Read Online Desire Becomes Her by Shirlee Busbee - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shirlee Busbee
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the house for a while.”
Her reluctance obvious, Gillian gave in. “If it is your wish, Uncle,” she said with a decided lack of enthusiasm.
Silas beamed. To Luc he said, “We’ll expect you the first fine day.”
Entering the Dower House forty-five minutes later, Luc walked into the library, and despite the hour, approaching eleven o’clock, discovered he had guests. His half brother, Barnaby, and their uncle, Lamb, like Luc born on the wrong side of the blanket, were seated in a pair of high-backed fawn mohair chairs arranged near the fireplace. Partially filled snifters of brandy rested on the green-veined marble-topped table situated between the two chairs. A low fire burned on the stone hearth and cast dancing shadows into the room; the only other light came from a pair of candles on the mantel.
Luc grimaced, having a fair idea for their visit. Ignoring them, he stalked to the long mahogany lowboy that, these days, held an array of Baccarat decanters filled with various spirits and glasses and, selecting a snifter, poured some brandy from one of the decanters. Looking over his shoulders at the other two, he asked, “Refills?”
Both men nodded and once Luc had added to their snifters and returned the decanter to the lowboy, he picked up his snifter and sprawled on the green and cream damask sofa across from them. After taking a swallow of his brandy, he looked at Barnaby and said wearily, “I suppose this is about my visit to The Ram’s Head.”
“Christ! What were you thinking?” burst out Lamb. “Or were you, as usual, not thinking? Didn’t you stop to think that Nolles could have had you knocked in the head by one of his gang and had your body thrown over the cliffs into the sea with no one the wiser?”
Not recognizing the anxiety beneath Lamb’s words, Luc’s lips tightened. “If that happened, at least you’d have the satisfaction of knowing I lived down to your low expectations for me.”
Lamb smothered a curse. To Barnaby he growled, “You talk to him. He’ll listen to you.”
Barnaby sighed. It seemed that from the moment twelve-year-old Luc had stepped foot on Green Hill after his mother died and had met fourteen-year-old Lamb, they’d been at each other’s throats—when they didn’t have each other’s back. At ten Barnaby had been the youngest, but right from the beginning he’d been cast in the role of peacemaker, continually running interference between the two older, strong-willed men. The three of them shared a bond of blood and an affection that was as powerful as it was unshakeable—even if Lamb and Luc would rather have their tongues torn out than admit to the steadfast tie that bound them all together.
Picking his words with care, Barnaby said, “Lamb has a point. If he got the chance, Nolles wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.”
Grudgingly Luc admitted, “Though it pains me, I’ll concede that our dear uncle has the right of it this time. I wasn’t thinking when I decided to visit The Ram’s Head.” He stared down at the amber liquid in his snifter. “I wasn’t in the mood for the cheerfulness of The Crown and Mrs. Gilbert and her lovely daughters. Perhaps I was even looking for trouble, something to distract me. The queen’s death ...” He tossed down a swallow of brandy. “It won’t happen again.”
Lamb grumbled, “Let us hope so.” But there was no heat in his voice.
“Who told you I was there?” asked Luc with a lifted brow, glancing at Barnaby.
Barnaby smiled. “Lord Broadfoot, for one. He came by this evening while you were gone to thank you for saving Harlan’s hide.”
Luc looked innocent. “I beg your pardon? I had nothing to do with it. I merely saw that young Harlan arrived safely home.”
Lamb snorted, but the azure eyes so like Luc’s held amused affection. “You want us to believe that Broadfoot’s whelp, drunk as a wheelbarrow, was able to best a hardened gambler like Jeffery at Hazard?”
“But it must be true,” Luc
Her reluctance obvious, Gillian gave in. “If it is your wish, Uncle,” she said with a decided lack of enthusiasm.
Silas beamed. To Luc he said, “We’ll expect you the first fine day.”
Entering the Dower House forty-five minutes later, Luc walked into the library, and despite the hour, approaching eleven o’clock, discovered he had guests. His half brother, Barnaby, and their uncle, Lamb, like Luc born on the wrong side of the blanket, were seated in a pair of high-backed fawn mohair chairs arranged near the fireplace. Partially filled snifters of brandy rested on the green-veined marble-topped table situated between the two chairs. A low fire burned on the stone hearth and cast dancing shadows into the room; the only other light came from a pair of candles on the mantel.
Luc grimaced, having a fair idea for their visit. Ignoring them, he stalked to the long mahogany lowboy that, these days, held an array of Baccarat decanters filled with various spirits and glasses and, selecting a snifter, poured some brandy from one of the decanters. Looking over his shoulders at the other two, he asked, “Refills?”
Both men nodded and once Luc had added to their snifters and returned the decanter to the lowboy, he picked up his snifter and sprawled on the green and cream damask sofa across from them. After taking a swallow of his brandy, he looked at Barnaby and said wearily, “I suppose this is about my visit to The Ram’s Head.”
“Christ! What were you thinking?” burst out Lamb. “Or were you, as usual, not thinking? Didn’t you stop to think that Nolles could have had you knocked in the head by one of his gang and had your body thrown over the cliffs into the sea with no one the wiser?”
Not recognizing the anxiety beneath Lamb’s words, Luc’s lips tightened. “If that happened, at least you’d have the satisfaction of knowing I lived down to your low expectations for me.”
Lamb smothered a curse. To Barnaby he growled, “You talk to him. He’ll listen to you.”
Barnaby sighed. It seemed that from the moment twelve-year-old Luc had stepped foot on Green Hill after his mother died and had met fourteen-year-old Lamb, they’d been at each other’s throats—when they didn’t have each other’s back. At ten Barnaby had been the youngest, but right from the beginning he’d been cast in the role of peacemaker, continually running interference between the two older, strong-willed men. The three of them shared a bond of blood and an affection that was as powerful as it was unshakeable—even if Lamb and Luc would rather have their tongues torn out than admit to the steadfast tie that bound them all together.
Picking his words with care, Barnaby said, “Lamb has a point. If he got the chance, Nolles wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.”
Grudgingly Luc admitted, “Though it pains me, I’ll concede that our dear uncle has the right of it this time. I wasn’t thinking when I decided to visit The Ram’s Head.” He stared down at the amber liquid in his snifter. “I wasn’t in the mood for the cheerfulness of The Crown and Mrs. Gilbert and her lovely daughters. Perhaps I was even looking for trouble, something to distract me. The queen’s death ...” He tossed down a swallow of brandy. “It won’t happen again.”
Lamb grumbled, “Let us hope so.” But there was no heat in his voice.
“Who told you I was there?” asked Luc with a lifted brow, glancing at Barnaby.
Barnaby smiled. “Lord Broadfoot, for one. He came by this evening while you were gone to thank you for saving Harlan’s hide.”
Luc looked innocent. “I beg your pardon? I had nothing to do with it. I merely saw that young Harlan arrived safely home.”
Lamb snorted, but the azure eyes so like Luc’s held amused affection. “You want us to believe that Broadfoot’s whelp, drunk as a wheelbarrow, was able to best a hardened gambler like Jeffery at Hazard?”
“But it must be true,” Luc
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