hand tracing the carved spindle trying to calm the rising anger.
“You may have thought you married London’s most notorious rake, instead you have a bore that cares more for drink than attending to his wife or his child.” She grabbed the cotton wrapper and thrust her arms into its sleeves. “Well, two may play this game. If you think you can ignore us, like other husbands do their families, then I shall take up Alexander’s case and we shall begin to ignore you.” She snatched the belt tight, squared her shoulders, and walked into the sitting room that separated her bedroom from her husband’s.
***
Dinner had long been cleared from the table. Still, Landon sat in his study. His feet extended toward the warmth of the fire. Dangling from his two fingers, a glass of brandy he’d barely touched. A log cracked and he watched the sparks lift against the draft and dance toward their freedom via his chimney. “Lucky you,” he mumbled.
His glance was drawn to the flicker of the flames. He needed to go upstairs. She would be waiting. He closed his eyes and pulled the glass toward his lips in an attempt to ignore the slight tremble that overtook his hand. By the gods, when had he succumbed to nerves? This was not new. He’d taken many women to bed. Was it the knowledge of the circumstances to which she had surrendered herself to his hands, or those damn golden curls?
“Bloody hell, I am a failure,” he whispered and another log splintered as if answering in Satan’s own laughter. The door pushed open. He turned his head to see his mother standing in the flickering light.
“So, you are down here hiding while that beautiful creature is waiting? I thought more of you, my boy.” She walked in and stood at the arm of his chair.
Landon refused to rise. “Go to bed, Mother.”
“Where is that man London heralds as Lord Heartless? The man, who according to the papers, has broken his share of hearts throughout London?”
“He does not exist, have you not heard?” he growled, wishing she would go away.
His mother snorted. Without a word, she lifted the glass from his hand. “You have finally done the very thing our noble ancestors would have applauded. You should be relieved, for I am proud of you.”
“I doubt that my ancestors would care. As for the other part, I am your child; you must think the best of me.”
Her lip curled. By thunder she was laughing at him. “My child, when I think of you, it is usually the worst.” To his surprise, she raised a hand and brushed an errant curl away from his forehead. “This is not the way she should be taken. No bride wants her groom to come to her as a drunken sot.”
“I am not drunk—yet.” He stared into the fire. “She did not want a season.” The left side of his mouth twisted up in bitter irony. “She said she would not be bargained for like a broodmare in a bazaar. I’ve done just that.”
“Perhaps. But many a maid has been sold on behalf of family fortunes for far less. She has gained entry to a long noble bloodline and will be compensated for her…shall we say, duties.”
“Compensated,” he hissed. “Tell me, will you inspect the bedsheets tomorrow to make sure the deed is done?”
“No need.” His mother turned, but her smile was vacant. “Servants talk. You can imagine the waggle of their tongues if you came away without the proof from the game of love.”
“A fine mess.” He heaved himself from the grasp of the comfort of his chair. “Then I shall go like some knight-errant to slay this dragon of virginity.”
His mother grabbed his arm. He glanced down, surprised at the strength in her fingers. She was not as feeble as she made others believe. His gaze moved with deliberate slowness toward her face. When their eyes met, she spoke. “Do not be a fool, Landon.”
He paused.
“A jewel of this kind should be nourished. If you go in like a raging bull, you will frighten her away. Your marriage will be one of fear. This
“You may have thought you married London’s most notorious rake, instead you have a bore that cares more for drink than attending to his wife or his child.” She grabbed the cotton wrapper and thrust her arms into its sleeves. “Well, two may play this game. If you think you can ignore us, like other husbands do their families, then I shall take up Alexander’s case and we shall begin to ignore you.” She snatched the belt tight, squared her shoulders, and walked into the sitting room that separated her bedroom from her husband’s.
***
Dinner had long been cleared from the table. Still, Landon sat in his study. His feet extended toward the warmth of the fire. Dangling from his two fingers, a glass of brandy he’d barely touched. A log cracked and he watched the sparks lift against the draft and dance toward their freedom via his chimney. “Lucky you,” he mumbled.
His glance was drawn to the flicker of the flames. He needed to go upstairs. She would be waiting. He closed his eyes and pulled the glass toward his lips in an attempt to ignore the slight tremble that overtook his hand. By the gods, when had he succumbed to nerves? This was not new. He’d taken many women to bed. Was it the knowledge of the circumstances to which she had surrendered herself to his hands, or those damn golden curls?
“Bloody hell, I am a failure,” he whispered and another log splintered as if answering in Satan’s own laughter. The door pushed open. He turned his head to see his mother standing in the flickering light.
“So, you are down here hiding while that beautiful creature is waiting? I thought more of you, my boy.” She walked in and stood at the arm of his chair.
Landon refused to rise. “Go to bed, Mother.”
“Where is that man London heralds as Lord Heartless? The man, who according to the papers, has broken his share of hearts throughout London?”
“He does not exist, have you not heard?” he growled, wishing she would go away.
His mother snorted. Without a word, she lifted the glass from his hand. “You have finally done the very thing our noble ancestors would have applauded. You should be relieved, for I am proud of you.”
“I doubt that my ancestors would care. As for the other part, I am your child; you must think the best of me.”
Her lip curled. By thunder she was laughing at him. “My child, when I think of you, it is usually the worst.” To his surprise, she raised a hand and brushed an errant curl away from his forehead. “This is not the way she should be taken. No bride wants her groom to come to her as a drunken sot.”
“I am not drunk—yet.” He stared into the fire. “She did not want a season.” The left side of his mouth twisted up in bitter irony. “She said she would not be bargained for like a broodmare in a bazaar. I’ve done just that.”
“Perhaps. But many a maid has been sold on behalf of family fortunes for far less. She has gained entry to a long noble bloodline and will be compensated for her…shall we say, duties.”
“Compensated,” he hissed. “Tell me, will you inspect the bedsheets tomorrow to make sure the deed is done?”
“No need.” His mother turned, but her smile was vacant. “Servants talk. You can imagine the waggle of their tongues if you came away without the proof from the game of love.”
“A fine mess.” He heaved himself from the grasp of the comfort of his chair. “Then I shall go like some knight-errant to slay this dragon of virginity.”
His mother grabbed his arm. He glanced down, surprised at the strength in her fingers. She was not as feeble as she made others believe. His gaze moved with deliberate slowness toward her face. When their eyes met, she spoke. “Do not be a fool, Landon.”
He paused.
“A jewel of this kind should be nourished. If you go in like a raging bull, you will frighten her away. Your marriage will be one of fear. This
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