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It seemed like his cousin was having a party.
Blake winced at the thought.
He looked at the watch. He’d been away for fourteen months and seventeen days, after all. It was natural that the house wasn’t in mourning anymore. He couldn’t fault everyone else for continuing with their lives.
His knee started aching suddenly as the weariness of his long journey finally started setting in, but he shook himself. The journey wasn’t over yet. He needed to hold on for a little while longer. Then he would see his wife. She was just beyond those doors. He was sure.
He gathered his strength and sprinted up the steps, only to be stopped by a young footman at the door.
“Invitation only, sir,” the young man said.
“I don’t require an invitation to my own damn house,” Blake growled. He didn’t recognize the servant, and the fact irritated him even more.
A familiar voice called from behind the footman, “Is there something amiss, Rogers?”
“I believe you are mistaken, sir. This is Lord Payne’s townhouse,” the young buck insisted, still addressing Blake.
Blake raised a brow in irritation, but before he could chastise the footman, his old butler appeared from behind the footman’s shoulder. His eyes widened, and his mouth slacked in astonishment. The servant had never shown as much emotion in his entire life, and Blake found himself grinning at the old man.
“Crane,” he said and walked closer to him. “Explain to the young pup who the master of the house is.” He gestured to the footman who’d detained him at the door. Blake walked past the astonished butler and patted him on his back as he did so. “Glad to see you, Crane,” he said and slunk inside.
The crush inside the townhouse was unbearable. The smell of sweaty bodies threw Blake’s mind back to the time he’d spent on the ship, cleaning the docks, side by side with other sailors. But then other smells penetrated his senses: the female perfumes, the flowers, the burning of the candle wax. He heard the rustling of ladies’ skirts, the light chatter, and feminine laughter.
Blake looked around, feasting his eyes on the beautiful scene before him. He hadn’t seen anything as wonderful for over a year.
He stepped farther inside and encountered sideways glances directed his way. He looked down at his clothing and frowned. It wouldn’t do to show up in the ballroom looking this way. He wore a shabby blue tunic, covered by a dark brown quilted coat and no waistcoat. His petticoat breeches were worn down and abraded at the knees, his shoes scratched up and muddy. No, he couldn’t show up in the ballroom, in front of half of London, looking like he was some beggar from St. Giles. He was the master of the house, after all.
Blake turned toward the stairs. He was about to ascend the steps to his room in search of his old and comfortable clothing when the music stopped abruptly, and a male voice called for people’s attention. Blake halted with one foot atop the first step of the stairwell. Something was going on in his house. He turned slightly and strained to hear what the gentleman was saying.
“It is with immense pleasure that I announce my betrothal to Lady Annalise, the Countess of Payne!”
The exclamations of delight and clapping followed, muffled by the roaring of rushing blood inside Blake’s head. He couldn’t have heard that right. Blake stumbled away from the stairs and sauntered toward the French doors. He didn’t know how he made it into the ballroom. He didn’t know how he shouldered his way past the crowd. The only thing that registered in his mind was what he saw the moment he finally made it into the circle of people.
The Duke of Kensington was standing in the middle of the ballroom, kissing Annalise’s hand.Kissing my wife!
The ringing in Blake’s ears intensified, and his heart rate accelerated even more. The duke finally turned toward the cheering crowd and raised their linked hands.
Blake’s legs moved on their own accord as he stepped farther inside the circle. He heard hushed whispers and gasps around him, but he only had his eyes for his wife. She stood demurely by the duke’s side, her eyes downcast, her hand still in the duke’s grasp. She finally raised her head, and her gaze met his.
“Annalise,” he breathed.
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted in an inaudible gasp.
The blood violently rushing through his head muted all the sounds of the ballroom, and his vision blurred in front of him. The next thing Blake knew, his knees hit the hardwood floor as he fell. He threw his arms out in an attempt to catch himself but refused to take his eyes off his wife. The last thing he saw was Annalise’s worried face as she fell to her knees in front of him. And then everything went black.
