by Sadie Bosque
Blake reached out slowly, carefully, as if not to spook her, and disengaged her hand from her skirts. He brought it up to his lips and kissed her knuckles with slow deliberation. Annalise’s knees buckled, and she wondered how she managed to remain upright and not turn into a quivering puddle.
“Since you’re here and not out on the dancefloor, is it sensible of me to assume that the next dance is not spoken for?”
“Actually,” Annalise pushed out past her dry lips. She had to swallow before she could continue, for her throat seemed to have a boulder lodged in it. “All my dances after this one are taken.”
“We’ll have to make the best of it then, shan’t we?” he asked with a strange twinkle in his eyes. He took her by the hand and led her back to the ballroom and onto the dancefloor.
“What are you doing?” she hissed between her teeth, but they’d already joined the other couples, and Blake spun her into a dance.
A giggle left her lips as she followed the steps without thought. They were standing opposite each other, dancing the reel, surrounded by other couples. But all Annalise could see were Blake’s dark eyes, intensely focused upon her. She smiled, and he reciprocated. Only his smile reminded her of a predatory grin. As if she were prey he was about to claim. Somehow, the thought wasn’t as disturbing as it should have been.
He spun her once more, and she laughed in joy. She was probably grinning like a simpleton, but she didn’t care how she looked to others as long as Blake kept smiling back at her. Annalise felt the entire world disappearing and leaving just the two of them. Two more bars and the music faded, the dance concluded. Disappointment settled deep in her stomach as they took their bows. Would he seek her out again after this? With that hope, she made to leave the floor, but Blake stopped her.
“We’ll dance again,” he said, a sparkle of mischief dancing in his eyes.
“But—” She looked helplessly around. “I’ve already promised this dance to Lord Hexley.”
Blake just raised his brow. “Then let him come and demand it.”
Annalise’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t do that. It will lead to a scandal.”
“Worry not.” He winked at her before looking past her shoulder. “Here comes your rescuer.”
True enough, Lord Hexley appeared at her elbow. “I believe this is my dance, Miss Ardee,” he said with a bow.
Annalise was about to answer, but Blake interrupted her swiftly. “I am afraid young Miss Ardee feels indisposed at the moment. She has a terrible, erm, headache, and I graciously offered to escort her to the refreshments room.”
At Hexley’s questioning look, Annalise smiled weakly. What is Blake doing?
“Naturally,” Lord Hexley grumbled. “Then I shall take my leave.” He put his words into action and left the dance floor, muttering something under his breath.
“What did you do that for?” Annalise watched Lord Hexley leave in astonishment.
“I thought it quite clear,” Blake said. “I wish to have this dance for myself.”
“You can’t!” Annalise exclaimed in horror. “You said you were taking me to the refreshments room, so we better make haste.”
“All in good time, my dear,” he said, and as the music started, he led her in another dance.
A chuckle left Annalise’s lips, but she didn’t protest. She was being reckless; she knew. Dancing two dances in a row with the same gentleman was scandalous enough, but considering the way Blake had taken these dances, there was bound to be gossip that could possibly—no, probably—ruin her reputation.
She was afraid Blake wouldn’t let her dance with her following partner either. She smiled inwardly at the thought. Perhaps it was the two cups of ratafia she’d had earlier that made her this impetuous or the intoxicating presence of the gentleman before her. Whatever the reason, she never wanted this dance to end.
At that moment, Blake took her by the hand and tugged her aside. “Come with me,” he said as he retraced their earlier steps and led her back onto the patio.
Annalise giggled like a foolish girl, which perhaps she was. She should have been alarmed by the behavior of this gentleman, but she wasn’t. It felt right following his lead, trusting him with their next course.
“What are we doing back here?” she asked, smiling widely.
“You look quite flushed. I was afraid you were getting hot,” he said and accompanied his words by taking her hand and slowly, sensuously tugging on the tips of her gloves.
Annalise’s pulse fluttered madly as she stared into the stranger’s eyes, unable to look away, unable to pull her hand away, mesmerized by the heat in his gaze.
“I thought perhaps you needed to cool down.” By this time, her glove was completely off, and he brought her hand to his lips.
He kissed each one of her fingers, then turned her hand palm up and placed a fervent kiss on her inner wrist, ending it on a slight lick. Annalise’s lips parted, and her stomach clenched, sending hot waves through her entire body.
All too soon, he placed her glove back in her hand.
“Until we meet again, my darling Annalise,” he whispered in her ear and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Annalise flushed, breathless, and confused.
Chapter 3
Blake lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. This wasn’t exactly the reunion he had hoped for. He had dreamed of this moment for fourteen long months, of finally seeing her again, of being close to her again. He’d imagined holding her in his arms a million times. It was the only thing that had kept him sane, kept him alive.
During those dark months, he had always imagined that the moment he stepped into the house, she would fall into his arms, profess her love, and they would live in wedded bliss for the rest of their lives. In his dreams, time stood still as they kissed for hours, and nothing mattered to them anymore.
He hadn’t counted on her still being angry with him for the past. The past didn’t exist in his dreams, only the future.
He hadn’t counted on his own jealousy. Or his temper.
In his dreams, he’d never once thought that she could have moved on, given up on him and their marriage. The notion brought a sharp pain to his temples.
Of course, she’d moved on. It’d been fourteen bloody months. If they all thought him dead, she was considered a respectable widow now. And as a respectable widow, she was free to take lovers to her bed. And the way things had stood between them when he disappeared, she didn’t owe him her fidelity. Especially not if she believed him dead.
Suddenly, Blake felt nauseous. How had he not thought of that even once while he was gone? He was insane to think she’d be alone, grieving for him all this time. She was too beautiful to be ignored by society’s beaux, too naïve to not be easily seduced. He knew that firsthand, didn’t he?
And, of course, she was free to remarry. This thought hadn’t entered his mind before, either. Why would she want to remarry? She was young and enchanted by the idea of love when they had met. Perhaps since then, her views on marriage had changed. Perhaps she saw it as a practical arrangement, seeing how he hadn’t left her much when he’d disappeared. Or perhaps she had lied, and she had fallen in love with her long-time friend, the Duke of Kensington. The dark, enigmatic man who had swooped in and promised to make all her problems disappear.
His stomach churned, and he almost doubled over. He rubbed his temples and looked around the room. He turned his head and saw a couple of toasted pieces of bread on the bedside table. His stomach growled at the sight.
When was the last time I ate?
He took a bite of the cold toast and settled back against his pillows. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. As long as Annalise was by his side, they could fix everything. He would fix everything, and they would be as happy as they’d been at the beginning of their relationship. He had managed to woo her once. He would be certain to do it again.
The cold toast made its way down his stomach, and he washed it down with a sip of water. He wanted more than wa
ter and toast. Annalise probably worried his stomach couldn’t handle much after he’d collapsed in the ballroom, but it must have been fatigue and an excess of excitement. Now sitting on the bed and chewing the stiff piece of bread, he felt energy surge back into his veins.
Perhaps he could order the staff to make him a sandwich. Or there must be leftover food from the ball. He wasn’t picky. Not after the months of famine he had endured.
He jumped out of bed in one swift motion. The sudden movement caused vertigo, and he had to clasp at the bedpost so he wouldn’t fall into the bed in an undignified heap. He definitely had to eat something more than a bite of toast. And he needed a bath. What he needed, he thought darkly, was his wife. But she had gone through enough for one night, so he didn’t have the heart to bother her.
Blake ambled to the servants’ bell. He ordered sandwiches prepared and loaded into the carriage. Next, he dressed with the help of his valet and looked down at himself. His breeches hung at his waist, although they were too tight at his thighs. The shirt was disproportionately snug, too. The waistcoat restricted his movements. He needed to get a new wardrobe. He needed to do a lot of things. First thing in the morning, he would start by figuring out the details of his estate with Townsend. Surely, he’d help him get reacquainted with his business affairs. Then he’d get new clothes.
But one more pressing matter burned at the back of his mind. Something he couldn’t delay. So he threw a coat over his shoulders and ambled away from his room.
* * *
The moment Annalise left Blake and closed the door to her room, a wave of doubts assailed her. Should she have left Blake alone? He seemed troubled, weary, anxious. Perhaps she should have stayed by his side, held his hand…
Annalise wiped at her face, only to realize tears were streaming down her face. She couldn’t reconcile her emotions. When she’d stepped into the room and saw him lying there, her emotional turmoil had almost driven her to her knees.
She had watched the even rise and fall of his chest, studying his features. He had changed, yes. But he still seemed dear to her. Her heart had leaped from the fact that he was near. His scent had filled the room, and his presence had changed the energy around her.
She had wiped at his forehead with a wet cloth and couldn’t help but caress his hair. So long now, so dark. She had touched the hard planes of his face. His cheeks were hollow, his skin dark; only his lips seemed unchanged.
Her breath had caught in her throat. His lips were soft and enticing. She’d wanted to kiss those lips and feel his hands on her again.
And then he had awakened. And reality had invaded her girlish dreams.
Where had he been all this time? And why wouldn’t he tell her?
Fourteen months ago, she had been packing her suitcases to voluntarily leave him. But when he’d disappeared, she’d almost drowned in her anguish and despair. Seeing him again was like a balm to her broken soul. At the same time, it brought back all those horrid memories.
He had always been secretive, and he had always kept his affairs to himself. It was one of the reasons their marriage—the one that started with a whirlwind courtship—had failed so miserably, so quickly.
Had he run off with his mistress to the islands, faked his demise, and when he got bored, returned home?
That had been one of the most ridiculous thoughts that had ever entered her mind. Well, that wasn’t true. She had wondered that for months after his disappearance. Now, however, it did seem ridiculous. Blake didn’t seem rested at all. In fact, he looked weary, troubled, on edge. He looked as though he’d performed physical labor for months. And his gaze was wild…
She wished she didn’t have to guess. She wished he could have just told her everything, shared his burden, and acted, for once, as though she were truly his wife.
They hadn’t seen each other for fourteen blasted months! And even now, he refused to tell her anything.
And yet, one encounter with him almost had her crawling back to him.
Oh, how she had missed him. His voice, his touch. One glance from his dark, impenetrable eyes, and she was melting before him. One word out of his mouth in his smooth gravelly voice, and she was that naïve debutante again, hopelessly in love with her magical prince.
What a fool she was. After all this time, did she still harbor the hope that they could live happily together? After all the torment he had put her through?
She stepped away from the door and moved to change into her nightgown. He wasn’t going to call after her. He never did. She might as well try to get some sleep, although she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest.
She called Ruth to help her don her nightgown, and after Annalise dismissed her, she then turned and stared at the door. Should she have left him all alone? After all, he’d just gotten back after fourteen months of absence. Perhaps she was wrong to leave him. Perhaps he needed her.
She heaved a sigh. He would call if he needed her, wouldn’t he?
That’s what it had always been like with them. She, waiting for his call, while he—the door to his room clicked closed and then there was a sound of his steps stalking out of the house—left her without a second thought.
* * *
“The Shadows.” Ford Gunning, the professional thief-taker and Blake’s long-time friend, looked at Blake as if he was mad.
Ford was standing in his small study in a dark blue banyan, leaning his hips against the tiny desk, dwarfing it even more with his huge form. He was unshaven, and his hair was mussed, having just been roused from sleep by Blake’s rather unprecedented and unexpected appearance. After the shock of seeing Blake alive and well settled in, he’d eagerly listened to Blake’s story.
Blake had told him everything. Starting with how he got captured and tortured for information about the Shadows, finishing with how he finally escaped and got back home. He skipped the most gruesome parts of his tale, sticking only to the facts he thought the thief-taker would find of use.
“Yes, the Shadows, is that a problem?”
“No, not a problem per se, it’s just that….” Ford scrubbed his hand over his face. “They are a myth, Payne. A horror story criminals tell their recruits so they will be careful and not make hasty mistakes.”
“A myth.” Blake scoffed. “Don’t tell me I’ve endured fourteen months of hell because of a boogeyman in a wee criminal’s closet.”
Ford pushed off his desk and went to his sideboard to pour two glasses of cheap brandy. He extended one glass to Blake, but Blake waved the gesture away.
“I do not drink strong alcohol,” he said.
“Since when?” Ford raised a brow.
“Since my return.”
Ford didn’t comment further. “Please, sit,” he said and settled behind the desk.
Blake sat across from him and stared at the amber liquid in Ford’s glass. A little over a year ago, Blake would have ridiculed the drink. He used to be too refined to drink cheap alcohol. Well, he wasn’t anymore. Blake had had worse. And he would have loved to sip on the burning liquid, drowning his horrid memories. But since he returned to England, he swore to himself to never have another drop of spirits. Annalise didn’t like the smell of it. And Blake wasn’t exactly acting like a gentleman when he was foxed. If he were to win Annalise back, he couldn’t afford missteps.
Ford took a sip of his brandy and placed the glass on the desk. “The rumors—or the myths—about the Shadows have existed as long as I can remember. The Shadows are presumed to be this elite force of assassins who worked as Mary I’s spies to eliminate her Protestant opposition. After they disassembled, it is speculated that they continued their training and their work but as mercenaries. If someone needed another person killed or some information gathered, they were the ones to talk to.
“Recently though, and by recently, I mean several decades before either of us was born, new whispers started going around the criminal world. Someone, or rather several someones, donning the attire of the infamous Shadows, started waging wars
on criminals. Sabotaging the deals, stealing back stolen goods, burning illegal gin houses, bawdy houses, and other houses of ill disrepute.
“But it’s just rumors and ghost stories, Blake. Criminals are fighting each other all the time in an attempt to establish rule over the less fortunate. Sometimes it’s just bad luck that gets the bandits, sometimes their own recklessness. But there always seems to be the one person who saw a man in pitch-black clothing standing a few feet away from the incident.” He took another sip and turned to look Blake straight in the eye. “It’s an excuse of an incompetent brigand or a cautionary tale to keep their recruits on alert. Perhaps even a conjuration of a savior by an overexcited maiden. Hope for a miracle, someone who would protect the regular folk where they are unprotected now.” He shrugged and placed his empty glass on the desk with a deliberate clink.
“How do you know that?” Blake tilted his head. “If there are whispers, if there have been whispers for so long, surely there’s something to it?”
“If it were true—if any of it were true—we would have found some evidence by now. Crime has risen in London in the past decades. Especially in the rookeries. It is only natural to hear superstitions. Now it’s the Shadows. Tomorrow they will be ghosts.” Ford waved his hand dismissively. “Besides, what kind of ninny head stands around watching the evidence of his destruction long enough to get spotted but not long enough to get caught? These stories are not true, Blake.”
Blake laughed bitterly. “The thugs who got me would argue with you.”
“They were also sure you were one of the Shadows, weren’t they?” Ford countered.
Blake nodded thoughtfully. Yes, they’d been sure, until their leader came in. Blake didn’t see his face—he wore a kerchief over it. He’d examined Blake’s person inch by inch and decided he was not the one he needed. He got extremely angry with his subordinates and told them to get rid of him. But the thugs had proved incompetent, even in that. Thanks to the heavens.
To this day, Blake didn’t know if finding his signet ring was what prompted the leader to let him loose or if perhaps the brigand was looking for something else.