What a Wicked Earl Wants Read Free Page A

ears. A new maid had recently found it in the attic. That day, he’d looked at one page and shoved it inside the desk drawer. Bell ought to have told the maid to return it to the attic the day the sketchbook was discovered. Then it would have been out of his sight and mind forever. He walked over to the bell, intending to ring for the housekeeper. He meant to ask her to return the sketchbook to the attic. But he hesitated, because he didn’t want her to touch it.
    After four years, he ought to have put the past behind him. Most of the time, he managed to shove it to the far corners of his brain, but the periodic nightmares served as a reminder of all that he’d loved and lost.
    He returned to the desk, determined to shut the drawer. But something beckoned him. His ears thudded as he retrieved the sketchbook and opened it to a random page. A small boy sat on a sofa with a bundled infant. He gritted his teeth at the inscription near the bottom of the page. Andrew, age two, holding Steven one month after birth. His heart thumped at the sketch of him and his younger brother.
    Damn it all to hell. He’d known nothing good could come of resurrecting the memories. They were gone forever.
    He’d been too late all those years ago.
    Bell shut the sketchbook and shoved it back inside the cubbyhole in the desk. The past no longer existed. There was only the here and now.
    Gritting his teeth, he strode over to the bell rope and pulled it. When Griffith, the butler, appeared, Bell made arrangements to have his carriage brought round. He would deliver the flask to Lady Chesfield and have done with the matter once and for all.
      
    Laura Davenport, Lady Chesfield, sat with her new lap desk and drew out paper, pen, and ink. She tried to think of what to tell her sister Rachel about her “London adventure,” as her sister called it. Thus far, they had attended only one ball—the one last night that her friend Lady Atherton had hosted.
    She dared not say a word to Rachel about Justin’s rebellion. From the moment they had arrived, Justin had taken up with his friends from school and his attitude had grown surly. Worse, he’d taken to leaving with his friends at night and arriving home after midnight. He’d told her he was attending parties given by his friends’ parents, but she didn’t know them and was never invited.
    Rachel had always been her confidant, but Laura knew Rachel would read the letter to her family. She didn’t want to alarm them, but she was worried.
    Last night, Justin had disappeared from the ball for a long time. She’d even gone out into the garden to look for him and encountered that rake Bellingham again, but he was the least of her problems.
    She’d finally found Justin at the stairwell. After smelling liquor on her son’s breath, she’d rebuked him soundly in the carriage for lying and drinking. Of course, he’d sworn never to do it again, but she had a bad feeling about his friends and the influence they had on him.
    Laura put away the writing instruments and shoved the drawer closed. She was furious with her son. He’d begged to go to London with his friends, but she’d refused because she didn’t know their parents. Justin had pleaded with her day after day, and she’d finally made a compromise by offering to take him so that she could keep a close eye on him.
    A knock sounded. “Come in,” she said, hoping it was her son.
    Reed, the butler, entered. “The mail arrived, my lady.”
    She took the letters and dismissed Reed. The first few were from the estate manager at Hollwood Abbey. She read them quickly, satisfied that all was running well in her absence. Then she slit the seal on one and looked at the signature. It was from Montclief, her son’s guardian. In the past four years, Montclief had never responded to her letters. Her chest tightened as she started reading from the beginning. His tone was so insulting it stunned her.
    You ought to have consulted me prior to taking my nephew on