How to Tame a Beastly Lord (Happy Ever Regency Book 2) Read online

  Still holding on to his daughter, Lord Wentford glanced at his wife for the first time since stepping over the threshold and gave her a silent nod. Then he turned back to Milly and said, “Listen, dearest, there is something I need to speak to my lady about. Will you go and see to your grandfather?”

  At her husband’s request, Eugenie drew in a shuddering breath. It would seem her intuition had been correct. Something had happened. Something important. Something…that would disrupt her life here. Eugenie was certain of it although she could not fathom what it could be.

  After Milly had left, Eugenie turned to her husband, unable to bear the silence any longer. “Is something wrong, my lord?”

  His eyes met hers, and yet, he said nothing. Still, the look on his face spoke of guilt and remorse, and Eugenie felt her skin crawl with dread. “May I ask where you’ve been, my lord?” she inquired if only to fill the silence. “The dowager countess has been most concerned.”

  Her husband nodded, a touch of annoyance lighting up his green eyes. “Yes, she’s already voiced her disapproval loud and clear.” Again, he paused and, again, his gaze met hers. He drew in a long breath and gritted his teeth like someone bracing themselves to withstand pain they knew was coming. “Listen, there has been a new development, which unfortunately affects you as well.”

  Fighting the urge to sink into a puddle on the floor, Eugenie drew back her shoulders. “What new development?” she asked, folding her hands in front of her to give them something to hold on to.

  “My father-in-law,” he began, speaking of his first wife’s father who still resided with them at Wentford Park, “recently received a letter.” He swallowed before going on. “It spoke of a woman in an abbey up north, who had been pulled from the sea about three years before. A woman who had lost her memory and does not know who she is.”

  Feeling her husband’s watchful eyes on her, Eugenie did not allow the avalanche heading toward her to send her running. No, she stood her ground, her limbs frozen in place as her heart screamed in silent panic. A moment ago, she could not have imagined what it was her husband needed to tell her. Now, however, it became crystal clear.

  Slowly releasing the tight grip Eugenie had on her body, she inhaled a shuddering breath, feeling her tense muscles begin to tremble under the strain and shock. Unable to prevent it, she felt a large tear form in her right eye. It grew until it finally spilled over and slowly made its way down her cheek. “Your…your wife,” she breathed, seeing joy and guilt war on his face.

  Lord Wentford nodded. “Yes,” he replied. “I went up there myself to learn if it could be true.” Pain darkened his eyes. “I assure you, I did not think it possible. I’d given up on the idea of ever finding her alive a long time ago.” As far as Eugenie knew, the carriage that had been taking her husband’s first wife to visit her cousin had fallen into a large stream and been swept away. For weeks, Lord Wentford had had men searching the countryside, however, beyond the broken remains of the carriage, nothing had ever been found. His wife had been gone, presumed dead.

  “It was her father,” Eugenie’s husband continued, “who could not abandon his child and held on to hope.” He swallowed. “Still, I could not ignore the letter he brought me.”

  Despair and fear began to fill Eugenie’s heart, taking up their old places from the time her father had passed on, leaving her alone in the world. Then, Lord Wentford had come to her rescue, but not now. Now, he could not help her, and he knew it.

  Cold spread through her body, and Eugenie could feel fear lurk in every corner of her heart like a monster preying on her in the endless dark of night. It would be easy to succumb to blind panic, and yet, it would accomplish nothing. And so, Eugenie turned her eyes to her husband and saw the silent joy that rested in his dark eyes. After three years of living—existing—without the woman he loved, she had finally returned to him.

  It truly was a miracle, and it couldn’t have happened to anyone more deserving.

  “Of course, you could not,” she assured him, the ghost of a smile coming to her lips as she tried to share in his joy…if only to banish her own fear of the future.

  “I never meant to put you in this position,” her husband rushed to assure her.

  “I know,” Eugenie whispered as a sob rose in her throat threatening to overwhelm her self-control. Pressing her lips together, she forced it back down. “I-I always knew your heart was hers and would be until the end of time.” Looking up at her husband, Eugenie knew that he was a good man and that he did not deserve to feel guilty for loving the woman he’d always loved. “I’m happy for you. Truly.”

  Shock marked her husband’s features for a long moment before his arms rose and he raked his fingers through his hair, his lips tight as he stared at her, frustration blazing in his green eyes. “I’m so sorry. I never expected to see her again. I never expected that she would ever be found alive.” His eyes locked on hers, an almost desperate plea in them. “I would never have asked for your hand if I had thought even for a moment that—”

  Placing her hand on his, Eugenie looked up at him. “It’s all right. I know you could not have foreseen this. I know you intended to move on. I know you tried, and I’m grateful for what you did for me. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t asked for my hand.” She swallowed then. “W-what will happen now?”

  Lord Wentford’s face tensed. “I spoke to Mr. Thatcher. According to him, our…our marriage is void.”

  A pain-filled sob escaped Eugenie as he confirmed what she already knew.

  “Since Nessa did not die, our marriage remains intact, which also means that ours,” he drew in a tortured breath, “was never legally binding.”

  Eugenie’s hands began to tremble and, belatedly, she realized that her right one was still resting on his. She had only meant to offer comfort; however, as she looked down at it now, it seemed utterly wrong for her to be touching him. Swallowing, she withdrew it. “I’ll be ruined,” she whispered into the stillness of the room before her eyes closed to shut out the world around her.

  As though wanting nothing more than to contradict her, Lord Wentford seized her hand once more, holding it safely within his own. “I will not allow anything to happen to you,” he vowed, his jaw set determinedly. “None of this is your fault, and I’ll do what I can to see you safely settled. I’m certain we can find a…a husband who will understand that you did nothing wrong.”

  His voice rang with the desperate need to believe his own words to be true. Eugenie, however, knew how harsh the world could be, especially for a woman. Right and wrong did not matter when one’s reputation was lost. “You know as well as I that society does not care whether or not I acted wrongly. I’ll be ruined, and no decent man will want to marry me.”

  Despair fought its way through the wall of protection she had hastily erected around her heart, and her mind was suddenly only capable of thinking of one thing alone. What about my child? What will I do?

  Staring into the distance, Eugenie felt her hand rise and then gently settle on her belly, shielding the precious life within. It was all she could do.

  Seeing the motion, her husband stilled and his eyes widened in shock as understanding dawned. The air rushed from his lungs before he closed his eyes, no doubt hoping he had merely imagined what he had seen. “How long have you known?” he finally asked, his gaze kind and full of compassion…but also hopelessness.

  The same hopelessness that burned in Eugenie’s heart. “Not long,” she whispered as all strength seemed to be leaving her. “I meant to tell you but…”

  He nodded, and for a long moment, there was nothing but silence between them.

  Eugenie knew that there was no hope. No matter what Lord Wentford wanted to do for her, no matter whether or not he wished to protect her, she knew he would not be able to. The world was what it was, and even if she weren’t with child right now, she’d be ruined. No decent man would want to marry a woman carrying another man’s child, and the thought to marry a man who could not be rightly described as decent sent icy chills up and down Eugenie’s spine.

  Only moments ago, she had thought herself to be safe. She’d had a home and a family—if not a husband who loved her. She had been settled safely and comfortably, treated with respect and kindness. And now?

  All that was gone, ripped from her grasp by a turn of fate.

  Still, Eugenie felt no anger toward her husband or his first wife. Would that not make her an awful person? Did they not deserve a second chance after all the hardship and loss they’d suffered? Of course, they did.

  Nonetheless, a small voice deep inside whispered, But what about me?

  Having someone to blame for her sudden predicament would not change what was. Eugenie had learned that long ago. People made their decisions, unable to foresee all the consequences these decisions would bring to pass. Eugenie did not doubt her husband’s word. He had not acted with malice and deceit when he had asked for her hand. Neither had she acted without honor and propriety when she had accepted him.

  Neither one of them had done anything wrong.

  Nonetheless, the worst had happened. Where would she go now?

  “Adrian.”

  At the sound of her husband’s voice, Eugenie blinked, her brows furrowing as she tried to understand. “Pardon, my lord?”

  A spark of hope danced in her husband’s green eyes and he spoke with eagerness. “I need to go and…speak to an old friend,” he told her, his body twitching with the need to be off. “Please, do not despair. I promise I shall find a way to protect you both.” Then he rushed from the room.

  Remaining behind, Eugenie drew in a deep breath, willing herself to heed her husband’s words and not despair. Had he truly thought of a solution?

  Feeling numb, she sank back down onto the settee, her legs no longer able to support her. Her hands were trembling, and tears now flowed freely from her eyes and down her cheeks, dripping from her chin and falling onto her folded hands. What would happen now? And who was Adrian?

  In the year that she’d been married to Lord Wentford, Eugenie could not remember ever meeting a man with that name. Still, her husband had called him an old friend. Did that mean they hadn’t seen each other in a long time? Was that why she could not recall him?

  Why him? A voice deep inside mumbled.

  The thought of marrying a stranger—for what other course of action could there be?—brought new chills to Eugenie’s body. Once again, she was at the mercy of others, forced to choose without choice. But was there truly a man out there who would marry her under these circumstances? Why on earth would he?

  Still, Lord Wentford had looked so certain that help would await him wherever it was that he was headed. Eugenie could only hope that her husband’s choice was not one of desperation, and that his old friend was, indeed, a man who deserved the word.

  Still, all she could do was trust her husband that he would see them safe. She and her child.

  A puff of air flew from her lungs. “He’s not my husband any longer, is he?” Eugenie mumbled. “It seems he never was. I’m a fallen woman, and my child will be a bastard.”

  Unless…

  Chapter Three

  Eugenie

  Sometimes Adrian wondered what his mother would have thought of his use of Ravengrove’s ancient ballroom. Would she have laughed, shaking her head at him good-naturedly? Or would she have scolded him for his lack of decorum?

  Perhaps a bit of both.

  Jerking backward, Adrian barely managed to remove his head from the path Mr. Spencer’s right fist was currently on before it could collide with his left cheek. Considering his gardener’s burly build, it would have been considerably painful and would probably have brought him to his knees.

  His bare feet moved quickly on the smooth floor of the vaulted room, and Adrian spun around, attacking the giant of a man with vehemence. Mr. Spencer, however, didn’t seem concerned in the least, responding with equally fluid movements in order to protect his own face.

  Back and forth, they moved, attacking and retreating, as sweat broke out on their brows and ran down their faces. Their thin linen shirts clung to their upper bodies, and their breaths came fast, their faces red with exertion.

  Adrian felt his body move without thought, his heart beating steadily as his mind focused on his opponent and nothing else. More than anything, sparring with Mr. Spencer gave Adrian peace. Peace in a world filled with nightmares whenever he closed his eyes. Peace in a world where the days were spent in loneliness.

  As often as possible, he would push his body to the limits, reminded of the intensity of battle when the world around him ceased to exist and he lived only in the moment. In a strange way, Adrian missed his life as a soldier because in those moments when he had fought for his life he had felt at peace.

  In those moments, his demons had remained silent.

  After first returning from the Continent, Adrian had been restless, finding the stillness of Ravengrove almost suffocating. Over time, he had grown used to it, now cherishing the silence of the place, the lack of company, the solitude. Still, his thoughts remained and, more often than not, they were burdensome.

  His body had ached for some release, and so Adrian had reluctantly approached Mr. Spencer. His gardener’s eyes had widened considerably when Adrian had offered his proposition before the man had straight-out refused to meet his master in a friendly match.

  Still, Adrian had insisted and, over time, their relationship had shifted from master and servant to two opponents meeting for the single purpose of losing themselves in the exhaustion of the moment. Few words passed between them, and Adrian knew very little about the man who on occasion managed to send him flying across his mother’s cherished ballroom.

  All Adrian knew was that Mr. Spencer could hold his own in a confrontation and had an evil right hook. They brought each other to the edge of exhaustion. It was a welcome feeling and the only time of day that Adrian did not feel uncomfortable in his own skin.

  When fatigue finally slowed their limbs, the two men exchanged a courteous nod before parting ways. Adrian stepped outside into the warming spring day and made his way to the small well near the stables. He pulled up a bucket of ice-cold water and poured it over his head. As it always did, his heart paused, skipped a beat, as though uncertain how to continue or whether or not to do so at all. Perhaps a small part of Adrian hoped that one day it would simply not start up again.

  However, today was not that day.

  Heading back inside, Adrian slipped in through a side entrance and then headed down a deserted corridor toward the front hall. His wet feet made a strange sound on the polished floors, and his body began to grow cold. When he reached the great hall, his gaze drifted up the long staircase that split halfway, one side curving upward toward the east wing and one toward the west wing.

  As he always did, Adrian stopped at the foot of the stairs, and a small puddle formed around his feet as he stood there waiting. His gaze shifted from east to west, and he marveled at the division he always saw when climbing these stairs. Life and death existed side by side, one brought warmth and light while the other bestowed only pain and darkness.

  These stairs were like a fork in the road and although he always stopped to gaze upon it, Adrian always made the same choice. He sighed and, with slumped shoulders, began to climb the steps toward the west wing.

  “My lord, I must protest!”

  At the sound of Mrs. Perry’s voice, Adrian stopped and a small dormant part of his heart reawakened. How long had it been since he’d last seen her? He wondered. A fortnight or two? Although they all lived under the same roof, the servants tended to avoid him.

  As he had ordered.

  No one ever addressed him directly, and if they were to happen upon him by accident, they would quickly retreat. His scowl as well as the long scar running down the side of his face frightened most of them witless, reinforcing the whispers that circulated about the Beast of Ravengrove.

  Slowly, Adrian turned, willing himself not to remember the stern but kind housekeeper of his childhood and only see a servant daring to halt him in his path. “What is it you wish to say?” he demanded with an icy tone to his voice.

  Standing at the foot of the stairs right beside the small puddle he had left behind, Mrs. Perry regarded him with the same kind of interested concern in her brown eyes as she always had. A cap covered her graying hair, and a large apron protected her simple dress. She did not stand tall, but there was something formidable about her. Fastened to a belt, the large ring with the keys to Ravengrove dangled in the air, and Adrian spotted a long wooden object slipped through the thin leather on the other: the spoon.

  A grin almost slipped through his grasp at the sight of it, strapped to her side like a knight would carry his sword.

  “As I know that you’re not blind, my lord,” Mrs. Perry began, her brown eyes resting on his without the slightest sign of unease, “I must assume it is indifference that carries you.”

  Adrian frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Her brows rose in challenge before she pointed at the puddle beside her. “It’s like you’re leaving bread crumbs. If you don’t mind, I’d suggest you ring for a hot bath to be brought to your chambers instead of dripping all over my floors…my lord.” There was clear reproach in her voice, and she held his gaze, waiting for him to respond.

  Adrian tensed, and his scowl darkened. “I do not wish for a hot bath.”

  Mrs. Perry inhaled a somewhat annoyed breath and, for a moment, he wondered if she would roll her eyes at him as she had done countless times when he had been a boy. “Then might I suggest you take a more direct route to your chambers?”

  Surprise narrowed Adrian’s gaze as he would have expected her to retort with more vehemence, perhaps even whip out her trusted weapon in order to pressure him into compliance. However, as he looked at her now, he found the look in her eyes softer than he had ever seen it. He saw regret there, and compassion, pity even. He knew that seeing him thus pained her, but she knew as well as he that there was nothing to be done about it.