Read Online Midnight Temptations With a Forbidden Lord by Tiffany Clare - Free Book Online
Authors: Tiffany Clare
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witness?
No. He’d have to be careful, otherwise her father was likely to call him out and demand retribution—and not in the form of a proper courtship if he wanted Warren for a son-in-law. He was sure her father’s definition of fair compensation for engaging his daughter’s heart would be Tristan’s head on a platter.
He’d have to strategize his next move very carefully. And it couldn’t happen tonight so he bid Lady Charlotte adieu and said his thank-you and good-night to the host and hostess.
Chapter 5
Nary a soul is to be found out of doors and easily observed when the heavens decide to open up. Rain makes for dull gossip on most occasions. That’s not to say that secret meetings behind closed doors haven’t been noticed. Very recently the Duke of A ____ was seen leaving his residence in the cover of night … and was not seen at any of his usual haunts or gaming hells. So where precisely did he disappear to? —The Mayfair Chronicles, May 1846“Papa, it’s time to wake up,” his son shouted.
Rowan was jumping on his bed, bidding him rather loudly to meet the day when really Tristan could use a few more hours of sleep. He couldn’t remain abed, though, with the mattress bouncing and jostling his body every which way. Tristan cracked one eye open. Sun shone around his room, making it impossibly bright.
“Has the rooster even greeted the day yet?” he asked.
His golden-haired child Ronnie giggled. “Papa, it’s after eight.”
He let out a heavy sigh and draped his arm over his eyes to block the light until his sight was better adjusted. “I need to have heavier drapes installed so you cannot open them to the morning before I’ve had a decent cup of coffee to wake me.”
“But you always tell us how clever we are, Father. We’d find a way to open them,” Ronnie said matter-of-factly.
He reached out and grabbed Rowan around the waist since he was still bouncing about. He hauled him down onto the bed and tickled his stomach until he could say nothing through the gales of laughter that robbed him of breath.
“But then you would sleep till lunch.” Ronnie brought over his robe.
Letting Rowan up, he pulled his robe on and slid his legs over the side of the bed. Ronnie sat next to him, Rowan on his other side.
“Aunty Bea wants you to come down to breakfast,” his daughter said.
Tristan patted her plump cheek. Ronnie was such a serious child, and not inclined to games and fun like her brother. However, three years separated them so perhaps his daughter thought it childish to play the games that her brother loved.
“Bea’s probably set a plate of kippers aside just for me.”
Ronnie and Rowan laughed in unison. A revolted shiver ran the length of Tristan’s body; he hated fish of any kind, yet his sister insisted on making him eat the slimy stuff because it was good for his digestion or some rot. He didn’t believe her for one second; she was probably poisoning him slowly, enjoying the fact that she could torture him while she insisted something he despised so thoroughly was good for him.
Cinching the robe around his waist with one final yawn to greet the day, he stood and let his children lead him to the breakfast room.
Bea was sorting through his correspondence, something she should do for a household of her own, but not a possibility since she’d been forced to drop out of society when she started increasing. His sister used to be dressed in the height of fashion, but now she hid behind bland colors—a checked gray day dress this morning—avoiding gowns that draped off the shoulders as was the recent fashion and preferring long shawls even when the weather was warm.
“Anything good?” he asked when she didn’t acknowledge his presence.
His sister looked up from the stack of parchment with a smile on her face, one hand shuffling through the papers, the other clasped around the locket he’d gifted to her on the day her son was born.
“Unless you consider
No. He’d have to be careful, otherwise her father was likely to call him out and demand retribution—and not in the form of a proper courtship if he wanted Warren for a son-in-law. He was sure her father’s definition of fair compensation for engaging his daughter’s heart would be Tristan’s head on a platter.
He’d have to strategize his next move very carefully. And it couldn’t happen tonight so he bid Lady Charlotte adieu and said his thank-you and good-night to the host and hostess.
Chapter 5
Nary a soul is to be found out of doors and easily observed when the heavens decide to open up. Rain makes for dull gossip on most occasions. That’s not to say that secret meetings behind closed doors haven’t been noticed. Very recently the Duke of A ____ was seen leaving his residence in the cover of night … and was not seen at any of his usual haunts or gaming hells. So where precisely did he disappear to? —The Mayfair Chronicles, May 1846“Papa, it’s time to wake up,” his son shouted.
Rowan was jumping on his bed, bidding him rather loudly to meet the day when really Tristan could use a few more hours of sleep. He couldn’t remain abed, though, with the mattress bouncing and jostling his body every which way. Tristan cracked one eye open. Sun shone around his room, making it impossibly bright.
“Has the rooster even greeted the day yet?” he asked.
His golden-haired child Ronnie giggled. “Papa, it’s after eight.”
He let out a heavy sigh and draped his arm over his eyes to block the light until his sight was better adjusted. “I need to have heavier drapes installed so you cannot open them to the morning before I’ve had a decent cup of coffee to wake me.”
“But you always tell us how clever we are, Father. We’d find a way to open them,” Ronnie said matter-of-factly.
He reached out and grabbed Rowan around the waist since he was still bouncing about. He hauled him down onto the bed and tickled his stomach until he could say nothing through the gales of laughter that robbed him of breath.
“But then you would sleep till lunch.” Ronnie brought over his robe.
Letting Rowan up, he pulled his robe on and slid his legs over the side of the bed. Ronnie sat next to him, Rowan on his other side.
“Aunty Bea wants you to come down to breakfast,” his daughter said.
Tristan patted her plump cheek. Ronnie was such a serious child, and not inclined to games and fun like her brother. However, three years separated them so perhaps his daughter thought it childish to play the games that her brother loved.
“Bea’s probably set a plate of kippers aside just for me.”
Ronnie and Rowan laughed in unison. A revolted shiver ran the length of Tristan’s body; he hated fish of any kind, yet his sister insisted on making him eat the slimy stuff because it was good for his digestion or some rot. He didn’t believe her for one second; she was probably poisoning him slowly, enjoying the fact that she could torture him while she insisted something he despised so thoroughly was good for him.
Cinching the robe around his waist with one final yawn to greet the day, he stood and let his children lead him to the breakfast room.
Bea was sorting through his correspondence, something she should do for a household of her own, but not a possibility since she’d been forced to drop out of society when she started increasing. His sister used to be dressed in the height of fashion, but now she hid behind bland colors—a checked gray day dress this morning—avoiding gowns that draped off the shoulders as was the recent fashion and preferring long shawls even when the weather was warm.
“Anything good?” he asked when she didn’t acknowledge his presence.
His sister looked up from the stack of parchment with a smile on her face, one hand shuffling through the papers, the other clasped around the locket he’d gifted to her on the day her son was born.
“Unless you consider
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