Read Online Her Master and Commander by Karen Hawkins - Free Book Online Page A

one, this one short and squat with wrinkled clothing and clutching a satchel as if afraid someone might attack him and remove it from his arms by force.
    The thin man bowed. “My lord, allow me to introduce myself. I am Reeves. The butler for—”
    “Let me save you some trouble; I want nothing to do with Rochester. To me, the earl is dead.”
    The plump man cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but—my lord, I am Mr. Dunstead, the solicitor, and—”
    “I am not a lord.”
    “Ah,” the man called Reeves interjected smoothly. “But you are. I am indeed the butler for the late earl of Rochester. My lord, I regret to inform you that your father is dead.”
    Tristan’s heart froze. The earl. Dead. Gone forever.
    He found his gaze fixed on the tumbler in his hand, noting in a detached manner how the fire flickered through the heavy cut glass. He’d always known that this day would come, had always imagined the relief he’d feel when it finally arrived. He’d told himself that he was looking forward to it, that with his father’s death, he would find some of the peace that had been denied him, the life that had been stolen from him. Perhaps even the brother he’d lost.
    The thought of Christian made his hand tighten painfully about the glass. He forced himself to loosen his grip. Don’t think about it.
    Instead, he’d think about the loss of the man he’d never known. The man who’d left him without recourse. Some emotion sifted deep within him. It took him a moment to recognize it—it was grief. A deep, inalienable sadness. Not for the man himself, of course; Tristan had barely known him. But a sense of loss for what would never, ever be. It was as if some small part of him was still the child in that tavern room, waiting for his father to come. Waiting for some sign he was loved.
    “My lord?” The words were spoken low, with respect. “We are very sorry.”
    Tristan looked up to find both men regarding him with something akin to pity on their faces. Tristan slammed the glass down on the table by his elbow. “Do not look at me like that! Why did you come to tell me such a worthless piece of information? I cannot be the new earl. The bastard did not so much as acknowledge me. How could I have inherited the title?”
    The little man, Dunstead, blinked behind his spectacles. “Because…oh dear. This is quite complicated, but your father—”
    “Do not call that arrogant ass my father. He was not before, nor will he ever be.”
    Reeves cleared his throat. “My lord, I understand why you are upset. But you should know that I was with his lordship at the end. He was adamant you were to be the next earl.”
    “Why? Because he had no other sons?”
    A pained look crossed Reeves’s face. “That is neither here nor there. You are the earl. He went to quite a bit of trouble to make certain you would be.”
    Tristan sat back in his chair. “You don’t seem to understand. My brother and I were born on the wrong side of the blanket. Much as I loved my mother, she was sometimes too generous in her trust. She thought he would marry her, but he did not. So…I cannot become the new earl.”
    “Ah, but apparently the earl had an epiphany on his deathbed. He suddenly remembered that he had, in fact, married your mother. He even has a member of the church willing to testify to that fact.”
    Tristan’s smile was mirthless. “He did not go to all of this trouble because he loved me so much. If he wanted an heir so badly, why didn’t he just marry and have his bloody heir?”
    “He tried to,” Reeves said. “He and the duchess had no children.”
    Dunstead nodded briskly. “You are his eldest child. It is only right that you take your father’s place.”
    A bitter laugh broke from Tristan’s throat. “My father’s place—that is too amusing for words.”
    The butler and the solicitor exchanged glances. Mr. Dunstead set his satchel on the desk. “Perhaps if you saw the will yourself. I am supposed to read it