The Earl She Left Behind (The Noble Hearts Series; Common Elements #1)

by Anna St. Claire

  The Earl She Left Behind

  Book One of The Noble Hearts Series

  Anna St.Claire

  DEDICATION

  Dedicated to my daughter, Megan Lindsey, who encourages me to ‘Love What I Do,’ and supports whatever star I reach for in life.

  Don’t ever stop reaching for the stars, Megan. You can accomplish anything when your heart is in it.

  And a special acknowledgment to my sweet and much loved pup, Shep. He makes my heart smile with his boundless energy, enthusiasm and his constant love. He is an inspiration.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Preview of Earl of Bergen

  Also by Anna St.Claire

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2020 by Anna St. Claire

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  Edited by Jessica Cale, Safeword Author Services

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter 1

  Maidstone, Kent, England

  October 1815

  Thunder boomed above him. A second later, a sharp crack of lightning lit up the dark sky. Gripping the reins of his horse, Maxwell Wilde, Earl of Worsley, fought to stay seated as his mare reared and struggled. The lightning illuminated a woman lying in the road just ahead. Had the lightning not struck, he most certainly would not have seen her.

  The scant light showed a small-framed woman curled into a fetal position, wearing a soiled blue dress. A small shaggy white dog pawed her arm, whimpering and licking her face. Large drops of rain pelted both of them but did not affect the dog’s loyal persistence.

  “Whoa, Willow.” Max slid from his mount and walked over to the woman. At his approach, the dog at once became protective, giving a guttural growl. It forced Max to stop and rethink his goal.

  “Easy, boy.” He lowered his hand to the dog and allowed him to sniff it. The dog stopped growling and eased himself down, curling his furry white body next to the woman’s head—protecting her—still whimpering and licking her face. Max took a deep breath, careful not to anger the dog and not wanting to injure it. The dog was unmistakably attached to the woman. Feeling more confident the dog would not attack him, he lowered himself onto his haunches to get a better look at the woman.

  Gently, he swept wet, muddied blonde tresses from her face. Recognition was swift and tumultuous. “Bloody hell! Meg, what happened? Why are you out in this storm, of all places? Why are you here?” Questions flooded his brain. He fought the gut-wrenching impulse to pull her close. When she did not answer, he picked up a limp hand and noticed rope burns around her left wrist, anger registering. “You are bleeding.” He moved her damp blonde hair away from her forehead, revealing a deep gash from which blood still oozed. Fear gripped him. He stared at her motionless body until he saw her chest barely move. Good. She was breathing. “Thank goodness you are still alive.”

  Her eyes opened and closed. Her throat worked, but she did not speak. She needed a doctor. Max needed to get her to safety and leave before she engaged his heart yet again.

  He had washed his hands of Maggie Winters when she ran away and abruptly married the Earl of Tipton three years past—when she and Max were planning to wed. Anger churned in his gut as he thought about the day he found out, and it renewed his confusion, pain, and anger. She had disappeared without a word—merely a scribbled note delivered to him. Without thinking, he reached inside this waistcoat pocket and touched the folded missive. No one had heard from Maggie in years. It was strange, but word of her marriage had cleared it up for him. He squashed the now-familiar feeling of dread.

  “No, no, no! Leave him alone! Please…do not harm him.” Her voice was hoarse and barely audible. She rolled her head from left to right and moved her hands about herself in defense—defending against what, he did not understand. Was she speaking about the small dog? With one eye on Max, the dog was furiously licking her face. He was trying to calm her. Amazing.

  The small animal gave a sharp bark, trying to gain her attention. “Rrrr…uff.”

  Unsure of the dog’s reaction to his presence, he increased the space between them. He had no wish to have an animal of any size bite him. But the bark itself triggered an awareness. He vaguely recalled having met this animal. But when? He narrowed his eyes, attempting to remember. It had been a while since he had seen Meg. She could have gained a pet without his notice. It had been three years since he had last laid eyes on her.

  The heaviness in his heart was returning. Max had tried to forget her. He wanted to forget her. The last thing he needed was to be in her presence now. But Meg’s condition terrified him. Ignoring her was not an option. He smoothed the wet hair away from the sides of her face.

  Lifting her, he placed her on his saddle. Her body slumped. He leaned in close, holding her against his shoulder, then put his left foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up behind her. He held her gently in case there was any other injury he had not seen. The touch of her sent his pulse racing, but Max did his best to hold on to Meg and the reins. The dog started barking and jumping, almost bouncing, desperate to gain access to his mistress. Willow twisted and bared her teeth at the dog, as if to tell him to stop, but the small animal was unfazed. He would have to bring the dog.

  This dog means something to Meg. Recognition almost knocked him out of his seat. This bedraggled white dog was the same grubby puppy they had saved moments before an out-of-control wagon and its horses would have ended its life, only weeks before Meg had disappeared from his. His heart sped with excitement that she had kept it all this time. “I know you!” He looked down at the dog. “It is coming back to me now.” Excited, he leaned into Meg. “I recognize Shep. You kept the dog!” he whispered, realizing she would not hear him but needing to speak. Overwhelmed, he pulled her tight to his chest and breathed in her essence. Lilacs. His favorite. He loved that she always smelled of lilacs. Once upon a time, she told him it was her preferred flower.

  The dog waited. Its demeanor communicated the anticipation of accommodation. “I will not leave you. Give me a moment to think.” He was speaking almost to himself. It was a difficult position. Thinking rapidly, he reached behind him for his saddlebag and emptied its contents. Nothing of importance was in there. Once satisfied with the space, he carefully slid off his horse, keeping one hand holding onto Meg. She did not move. Hurriedly, he gathered the small dog into the satchel. Shep gave no resistance. Max hoisted the bags over his shoulder to allow the small dog to ride, and once again mounted Willow.

  “Shep,” she murmured, barely conscious. Her voice was weak. “Shep, where are you?” She tried to open her eyes, but they fluttered closed again.

  A lighter bark registered under his arm. He could not bel
ieve his ears. The dog had answered her. It understood her.

  Willow turned into Max’s estate and stopped at the front. It had been six months since his last visit home. Still securing Meg with one hand, he slid from his horse, and lowered his saddlebag, allowing the dog to leave it. Then he turned back and gently helped Meg down.

  “Follow me.” He nodded at the dog, confident the pooch understood him. Holding Meg in his arms, he and the bedraggled pup made it up the steps to the portico and pushed open the door.

  The slow but pronounced footfalls of his butler sounded a welcome.

  “Your lordship, you have returned. We had not expected you this evening.” The tall, greying man drew closer and peered down at the drenched woman in his arms. “I apologize for ogling, my lord, but that is Miss Maggie…pardon, Lady Maggie…” He looked up at Max. “Lady Tipton.” Max noted the shock and concern in the old man’s eyes. “She appears injured. What happened, my lord?” Before Max could answer, the older man noticed the small dog standing at Max’s feet and scowled. “Shoo! Out the door with you.”

  Shep sprung into the air, jumping vertically toward his mistress and barking his high-pitched bark. The energy the dog still had despite the frigid conditions he had endured astonished Max. “It’s okay, Cabot. Lady...” He paused, grappling for words. “Lady Tipton needs the dog as much as he needs her. He stays.”

  “As you wish, my lord. I will send for the doctor.” His displeasure clear, Cabot left the room, but not before giving a quick glare toward the dog.

  “Thank you, Cabot," he responded under his breath to the man’s back. Louder, he added, “Send for Mrs. Andrews and have her meet me upstairs. I shall put Lady…Tipton in Lady Angela’s room.” Uttering her married name renewed the ache in his chest. He needed to get her help and then distance himself. Angela, his sister, would not mind Meg using her room while she visited her best friend in London. Angela would be gone for at least two more weeks.

  It would not be easy to forget Meg’s marriage status with three years past, but he had to for his sanity. And he needed to stop calling her Meg. That had been his nickname for her. She was Lady Maggie Tipton now. Even as he told himself this, he knew it would be impossible—she would always be Meg to him.

  Meg’s body quaked, probably from the chill. Responding on impulse, Max pulled her closer, hoping to share his body warmth in the only way he knew. She was lighter than he recalled. Her lilac scent rushed his senses and reminded him sharply of his loss. Weirdly, he recalled a time or two he had carried her. Rapt in the past, he missed a step, barely catching himself before he lost his balance.

  “Woof!” The dog ran past him up the stairs and stopped at the top. He watched Max the rest of the way up, his expression one of mistrust.

  “I promise not to hurt her.” No, I will be the one in pain here, Max reflected. “It is just ahead, Shep.” Good God! He was talking to a dog. Shaking off the realization, he nodded toward the hall. Shep started in behind him, following him into the room. Once inside, Max laid Meg on the pink velvet-covered bed.

  Shep jumped up and sniffed at her face, assuring himself she was still alive. Once satisfied, he inspected each of the four large posters before curling up next to her side. Not close enough, his little body edged toward her until it touched her.

  “Shep, you have come back,” she uttered, weakly placing her hand on his folded front paws with a loud sigh.

  Was that relief? His gaze shifted to the burns on her wrists, and he knew he could not dismiss her again from his life so quickly. I need to know what happened to her. The burns on Meg’s wrists bothered him as much as her tortured state of mind. Was she running from someone…or maybe to something? Whatever it was, the dog had a part in it. He had found her in front of her family’s estate. Wyndham was almost a mile from his own property.

  He had planned to ask for her hand, but a carriage accident claimed the lives of both of her parents the very day he had planned to see her father. Everyone had expected them to marry—he had made his feelings about Maggie clear. He loved her and thought the feeling was mutual. But two days after the funeral for her parents, Maggie Winters had disappeared, leaving only the note.

  Her uncle, Silas Winters, had become her guardian, inheriting her father’s title of viscount and his entitled properties. Max knew Silas for his gambling and questionable business dealings. Meg had been most unhappy to learn he was to be her guardian until she turned one and twenty.

  Wyndham had been her mother’s childhood home, but the Winters family had lived there most of the time. Following the death of his brother, Viscount Silas Winters had boarded up the property, never sending a soul to care for it. Max’s mother had written that recent sightings of a woman in white staring from the attic window had renewed the rumor that the estate was haunted.

  He took a deep breath and gazed at the sleeping woman in front of him. Three years had passed. Max had buried her memory, pushing it to the back of his mind, but seeing her tonight, holding her, and smelling her essence brought painful memories of his loss to the forefront. He had met with her uncle to ask for her hand, and the contracts were being drawn up when Maggie Winters had left town, suddenly marrying a much older Fergus Anders, Earl of Tipton. She had left Max’s life with no explanation. Cornered, her uncle would only say he had signed a contract. Nothing more. Max felt he would never know the truth, only the note she left him. The rumors, which were hard to believe, only added salt to his wounded heart.

  The gossip was that Meg’s uncle had married her to Tipton to settle a gambling loss. Both were notorious gamblers, and the thought that Meg had been taken away unwillingly only added deeper angst. Max had never been sure of what had happened, but he could not reach her, despite his best efforts. With no contract signed, he had no chance of winning her back—if that had even been what had happened. He had heard nothing from her. The loss had decimated Max’s heart. He had sworn to never love again, but now he realized he had never stopped loving her. He left town shortly after she did, not willing or able to endure the pity of being jilted by the one person he loved more than life itself.

  I can never let her know my feelings.

  Max shook his head, hoping to pull himself from his misery. She is Tipton’s wife, yet she is here. Why? He pulled up one of his sister’s pink velvet slipper chairs and sat next to her. “Meg, why are you here now? What happened to you?” The dog opened his eyes and stared at him, never lifting his head. A low, guttural growl erupted.

  “I will not hurt her.” Max reached tentatively and stroked the cotton-soft hair on the dog’s head. Shep allowed it and sniffed his hand. A slight wag of his tail replaced the growl. Good. He recognizes me. “Good boy.”

  Meg’s quick wit and sense of adventure had been something he always enjoyed. They got along better together than his school friends, and he had continually enjoyed coming home to her. There was always one scrape or another, and he was always rescuing her—until he could not.

  Female voices and the swishing of skirts drew his attention to the door as his mother entered.

  “My dear, Cabot mentioned that you had brought Lady Tipton in from an accident. I quickly allowed my guests to leave and came to help.” She looked at the prone form in her daughter’s bed. “I had to see for myself.”

  “Mother, thank you. I had not realized you would be here. I thought you were in London for the Season. I am sorry about your guests, but…” He glanced down at Meg. “I found her like this on my way home. She was in front of her parents’ gate. With the dog.” He nodded at Shep. “That is the dog Meg and I found shortly before…” He took a deep breath. “Shortly before we were to be wed.”

  “I recall that incident. You could have both died saving the rascal.” She smiled at that dog. “I rarely allow dogs in my home, but he seems harmless. I will plan for a bath and some food for him.” She sniffed in Shep’s direction. “Immediately.”

  “Lord Worsley, the doctor should be here in a few minutes. Cabot sent the footman for hi
m straightaway.” Mrs. Andrews tapped him lightly on the arm.

  “Son, I will take over. You change out of those wet clothes.” His mother placed her hands on his shoulders and squeezed lightly.

  Nodding, Max agreed. “I shall change and be right back.” His hand lightly grazed Maggie’s. “It would be best not to move her further until the doctor examines her. She has burns on her wrists, and I am most concerned there could be hidden injuries.”

  “My God! She does.” His mother said, her tone one of alarm as she gently rolled Maggie’s wrist and leaned in to look more closely. “They appear to be rope burns. Who would have placed ropes on Maggie?”

  Shep lifted his head and started to growl, but a sharp, reproachful look from his mother squelched that. Max swallowed a chuckle as he started to leave.

  “It is Shep, is it not?” His mother’s inquiry stopped him.

  “Yes. You recall that? I almost did not recognize him. He is a protective little chap.” He walked over and ruffled the dog’s head affectionately.

  “I do.” She smiled. “I confess, these last three years, I have had a hard time thinking of her as Lady Tipton. She was to be my daughter, but she has not been part of society. I just can’t imagine…” Her voice trailed off as her hand gently moved a little wet and bloodied hair from Meg’s face. “Something drastic has happened. We shall help her all we can.”

  Max paused a moment to regard the bedraggled woman he had just placed in his sister’s bed. Her eyes were shuttered closed. Thick dark lashes brushed the tops of her cheekbones in their resting state. Long blonde hair framed her face and covered her shoulders. Even wet, the color reminded him of sunshine and yellow roses. She was beautiful. His traitorous arms ached to hold her, to comfort her, but he would not.