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Authors: Karen Hawkins
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smiled slightly. “Never have I seen a man more happy to give up a fortune than your brother.”
“I promised to fund his home for injured sailors. I cannot let him down.” Christian managed a faint smile. “It was the least I could do. I would have given him more had he allowed it.”
“He was quite happy at the way things turned out.” The butler paused a moment. “Perhaps you’ll find a Lady Prudence of your own, my lord. That would be quite the thing indeed.”
The last thing Christian wanted or needed was a wife. He’d lived an unencumbered life, drifting from inn to inn, taking what he needed to survive and no more. The moment things became complicated, he moved on. As soon as he wasdone here and had exacted his revenge, he would leave once more.
Perhaps he would ride to Scotland with his servant, Willie, to see the countryside there, swords drawn in the dark of night, blood quickening in excitement. Christian rubbed his fingers together where they itched for the smooth cool feel of his rapier.
Soon. Once he was finished here…He looked at his glass. “Thank you for the port, Reeves. It was just the thing.”
“I took the liberty of having some of the late earl’s carefully guarded stock brought here, for your pleasure. Your brother insisted on it.”
Christian looked at his glass. His brother was even now residing in a snug cottage on the cliff overlooking the seas in Dover, his wife at his side. Christian had faced enough aching loneliness to appreciate the need for companionship.
But love? True love? As wretched as loneliness could be, it was nothing compared to the pain of betrayal. He’d seen with his own eyes what “love” did to a person—how it built hopes that were rarely, if ever, realized. Falling in love meant being weak, vulnerable to the whims of another. He’d watched his beautiful, confident, strong mother become frail and maudlin, watched her allow events to manipulate her until she was stripped of everything, thrown into jail, branded a traitor.
Christian took a slow sip of port. He would be damned if he ever let anyone get close enough to make him vulnerable.
Reeves looked at the clock as it chimed. “I fear it is getting late. Shall I have your bed turned down?”
“In a moment.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Christian took another drink. “Reeves, you are the best of all butlers.”
“You sound as though you’ve experienced quite a few, my lord. May I ask how that is, considering that you once resided in an inn?”
Christian grinned, “Not all of the women in those coaches were content with a mere kiss. I daresay I’ve been in half the boudoirs in London.”
Reeves looked pointedly at the ceiling.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, my lord. You said you did not wish me to state when you say things that remind me of your father, so—”
“Very well,” Christian snapped. He shifted restlessly, rubbing his fingers together yet again.
“Yes, my lord.” Reeves made his way to the sidebar again, this time returning with a small wooden box. He opened it to reveal several thin, rolled cigars. “My lord? I procured these this morning while at the market.”
Christian selected a cigar, a fragrant scent wafting up as he rolled it between his fingers. “Thank you for reading my mind once again.”
“That is not a very difficult feat when one realizes your mind possesses such magnificent thoughts as ‘I need a drink,’ ‘A good cigar would be nice,’ and ‘I wonder if Lady Bertram is wearing that silk chemise trimmed with little flowers.’”
Christian slowly turned his gaze on the butler. “I beg your pardon? What was that last one?”
Reeves pursed his lips. “The last what, my lord?”
“The last statement you made.”
“After ‘A good cigar would be nice’?”
“Yes,” Christian said grimly.
“Hm. Let me see. I believe I said, ‘I wonder if Lady Bertram is wearing that silk chemise with the little flowers.’”
“How do you know about
“I promised to fund his home for injured sailors. I cannot let him down.” Christian managed a faint smile. “It was the least I could do. I would have given him more had he allowed it.”
“He was quite happy at the way things turned out.” The butler paused a moment. “Perhaps you’ll find a Lady Prudence of your own, my lord. That would be quite the thing indeed.”
The last thing Christian wanted or needed was a wife. He’d lived an unencumbered life, drifting from inn to inn, taking what he needed to survive and no more. The moment things became complicated, he moved on. As soon as he wasdone here and had exacted his revenge, he would leave once more.
Perhaps he would ride to Scotland with his servant, Willie, to see the countryside there, swords drawn in the dark of night, blood quickening in excitement. Christian rubbed his fingers together where they itched for the smooth cool feel of his rapier.
Soon. Once he was finished here…He looked at his glass. “Thank you for the port, Reeves. It was just the thing.”
“I took the liberty of having some of the late earl’s carefully guarded stock brought here, for your pleasure. Your brother insisted on it.”
Christian looked at his glass. His brother was even now residing in a snug cottage on the cliff overlooking the seas in Dover, his wife at his side. Christian had faced enough aching loneliness to appreciate the need for companionship.
But love? True love? As wretched as loneliness could be, it was nothing compared to the pain of betrayal. He’d seen with his own eyes what “love” did to a person—how it built hopes that were rarely, if ever, realized. Falling in love meant being weak, vulnerable to the whims of another. He’d watched his beautiful, confident, strong mother become frail and maudlin, watched her allow events to manipulate her until she was stripped of everything, thrown into jail, branded a traitor.
Christian took a slow sip of port. He would be damned if he ever let anyone get close enough to make him vulnerable.
Reeves looked at the clock as it chimed. “I fear it is getting late. Shall I have your bed turned down?”
“In a moment.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Christian took another drink. “Reeves, you are the best of all butlers.”
“You sound as though you’ve experienced quite a few, my lord. May I ask how that is, considering that you once resided in an inn?”
Christian grinned, “Not all of the women in those coaches were content with a mere kiss. I daresay I’ve been in half the boudoirs in London.”
Reeves looked pointedly at the ceiling.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, my lord. You said you did not wish me to state when you say things that remind me of your father, so—”
“Very well,” Christian snapped. He shifted restlessly, rubbing his fingers together yet again.
“Yes, my lord.” Reeves made his way to the sidebar again, this time returning with a small wooden box. He opened it to reveal several thin, rolled cigars. “My lord? I procured these this morning while at the market.”
Christian selected a cigar, a fragrant scent wafting up as he rolled it between his fingers. “Thank you for reading my mind once again.”
“That is not a very difficult feat when one realizes your mind possesses such magnificent thoughts as ‘I need a drink,’ ‘A good cigar would be nice,’ and ‘I wonder if Lady Bertram is wearing that silk chemise trimmed with little flowers.’”
Christian slowly turned his gaze on the butler. “I beg your pardon? What was that last one?”
Reeves pursed his lips. “The last what, my lord?”
“The last statement you made.”
“After ‘A good cigar would be nice’?”
“Yes,” Christian said grimly.
“Hm. Let me see. I believe I said, ‘I wonder if Lady Bertram is wearing that silk chemise with the little flowers.’”
“How do you know about
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