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Authors: Karen Robards
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of the family.”
“Mr. Timothy’s wife, my lord?” Mrs. Masters’ voice was squeaky with disbelief as her eyes ran over the new Mrs. Julia Stratham.
Jewel stiffened, conscious of the picture she must present with the still wet red gown clinging to every slim curve, the pale flesh of her breasts peeking out above the bodice, and her eyes shadowed with exhaustion and hunger. Mrs. Masters looked scornful, affronted, and offended in turn—until her rheumy blue eyes met the celestial ones of her master. Then all expression was quickly wiped from her face. Jewel’s sizzling temper subsided. There was no need for her to say anything to put the snooty creature in her place when the earl’s silence was so eloquent.
“Yes, Mrs. Masters. Didn’t I just say so?” He turned to Jewel, who looked at him as a drowning man might a life line. “Go with Mrs. Masters. She will provide all that you require. I will see you in the morning.”
“Please follow me, Miss Julia.” Mrs. Masters turned to go. Her tone was stiffly correct, but Jewel knew that her dislike of having to treat courteously one whom she had instantly dismissed as a guttersnipe or worse was fairly choking her.
The earl made a gesture indicating that Jewel should follow the housekeeper. With a final sideways look at the beautiful masculine face, which suddenly struck her as being a port in a storm of dislike, and a determined straightening of her shoulders, she did.
V
When the girl had gone, Sebastian Peyton, eighth Earl of Moorland, moved back to the chair behind his desk and sat down, feeling suddenly weary. Automatically his hand reached for the mother-of-pearl cigar box that held the thin brown cheroots that were one of his numerous vices. Extracting one and lighting it, he inhaled the aromatic smoke with pleasure. He was engaged to meet a trio of cronies for dinner and a night of activities that would no doubt add to their unsavory reputations as scions of noble families whose scandalous careers put them outside the social pale. But for once his heart was not in it.
He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and put the cheroot between his lips, savoring it. Life held too few pleasures, he thought bleakly. It was a cold and barren business with only small things like his cheroots, a good glass of brandy, or maybe a particularly ravishing high flyer to provide leavening. Which was probably why he hadn’t sent the brass-faced little chit about her business. He was bored, deadly bored, and she looked like she might provide some amusing moments. Added to which, admitting her to the family had annoyed his mother mightily, and he enjoyed annoying his mother. It paid her back in small measure for all those years when she had ignored him.
Funny how life worked out when you thought about it. Edward, his sainted brother who had been the darling of his mother’s heart and would have been the earl now if he had lived, had been dead these past ten years. And he himself had been widowed for what would be two years next month. And now Timothy, too, was gone.
Sebastian had never cared greatly for the lad, whose mother had spoiled him rotten just as Sebastian’s mother, sister to Timothy’s mother, had spoiled Edward. But he had been very young to die.
“Here’s one in the eye for old Seb.” Sebastian could imagine how the thought had cheered the dying youth. Timothy had deeply resented his cousin because Sebastian had refused to pay another farthing of his monstrous gambling debts, or to finance his taste for expensive light-skirts, or to advance him any sums over and above the allowance which came to him each quarter. In addition, he had rung a rare peal over Timothy’s head the last time the boy had come begging to him, and recommended that he find honest employment if he could not support himself on the funds that were available to him. It was an object lesson designed to put a damper on Timothy’s rackety ways before the boy came into his adequate but
“Mr. Timothy’s wife, my lord?” Mrs. Masters’ voice was squeaky with disbelief as her eyes ran over the new Mrs. Julia Stratham.
Jewel stiffened, conscious of the picture she must present with the still wet red gown clinging to every slim curve, the pale flesh of her breasts peeking out above the bodice, and her eyes shadowed with exhaustion and hunger. Mrs. Masters looked scornful, affronted, and offended in turn—until her rheumy blue eyes met the celestial ones of her master. Then all expression was quickly wiped from her face. Jewel’s sizzling temper subsided. There was no need for her to say anything to put the snooty creature in her place when the earl’s silence was so eloquent.
“Yes, Mrs. Masters. Didn’t I just say so?” He turned to Jewel, who looked at him as a drowning man might a life line. “Go with Mrs. Masters. She will provide all that you require. I will see you in the morning.”
“Please follow me, Miss Julia.” Mrs. Masters turned to go. Her tone was stiffly correct, but Jewel knew that her dislike of having to treat courteously one whom she had instantly dismissed as a guttersnipe or worse was fairly choking her.
The earl made a gesture indicating that Jewel should follow the housekeeper. With a final sideways look at the beautiful masculine face, which suddenly struck her as being a port in a storm of dislike, and a determined straightening of her shoulders, she did.
V
When the girl had gone, Sebastian Peyton, eighth Earl of Moorland, moved back to the chair behind his desk and sat down, feeling suddenly weary. Automatically his hand reached for the mother-of-pearl cigar box that held the thin brown cheroots that were one of his numerous vices. Extracting one and lighting it, he inhaled the aromatic smoke with pleasure. He was engaged to meet a trio of cronies for dinner and a night of activities that would no doubt add to their unsavory reputations as scions of noble families whose scandalous careers put them outside the social pale. But for once his heart was not in it.
He leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and put the cheroot between his lips, savoring it. Life held too few pleasures, he thought bleakly. It was a cold and barren business with only small things like his cheroots, a good glass of brandy, or maybe a particularly ravishing high flyer to provide leavening. Which was probably why he hadn’t sent the brass-faced little chit about her business. He was bored, deadly bored, and she looked like she might provide some amusing moments. Added to which, admitting her to the family had annoyed his mother mightily, and he enjoyed annoying his mother. It paid her back in small measure for all those years when she had ignored him.
Funny how life worked out when you thought about it. Edward, his sainted brother who had been the darling of his mother’s heart and would have been the earl now if he had lived, had been dead these past ten years. And he himself had been widowed for what would be two years next month. And now Timothy, too, was gone.
Sebastian had never cared greatly for the lad, whose mother had spoiled him rotten just as Sebastian’s mother, sister to Timothy’s mother, had spoiled Edward. But he had been very young to die.
“Here’s one in the eye for old Seb.” Sebastian could imagine how the thought had cheered the dying youth. Timothy had deeply resented his cousin because Sebastian had refused to pay another farthing of his monstrous gambling debts, or to finance his taste for expensive light-skirts, or to advance him any sums over and above the allowance which came to him each quarter. In addition, he had rung a rare peal over Timothy’s head the last time the boy had come begging to him, and recommended that he find honest employment if he could not support himself on the funds that were available to him. It was an object lesson designed to put a damper on Timothy’s rackety ways before the boy came into his adequate but
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