such as myself.”

  Annabelle could not help herself, she burst out laughing. “Fiddlesticks!” She returned just as openly.

  Her hostess smiled mischievously and did not look a day past thirty. Annabelle wondered if she had misjudged her true age, but of course, inquiring about it was out of the question.

  “I do not know what has happened between the two of you,” the Countess of York whispered into her ear, “but one thing is certain. St. John is a good man. Perhaps a little difficult at times, that may be true. But you should not give up on him. Use this evening to reconcile with him, my dearest.”

  Annabelle raised her brows questioningly. She knew that the countess was friends with Marcus, very close friends indeed, but she did not think that he had told her everything that had happened. The Countess of York let go of her arm and looked towards her left, behind Annabelle’s shoulder. “If I am not mistaken, he has just walked in the door. There is still time until dinner starts. Off you go!”

  “Thank you,” Annabelle formed the words silently with her lips, leaving the countess who now engaged her mother and Felicity in a conversation. Mama gave her a nervous look, but the hostess did her best to swiftly lead the women deeper into the room. Felicity was turning a glass of champagne around in her hands and looked bored, but that was not a worry. Sooner or later, one of the young men would strike up a conversation and distract her.

  She approached Marcus, who lifted his head and gazed at her with a blank stare. She looked over to the patio door leading out to the terrace before she turned and slipped outside. She almost laughed. It was just all too similar to the fateful night when they had seen each other for the first time. Annabelle made her way towards the heart of the garden, and she was amazed at how well she still remembered the paths that she had wandered nearly five months ago. Marcus would follow her, and she was certain that he knew where she was going.

  Annabelle kept walking until she reached the spot where Marcus had kissed her. Exactly – it had been right here. At first, she had taken him for Greywood and wanted to reprimand him about Felicity. She looked up to the stars, which covered the nighttime sky like a million little diamonds. Annabelle waited patiently. She knew that Marcus would come. It was strange. It was still difficult for her to interpret his gestures and the expression in his face, and yet, she did not doubt that he would take the opportunity to speak to her. In many ways, he was a mystery to her – that had not changed. My feelings for him, however, are different now, she thought, as she at long last felt his hands tighten around her waist from behind. Fear and distrust were gone – replaced by trust and… love?

  “We should not be doing this,” he said quietly, tilting his head down towards her. He pressed his lips onto her neck, right below her hair, where the skin was so very sensitive. She shivered, but it was a pleasurable sensation, somehow beautiful and, at the same time, daringly sensual.

  “Oh yes, we should,” Annabelle whispered and leaned back into his chest. It was a good thing that he could not see her face, because she was sure that she had turned bright red.

  “How are you faring, living with your parents?” With every single word, his breath caressed her skin.

  “It is demanding,” she admitted. “But it will work. How are you doing? Are you still in pain?”

  “You do not have to worry about me,” he replied. She could hear in his voice that he was actually smiling. “I have survived much worse.”

  So, he did not want to talk about his injury. Annabelle did not want to waste what little time they had together with meaningless chit-chat. “Have you found anything out? Are you making progress?”

  “Yes, to both questions,” Marcus replied. He straightened up, reluctantly, as Annabelle deemed. “It shouldn’t be long now until this is over. But I do need to ask a favour of you.” He leant against her, and the warmth of his body felt wonderful.

  “Yes?” she encouraged, when he did not continue.

  “Is there any chance for you to leave London for a few days?”

  That was the moment when Annabelle turned around. “Are you in danger? Tell me the truth. At once!”

  She saw him shrug. “Yes, it could get difficult,” he finally admitted. “I would feel calmer if I knew you were out of harm’s way.”

  “I have actually thought about it myself,” Annabelle said. “Not because I want to be away from you, but because I think it will be good for my sister to see something else for a while.”

  “Then it is decided,” Marcus said, sounding relieved.

  “I will try and arrange for a visit with my father’s friends, but I am not certain that they will agree,” Annabelle said, despite the fact that she would have liked nothing more than to stay with him. “My youngest sister is already with them, and in her last letter she asked my parents if she could accompany the couple on a trip to Scotland.” She looked up and noticed his disgruntled expression. “This means that my departure will be delayed by a couple of days. I do not suppose that my parents would allow Felicity and me to travel such a long distance alone. Father is currently unable to leave London, since the Prince Regent has requested his attendance, and Mama won’t leave him alone here, that I know for certain.”

  “Blast it,” Marcus murmured. “Do you have any other friends you trust and whom you can visit?”

  “No,” Annabelle admitted regretfully. “Unless…” She thought for a moment. “Perhaps we can ask the Countess of York to visit with me and my sister at her country estate for a few days. You know her well, do you not? And I like her very much.” On top of that, the estate was not too far from London. Should an emergency occur, she would definitely be able to reach Marcus much more speedily, compared to the arduous journey back from Scuffold Manor. “Is everything all right?” His muscles were extremely tense. When Annabelle rested her hand on his arm, it felt as if she was stroking a stone.

  “She was Matilda’s godmother,” Marcus said. “But perhaps your suggestion is not such a bad idea.” He fell silent for a moment, a
nd Annabelle seized the opportunity to lean her head boldly against his chest. “I will talk to her.”

  “Thank you,” Annabelle said, wishing she could delay the inevitable moment of their separation. “I will ask Mama if Felicity may accompany me.”

  “How is your sister?” Marcus asked, but Annabelle could sense that he was growing impatient.

  “Rather well, considering the circumstances,” she answered. “I know that there is a connection between her visit to Whitechapel and Greywood’s death.” She looked up into his face and, suddenly, she wanted to do nothing else than to spend the rest of her life in his arms. “Do you know what happened between the two, or is it just a guess?”

  “I am assuming his death was an accident. At least, that is what I believe to be in Felicity’s favour. Or did she poison him purposely?”

  This question was probably justified, Annabelle had to admit. “She told me that she took the poison with her to kill herself before his eyes. When she realised what kind of a man Greywood truly was, she decided against it. There were compromising letters that she tried to retrieve,” Annabelle explained. “Felicity is not aware of the connection between her poison and Greywood’s death. I would like to wait to tell her everything, until she has regained her mental stability,” she confided in him.

  “I think that is the right decision,” Marcus said. She felt warm inside, and his approval meant more to her than she would have expected. “Was she able to get the letters back?”

  “No. But no one has appeared and made demands. I sincerely hope that just once in his life Greywood was a man of honour and burned them before he died.” She knew herself how unlikely it sounded, and she did not have to look at Marcus to see his doubts.

  “We should go back,” Marcus said then. “Are you ready? Will you be able to get through tonight, or would you prefer me to excuse myself under a pretence?”

  “Why can we not just stay here for five minutes longer? Nobody will notice that we are missing. You haven’t even told me yet what you have found out,” Annabelle complained.

  His eyes narrowed. “No, and we do not have enough time for that. Do not forget, we are officially going our separate ways.” Annabelle opened her mouth to say something, but Marcus cut her off. “In short, there are new developments that have changed the dynamics of everything. This has to suffice, Annabelle. I will tell you everything, but right now, I do not want to risk anything. The more you know, the more danger you will be in. And that is not something I am willing to negotiate about.”

  “Oh, how I hate this masquerade,” it burst out of her. All of this was so wrong! Having to be separated from Marcus, because the situation demanded it, was just about endurable. But having to withstand the dinner and the additional pleasantries while having to pretend the opposite of her feelings, all of a sudden seemed unbearable.

  She took a deep breath. “I am sorry,” she apologised, trying to regain her composure. It took strength, which Annabelle did not know she still had. “I can do it.”

  “I know you can, Annabelle,” Marcus whispered and kissed her on her lips. It was just a fleeting moment, a mere touch, but why did it feel like a farewell? “Always remember what we have to lose. And what we are trying to gain.”

  “You are right,” Annabelle admitted. “I will go back first. You speak to the countess, and in the meantime, I will try to convince my sister to accompany me. That is assuming that the countess will not mind.”

  “Goodbye Annabelle,” Marcus said. She felt his gaze on her back as she walked back to the house.

  “My dear, of course, I will take your lovely wife and her sister to my country manor.” The countess handed him a glass containing an amber-coloured liquid. Marcus leant back in the cushy chair and took a sniff before taking the first sip. He was enjoying the silence after a strenuous evening, during which he had crossed so many people at once, that it amounted to a new record.

  Tonight, he had easily been the countess’s most hated guest. His mother-in-law and sister-in-law had both tried to move him and Annabelle towards a reconciliation, which he had avoided so neatly that the two women were left glaring at him in silence. What a wonderful way to make himself popular with his new in-laws! But he had had no other choice – he had to keep the farce going. It was better that Annabelle’s family hated him rather than them having to mourn their daughter’s death. At least he had been able to evade another confrontation with her father.

  To compensate for all this, he had also thrown away his friendship with an acquaintance of his father-in-law, which, at this point, made absolutely no difference to him, but was also a sign of his diminishing patience. He knew Lord Balfour from the Ministry as a pompous, yet influential fool, who cared little about a human life – unless it was his own. Marcus could hardly wait to be rid of the wheeling and dealings of the men who decided behind the scenes on the people’s welfare.

  “Don’t you want to tell me what is bothering you?” The countess’s voice sounded gentle. “You know that I will grant your wish even without any answers to my question, but you look like you could use a good conversation among friends.”

  “Are we friends?”

  “Well, what else would we be?” She pulled up one of her finely drawn eyebrows. The flickering of the fireplace gave her face an expression of melancholy, which he had never before noticed so clearly. Or was it his feelings talking – those that had taken residence in his chest? The ones that Annabelle had brought back to life, making him perceive his surroundings differently?

  “I always thought of us veterans of a war that neither of us wanted. You lost John, and I lost Matilda.”

  John, the Earl of York, had been one of his father’s oldest friends and also a spy in the service of the crown. He had been the one who had hired Marcus back in the day, who had spoken for him, and who had accompanied him on his first mission in enemy territory. He had been Marcus’s mentor and later his friend. It had been he and the countess who had introduced Marcus to Matilda, the woman he had fallen deeply in love with.

  “You are right about that,” she agreed with him. “We did not want the war, and yet it has demanded from us the greatest sacrifices imaginable.” The countess did not even blink. Her features all of a sudden looked haggard rather than delicate, reminding Marcus of a skull. He was not superstitious, but a shiver ran down his spine regardless. “Sometimes I think I should have ended my life when John was gone. I still miss him, every day and every hour.” She sighed and emptied her glass of whiskey in one go. “But who am I to tell you this? You know what loss is – even though Annabelle probably started to fill a place in your heart.”

  “She is exceptional,” Marcus admitted. “Demanding. Intelligent. And very loyal towards those who are deserving of her love. However, she is entirely different to Matilda.”

  “Interesting,” the countess remarked and went to refill his glass, but Marcus declined by shaking his head.

  “You love her very much, do you not?” Her smile carried a hint of mockery, as if love were a topic that she had put behind her for the rest of her time. It was probably the case. He had never noticed her show interest, not even a spark, in anyone other than John. Well, he could hardly blame her. Only a short weeks ago, he had sworn that he was done with love, once and for all. Now, he was no longer sure.

  His answer was a shrug of his shoulders, which earned him a sharp look from the countess. “This supposed separation of yours,” she mused, “surely has something to do with one of your government assignments, has it not?” The countess emptied her third glass in a row. Her hands moved restlessly across her skirts, after she had drained her glass and put it down with a soft clinking sound. “In any case, I will gladly give your wife shelter in my home for a few days. I won’t need to ask the Duke and Duchess of Evesham for their approval concerning her, however, I will need to ask for her sister’s. She raised her shoulders regretfully. “If you would explain to me why am I to also take the younger one…” The countess did not finish her sent
ence, instead looking at Marcus questioningly.

  “The less you know, the better,” he said, refusing. “Let’s just say that I do not want Annabelle to be alone. I am sorry that I cannot share more of the details with you, but you know how it is. State secrets.” The fewer people knew of this messy story, the better. With every confidant, the probability of betrayal increased, whether knowingly or unknowingly.

  “Then you will certainly remember that John never kept any secrets from me,” the countess retorted. “But as you wish. I just thought that I would be able to protect your wife better if I were not kept in the dark.”

  “Having her gone from the city will be enough,” Marcus said, standing up. He still had a lot to do tonight. “Oh, by the way,” he said and paused. “Did you hear anything from Lady Madeline? I have been trying to contact her for three days now, but she has vanished from the face of the earth.”

  “Well, you know how she is,” the countess replied blithely. “If I were you, I would not worry about that brazen hussy. The last time she could not be found, she was sharing a bed with the stable boy.” Marcus remembered all too well. He had been the one who had found Lady Madeline in a dosshouse and dragged her out of the dirty sheets. The lady really had a very ordinary taste. Worse than her predilection for danger was her unreliability, which he no longer could accept. The last time she had summoned him to her house under the pretence of having “important news” it had been mere assumptions rather than solid facts that she had “entrusted” to him. Which was no wonder, if she really was playing both sides of the fence. There were several clues that pointed towards Madeline being the shadow-man, such as the fact that his enemy had always been one step ahead of him.