Read Online Lord Gray's List by Maggie Robinson - Free Book Online
Authors: Maggie Robinson
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preferred to think he was inside Evangeline Ramsey, her long sinuous body brushing against him instead of the linen sheet. The dream was taking a particularly poignant turn when he woke to the sight of his mother standing over him, brandishing a clutch of newspapers in her hand. When they came down upon his head, he hastily removed his hand and tucked a pillow over the tented bedsheet.
Damn it. He felt like an errant schoolboy. What on earth was his mother doing monitoring his self-pleasuring? He was thirty years old—he’d not had a woman in a week. Evangeline. And it was, by God, barely light outside. What the hell time was it?
“Mama! Is something wrong?”
“You tell me! What is the meaning of this, Benton?”
Ben could feel himself turning red. “Now, Mama, men have urges, you know. And I believe I was asleep. You cannot hold me responsible for my nocturnal—”
“Not that, you stupid boy! This!” She shook the papers again and he rolled away from further abuse.
His mother was rarely angry. Since the death of her husband, she emanated nothing more heated than a strong sense of relief. Even when Bad Ben had been at his worst—which was often—his mother had been remarkably calm. She was not calm now, quivering in indignation, and still in her dressing gown.
“I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“You have put The London List out of business!”
“I have. I should think you’d be pleased. You’ll be much more able to digest your breakfast on Tuesday mornings.”
Wait. Today was Tuesday. There should be absolutely nothing in his mother’s plump hand, but it looked very much to Ben in the dim light that his mother had a raft of newspapers there. How many? Seven? Wasn’t that the number he’d been paying for so that his entire staff could mock him weekly?
Ben’s jaw twitched. “What’s that you’ve got there, Mama?”
“The last edition ever of The London List, according to the publisher, a young gentleman named”—she squinted at the print—“Mr. Ramsey. He says you lied and cheated him out of the paper so that you could continue your wicked ways and keep your indiscretions to yourself. Fat chance of that! You are a byword, Benton Gray, of loose morals and louche behavior and I don’t know what else. And now you’ve taken advantage of a poor old man. I’m disappointed in you, Ben.”
Ben did not know which of his mother’s sentences to address first. Clearly he had underestimated Evie. Should he have sent her flowers after that unbelievable night last week? Locked up the newspaper office? Taken a pickaxe to the press? He’d given the business barely a thought as he’d tried to reform himself.
Well, fuck reformation. His own mother thought he was beyond salvation.
“I am sorry you hold me in such low esteem, Mother,” Ben said, his tone as frosty as the white haze on the windowpane.
“Oh, don’t go all haughty baron on me, Ben. I’m sure there’s more to this story than is printed on the page. Why don’t you tell it to me?”
Ben lifted his chin and folded his arms, remembering his father in just such a pose before the apoplexy took him to warmer climes. “As you can see, I am not dressed. If you will give me the courtesy of a few minutes, I shall meet you downstairs in the dining room.”
His mother bit a lip. “Very well. Severson seemed most anxious to talk to me about something when we met on the stairs. The man is agitated, and that’s not like him. Don’t be long. Here, perhaps you should prepare your defense.” She tossed a single copy of the newspaper on his bed.
He was not going to pick it up and read Evie’s lies. He may have deserved some skewering before, but he had done nothing now but ensure that she and her father could live in the lap of luxury for the rest of their days. He’d even found that fop Frank Hallett at the theatre and paid him more than a year’s wages of severance pay.
But nothing was ever enough for
Damn it. He felt like an errant schoolboy. What on earth was his mother doing monitoring his self-pleasuring? He was thirty years old—he’d not had a woman in a week. Evangeline. And it was, by God, barely light outside. What the hell time was it?
“Mama! Is something wrong?”
“You tell me! What is the meaning of this, Benton?”
Ben could feel himself turning red. “Now, Mama, men have urges, you know. And I believe I was asleep. You cannot hold me responsible for my nocturnal—”
“Not that, you stupid boy! This!” She shook the papers again and he rolled away from further abuse.
His mother was rarely angry. Since the death of her husband, she emanated nothing more heated than a strong sense of relief. Even when Bad Ben had been at his worst—which was often—his mother had been remarkably calm. She was not calm now, quivering in indignation, and still in her dressing gown.
“I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“You have put The London List out of business!”
“I have. I should think you’d be pleased. You’ll be much more able to digest your breakfast on Tuesday mornings.”
Wait. Today was Tuesday. There should be absolutely nothing in his mother’s plump hand, but it looked very much to Ben in the dim light that his mother had a raft of newspapers there. How many? Seven? Wasn’t that the number he’d been paying for so that his entire staff could mock him weekly?
Ben’s jaw twitched. “What’s that you’ve got there, Mama?”
“The last edition ever of The London List, according to the publisher, a young gentleman named”—she squinted at the print—“Mr. Ramsey. He says you lied and cheated him out of the paper so that you could continue your wicked ways and keep your indiscretions to yourself. Fat chance of that! You are a byword, Benton Gray, of loose morals and louche behavior and I don’t know what else. And now you’ve taken advantage of a poor old man. I’m disappointed in you, Ben.”
Ben did not know which of his mother’s sentences to address first. Clearly he had underestimated Evie. Should he have sent her flowers after that unbelievable night last week? Locked up the newspaper office? Taken a pickaxe to the press? He’d given the business barely a thought as he’d tried to reform himself.
Well, fuck reformation. His own mother thought he was beyond salvation.
“I am sorry you hold me in such low esteem, Mother,” Ben said, his tone as frosty as the white haze on the windowpane.
“Oh, don’t go all haughty baron on me, Ben. I’m sure there’s more to this story than is printed on the page. Why don’t you tell it to me?”
Ben lifted his chin and folded his arms, remembering his father in just such a pose before the apoplexy took him to warmer climes. “As you can see, I am not dressed. If you will give me the courtesy of a few minutes, I shall meet you downstairs in the dining room.”
His mother bit a lip. “Very well. Severson seemed most anxious to talk to me about something when we met on the stairs. The man is agitated, and that’s not like him. Don’t be long. Here, perhaps you should prepare your defense.” She tossed a single copy of the newspaper on his bed.
He was not going to pick it up and read Evie’s lies. He may have deserved some skewering before, but he had done nothing now but ensure that she and her father could live in the lap of luxury for the rest of their days. He’d even found that fop Frank Hallett at the theatre and paid him more than a year’s wages of severance pay.
But nothing was ever enough for
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