An Unforgettable Rogue by Annette Blair Read Free Book Online

her concern over Chesterfield’s reaction to their cancelled nuptials, and her anger at her husband, went a long way toward dampening Alex’s inclination toward celebration, she still wanted, more than her next breath, to walk into the sitting room, slip into his embrace, and weep with unmitigated joy at his return.
    But she could not, she thought, swallowing her gathering tears. Not yet.
    Hawk found himself standing outside a ruin of a manse, a dreamlike fog shrouding the night in ashen vapor, a ponderous regret cutting deep in his belly, for he bore the horrific sense that he had arrived too late.
    At the sound of carriage wheels on cobbles, he turned to see Alexandra and Chesterfield driving away.
    “No,” Hawk shouted. “No.” He could not allow them to live in sin together. Alex belonged to him, not to Chesterfield.
    Hawk mounted his horse—miracle of miracles, he could do so without pain—and he chased the carriage for hours, it seemed, catching up only when the vehicle stopped at a lavish estate in the heart of the mist.
    “Alex,” Hawk called. “Alex, I am here. No need to do this. Come, love. Come home with me.”
    But she continued walking away, as Chesterfield stepped forward to block his path and keep him from following. “You gave her up,” the knave said. “Your marriage was annulled, at your behest, and now Alexandra is my wife. Mine.”
    The blackguard laughed. He laughed until Alex called to him from an upper window, in that white diaphanous gown, her nutmeg hair flowing free and barely covering her sweet, lush breasts.
    Alex, calling Chesterfield to her bed.
    As if clamped in irons Hawksworth stood and struggled, unable to escape his invisible fetters, while Chesterfield entered the stately structure on his way to—
    “No!” Despite his struggle, Hawk could not free himself from immobility. Neither could he reach Alex.
    Soon it would be too late. “No!”
    As if doom had risen from the depths of hell, his father began to laugh.
    Alex awoke to a mournful cry and bolted from the bed. Bryceson was sitting up, trembling, elbows on knees, scrubbing his face with the flat of his hands, his shirt and trousers, even his bedding, drenched with perspiration.
    She knelt before him and tried to take his icy hands to warm them between her own, but he grasped hers, instead, and brought them to his brow, as if none but her touch could soothe him.
    “Bryce, what is wrong? Are you in pain? What can I do for you?”
    “It was only a dream,” he said. “A bloody nightmare, like a fretful three-year-old.”
    “Of the war?” she asked. “Was it terrible?”
    He relinquished her hands. “Light a candle, will you?”
    Alex did as he requested, then she poured him a brandy. “ Was it terrible?” she asked again, handing him the glass of dark amber liquid.
    He sipped it and laid his head against the back of the sofa. “Horrid.”
    “Would you like to tell me about it?”
    His sigh was heavy. “There was a huge, hulking dragon….” He paused and opened his eyes to regard her. “I believe it was purple. And scaly.”
    Alex sat back on her heels. “You rat, you are toying with me.”
    Hawk sat forward and fingered the hair coiled on her shoulder. “Toying with you, am I? If that were true, then I would be satisfied.”
    Alex frowned. “What are you talki—”
    “Your hair finally grew past your waist,” he said, extending the coil its full length. “You waited all your life for this.”
    “You made fun of me, because I made you measure it.”
    “Daily,” he added. “But I teased you more for your impatience, because it never grew fast enough . Nothing ever happened fast enough for you. You were so certain that one day your husband would adore your hair long and flowing past your waist.
    Alex regarded her hands, splayed on her knees, reluctant to discover what said husband really thought.
    An ember snapped in the hearth.
    “You were right,” Hawk said, thrumming her nerves and speeding her