Read Online Almost a Gentleman by Pam Rosenthal - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Pam Rosenthal
Ads: Link
a joke in the street. The little boy had large eyes in a pinched, sooty face—Bryan's innocent hazel eyes, or so it had seemed to her at the moment. She'd needed half a bottle of champagne to settle herself and for several nights she'd woken, sweaty and shaken, from a hideous dream of Bryan trapped in a sooty, suffocating chimney, screaming helplessly for her to rescue him.
Still, she chided herself, none of that excused her behavior to the earl of Linseley. Her terror of children was her own problem, and one she'd be ashamed to inflect upon such a good man. Lord Linseley had a grown son, she'd heard, and a wife who'd died, though she couldn't remember the circumstances. In any case, he'd doubtless been a fine father and a worthy protector of his own children. And since he'd appeared at Almack's to survey the marriageable goods, he probably wanted a new wife who'd give him a few more.
She sighed.
Well, good luck to him. Even if it's too late forme
.
David held his new purchase snugly beneath his arm as he strode away from the Blakes' doorstep. What a wonderful possession, he thought, the
Songs of Innocence and of Experience
, newly printed and marvelously colored. Mr. Blake had raised the price from five shillings to three guineas. Absurd. David would have happily paid three hundred. It was priceless, even if Marston has sneered at it.
And what had all that been about, anyway?
Mr. Blake had been enigmatic when David had questioned him about his earlier guest.
"He lives in Hell," was the artist's most coherent reply. "He suffers its torments and writhes within the coils of his secrets in Brunswick Square." The rest had been some claptrap about human sublimity and androgynous beauty.
Still, David thought, it was good to know where the young man made his physical—if not his metaphysical—residence. In case he ever needed some sort of assistance. Because of all the impressions the odd meeting in the street had left him with, the most intense was the flash of pain in Marston's eyes.
Children? I hate the little beasts.
Blake is right, David thought. Marston lives in Hell. The young man's in some sort of trouble.
He paused in front of the tavern, as though he could still feel Marston's presence at the spot where they'd conversed. A wave of protectiveness swept over him. It was almost as strong as the lust he'd almost begun to accept as the price of thinking of the young gentleman.
He hugged the book to himself, as though to protect the children whose pictures adorned its pages. Perhaps another ale at this fine establishment, he thought, while I feast my eyes once more upon the marvel I've purchased.
----
Chapter 5
She'd relaxed a bit by the time the cab had reached Brunswick Square. After all, she thought with a grimace, her sufferings were hardly those of Job.
And anyway, in a few days she'd be off for a little vacation.
Giving her package to a footman, she bade him unwrap the book and display it among the cherished items in the drawing room.
She fiddled with the pile of letters—invitations, by the look of them—ranged next to the pale porcelain vase on a table in the foyer. She'd attend to them later: most of them would need apologies, since she'd be out of Town—
grouse hunting season, don't you know
, she'd write in her excuses—for a few weeks beginning this Thursday.
First, though, she needed a scalding, steaming bath and perhaps a nap, before dressing for the evening and setting out on Marston's round of engagements.
The staircase curved invitingly before her. But instead of running lightly up the softly-carpeted stairs to her fragrant, rose-colored bathroom, she paced agitatedly, prowling through her downstairs rooms, distractedly picking up this or that pretty bibelot and putting it down again.
Its all right
, she told herself, pinching a less than perfect bloom from a tall floral arrangement,
you won't see him again
. He'll be back in Lincolnshire before you know it.
What had the
Still, she chided herself, none of that excused her behavior to the earl of Linseley. Her terror of children was her own problem, and one she'd be ashamed to inflect upon such a good man. Lord Linseley had a grown son, she'd heard, and a wife who'd died, though she couldn't remember the circumstances. In any case, he'd doubtless been a fine father and a worthy protector of his own children. And since he'd appeared at Almack's to survey the marriageable goods, he probably wanted a new wife who'd give him a few more.
She sighed.
Well, good luck to him. Even if it's too late forme
.
David held his new purchase snugly beneath his arm as he strode away from the Blakes' doorstep. What a wonderful possession, he thought, the
Songs of Innocence and of Experience
, newly printed and marvelously colored. Mr. Blake had raised the price from five shillings to three guineas. Absurd. David would have happily paid three hundred. It was priceless, even if Marston has sneered at it.
And what had all that been about, anyway?
Mr. Blake had been enigmatic when David had questioned him about his earlier guest.
"He lives in Hell," was the artist's most coherent reply. "He suffers its torments and writhes within the coils of his secrets in Brunswick Square." The rest had been some claptrap about human sublimity and androgynous beauty.
Still, David thought, it was good to know where the young man made his physical—if not his metaphysical—residence. In case he ever needed some sort of assistance. Because of all the impressions the odd meeting in the street had left him with, the most intense was the flash of pain in Marston's eyes.
Children? I hate the little beasts.
Blake is right, David thought. Marston lives in Hell. The young man's in some sort of trouble.
He paused in front of the tavern, as though he could still feel Marston's presence at the spot where they'd conversed. A wave of protectiveness swept over him. It was almost as strong as the lust he'd almost begun to accept as the price of thinking of the young gentleman.
He hugged the book to himself, as though to protect the children whose pictures adorned its pages. Perhaps another ale at this fine establishment, he thought, while I feast my eyes once more upon the marvel I've purchased.
----
Chapter 5
She'd relaxed a bit by the time the cab had reached Brunswick Square. After all, she thought with a grimace, her sufferings were hardly those of Job.
And anyway, in a few days she'd be off for a little vacation.
Giving her package to a footman, she bade him unwrap the book and display it among the cherished items in the drawing room.
She fiddled with the pile of letters—invitations, by the look of them—ranged next to the pale porcelain vase on a table in the foyer. She'd attend to them later: most of them would need apologies, since she'd be out of Town—
grouse hunting season, don't you know
, she'd write in her excuses—for a few weeks beginning this Thursday.
First, though, she needed a scalding, steaming bath and perhaps a nap, before dressing for the evening and setting out on Marston's round of engagements.
The staircase curved invitingly before her. But instead of running lightly up the softly-carpeted stairs to her fragrant, rose-colored bathroom, she paced agitatedly, prowling through her downstairs rooms, distractedly picking up this or that pretty bibelot and putting it down again.
Its all right
, she told herself, pinching a less than perfect bloom from a tall floral arrangement,
you won't see him again
. He'll be back in Lincolnshire before you know it.
What had the
Similar Books
