Read Online Because of You by Cathy Maxwell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cathy Maxwell
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and you’ll have to settle for whatever I can find, especially since you are such a tall and brawny man.”
Yale couldn’t help but preen a bit. He liked the way the soft Northern burr in her voice rolled over the words “tall and brawny man.”
“Did you just pay me a compliment, Miss Northrup?”
To his surprise, she smiled.
He’d been right. She was a fetching lass when she smiled. The smile lit her whole face.
“If calling a man too big to make it easy to find breeches for him is a compliment, sir, then that I did.” On those words, she opened the door and left.
Charmed, Yale went to the window to watch her trudge through the inch or two of crusty snow on the ground. He scratched the growth of beard on his jaw. He hadn’t shaved since he’d left London.
He opened the door, stuck out his head, and shouted, “Don’t forget to bring a razor!”
She waved that she’d heard him.
He shut the door.
Silver gray clouds covered the sky. They were too high to herald more snow. He still felt weak, but was also eager to return to his life in London.
The truth was, he shouldn’t have come back.
Or he should have come back years earlier—while his father was still alive. He could have returned to England three years ago, but he hadn’t felt he had enough money or enough power to properly impress the great duke of Ayleborough…or so he thought.
He looked down at himself. He was a rich man, the owner of his own shipping company, and yet here he stood in a vicarage kitchen in the tiny village of Sproule dressed in nothing more than a sheet.
What a fool he was!
Of course, he could stop in London and see his brother Wayland and his sister Twyla.
He immediately rejected the idea. He could not face them. Not now that their father was dead.
His failure to be at his father’s side in his last hours would be only one more way in which Yale had disappointed his family. Besides, because of the age difference and their separate mothers, they had never been close as family. Wayland and Twyla had always done what had been expected of them. Yale had rebelled.
How many schools had he been sent down from for miscreant behavior? He’d forgotten.He’d also been extremely selfish. The truth was, his father had ignored him, favoring the children from his first marriage over Yale.
And it had hurt. At some point he’d learned that if he acted badly, his father had no choice but to pay attention.
Yale winced at the memories of some of the pranks he’d pulled.
Then there was episode that had gotten him disinherited. He’d been kicked out of school, this time permanently, but instead of returning home to Northumberland, he’d hired a coach and driver.
Even now he smiled at the memory of his younger self, full of self-importance and no small amount of gall, setting himself up as a man on the Town. He’d been all of eighteen. Not one merchant or a matchmaking mama had questioned him.
He’d rented rooms, purchased a horse, had a new wardrobe made, and lived the high life with plenty of women eager for his attentions and a new set of friends to take him around London. In less than six weeks he’d gambled away a small fortune—including the inheritance from his mother.
He stared out the kitchen window. Snow blanketed the graves and headstones. From this angle, he could just see the Ayleborough vault.
His breath made a fog on the window. He touched the cold glass with his finger, remembering that day when his father had come to Yale’s rooms in London and found him passed out drunk, a naked opera dancer at his side.
The duke had been furious. The school had notified him that they had sent Yale home. He’d been worried about Yale’s whereabouts until word had reached him through friends in London.
When his father had confronted him, Yale, hung over and full of pride, had demanded his portion of his inheritance right then and there so he could live his life the way he wished.
That had stopped his father’s
Yale couldn’t help but preen a bit. He liked the way the soft Northern burr in her voice rolled over the words “tall and brawny man.”
“Did you just pay me a compliment, Miss Northrup?”
To his surprise, she smiled.
He’d been right. She was a fetching lass when she smiled. The smile lit her whole face.
“If calling a man too big to make it easy to find breeches for him is a compliment, sir, then that I did.” On those words, she opened the door and left.
Charmed, Yale went to the window to watch her trudge through the inch or two of crusty snow on the ground. He scratched the growth of beard on his jaw. He hadn’t shaved since he’d left London.
He opened the door, stuck out his head, and shouted, “Don’t forget to bring a razor!”
She waved that she’d heard him.
He shut the door.
Silver gray clouds covered the sky. They were too high to herald more snow. He still felt weak, but was also eager to return to his life in London.
The truth was, he shouldn’t have come back.
Or he should have come back years earlier—while his father was still alive. He could have returned to England three years ago, but he hadn’t felt he had enough money or enough power to properly impress the great duke of Ayleborough…or so he thought.
He looked down at himself. He was a rich man, the owner of his own shipping company, and yet here he stood in a vicarage kitchen in the tiny village of Sproule dressed in nothing more than a sheet.
What a fool he was!
Of course, he could stop in London and see his brother Wayland and his sister Twyla.
He immediately rejected the idea. He could not face them. Not now that their father was dead.
His failure to be at his father’s side in his last hours would be only one more way in which Yale had disappointed his family. Besides, because of the age difference and their separate mothers, they had never been close as family. Wayland and Twyla had always done what had been expected of them. Yale had rebelled.
How many schools had he been sent down from for miscreant behavior? He’d forgotten.He’d also been extremely selfish. The truth was, his father had ignored him, favoring the children from his first marriage over Yale.
And it had hurt. At some point he’d learned that if he acted badly, his father had no choice but to pay attention.
Yale winced at the memories of some of the pranks he’d pulled.
Then there was episode that had gotten him disinherited. He’d been kicked out of school, this time permanently, but instead of returning home to Northumberland, he’d hired a coach and driver.
Even now he smiled at the memory of his younger self, full of self-importance and no small amount of gall, setting himself up as a man on the Town. He’d been all of eighteen. Not one merchant or a matchmaking mama had questioned him.
He’d rented rooms, purchased a horse, had a new wardrobe made, and lived the high life with plenty of women eager for his attentions and a new set of friends to take him around London. In less than six weeks he’d gambled away a small fortune—including the inheritance from his mother.
He stared out the kitchen window. Snow blanketed the graves and headstones. From this angle, he could just see the Ayleborough vault.
His breath made a fog on the window. He touched the cold glass with his finger, remembering that day when his father had come to Yale’s rooms in London and found him passed out drunk, a naked opera dancer at his side.
The duke had been furious. The school had notified him that they had sent Yale home. He’d been worried about Yale’s whereabouts until word had reached him through friends in London.
When his father had confronted him, Yale, hung over and full of pride, had demanded his portion of his inheritance right then and there so he could live his life the way he wished.
That had stopped his father’s
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