Read Online Night Moves: Dream Man/After the Night by Linda Howard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linda Howard
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coming back.”
Monica gave a thin cry, and pressed both hands to her mouth to cut off the sound. Noelle’s face lost its color, but her movements were precise as she placed her teacup in the center of the saucer. “I’m sure you’re mistaken, dear. Your father wouldn’t risk his social position for—”
“For God’s sake, Mother!” Gray snapped, his tenuous control on his patience snapping like a thread. “Dad doesn’t give a rat’s ass about his social position. You’re the one it’s important to, not him!”
“Grayson, it isn’t necessary to be vulgar.”
He ground his teeth together. It was typical of her to ignore something she found unpleasant and focus on the trivial. “Dad’s gone,” he said, deliberately emphasizing the words. “He’s left you for Renee. They’ve run away together, and he won’t be coming back. No one else knows it yet, but it’ll probably be all over the parish by tomorrow morning.”
Her eyes widened at that last sentence, and horror filled them as she realized the humiliation of her position. “No,” she whispered. “He couldn’t do that to me.”
“He did. It’s done.”
Blindly she got to her feet, shaking her head. “He—he’s really gone?” she asked in a faint murmur. “He left me for that . . . that—” Unable to finish, she walked quickly from the room, almost as if she were fleeing.
As soon as Noelle was gone, as soon as she was no longer there to frown at unseemly displays, Monica wilted onto the table, falling forward to bury her face against her arm. Harsh sobs tore up from her throat and shook her slim body. Almost as angry at Noelle as he was at Guy, Gray knelt beside his sister and put his arms around her.
“It’s going to be tough,” he said, “but we’ll get through this. I’m going to be really busy the next few days, getting our finances under control, but I’ll be here if you need me.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that financial disaster was looming. “I know it hurts now, but we’ll make it all right.”
“I hate him,” Monica sobbed, her voice muffled. “He left us for that . . . that whore! I hope he doesn’t come back. I hate him, I never want to see him again!” Abruptly she tore away from him, overturning her chair as she shoved it backfrom the table. She was still sobbing as she ran from the parlor, and he heard the harsh, gulping sounds continue all the way up the stairs. A moment later the slam of her bedroom door echoed through the house.
Gray wanted to bury his own face in his hands. He wanted to punch something, preferably his father’s nose. He wanted to roar his rage to the heavens. The situation was bad enough as it was; why did Noelle have to make it worse by being concerned only with what her friends would say? For once, why couldn’t she give some support to her daughter? Couldn’t she see how much Monica needed her now? But she had never been there for them, so why should that change now? Unlike Guy, Noelle was at least constant.
He needed a drink, a stiff one. He left the breakfast parlor and went back to the study, to the bottle of Scotch that Guy always kept in the liquor cabinet behind his desk. Oriane, their longtime housekeeper, was going up the stairs with an armload of towels, and she gave him a curious look. Not being deaf, of course, she had heard some of the uproar. The speculation between Oriane, her husband, Garron, who took care of the grounds, and Delfina, the cook, would be rampant. They would have to be told, of course, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it right then. Maybe after he had that drink of Scotch.
He opened the cabinet and took out the bottle, and splashed a couple of inches of the amber liquid into a glass. The smoky, biting flavor was sharp on his tongue as he took the first sip, then threw the rest of it back with a neat, stiff motion of his wrist. He needed the sedative effect, not the taste. He had just poured himself a second drink when a
Monica gave a thin cry, and pressed both hands to her mouth to cut off the sound. Noelle’s face lost its color, but her movements were precise as she placed her teacup in the center of the saucer. “I’m sure you’re mistaken, dear. Your father wouldn’t risk his social position for—”
“For God’s sake, Mother!” Gray snapped, his tenuous control on his patience snapping like a thread. “Dad doesn’t give a rat’s ass about his social position. You’re the one it’s important to, not him!”
“Grayson, it isn’t necessary to be vulgar.”
He ground his teeth together. It was typical of her to ignore something she found unpleasant and focus on the trivial. “Dad’s gone,” he said, deliberately emphasizing the words. “He’s left you for Renee. They’ve run away together, and he won’t be coming back. No one else knows it yet, but it’ll probably be all over the parish by tomorrow morning.”
Her eyes widened at that last sentence, and horror filled them as she realized the humiliation of her position. “No,” she whispered. “He couldn’t do that to me.”
“He did. It’s done.”
Blindly she got to her feet, shaking her head. “He—he’s really gone?” she asked in a faint murmur. “He left me for that . . . that—” Unable to finish, she walked quickly from the room, almost as if she were fleeing.
As soon as Noelle was gone, as soon as she was no longer there to frown at unseemly displays, Monica wilted onto the table, falling forward to bury her face against her arm. Harsh sobs tore up from her throat and shook her slim body. Almost as angry at Noelle as he was at Guy, Gray knelt beside his sister and put his arms around her.
“It’s going to be tough,” he said, “but we’ll get through this. I’m going to be really busy the next few days, getting our finances under control, but I’ll be here if you need me.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that financial disaster was looming. “I know it hurts now, but we’ll make it all right.”
“I hate him,” Monica sobbed, her voice muffled. “He left us for that . . . that whore! I hope he doesn’t come back. I hate him, I never want to see him again!” Abruptly she tore away from him, overturning her chair as she shoved it backfrom the table. She was still sobbing as she ran from the parlor, and he heard the harsh, gulping sounds continue all the way up the stairs. A moment later the slam of her bedroom door echoed through the house.
Gray wanted to bury his own face in his hands. He wanted to punch something, preferably his father’s nose. He wanted to roar his rage to the heavens. The situation was bad enough as it was; why did Noelle have to make it worse by being concerned only with what her friends would say? For once, why couldn’t she give some support to her daughter? Couldn’t she see how much Monica needed her now? But she had never been there for them, so why should that change now? Unlike Guy, Noelle was at least constant.
He needed a drink, a stiff one. He left the breakfast parlor and went back to the study, to the bottle of Scotch that Guy always kept in the liquor cabinet behind his desk. Oriane, their longtime housekeeper, was going up the stairs with an armload of towels, and she gave him a curious look. Not being deaf, of course, she had heard some of the uproar. The speculation between Oriane, her husband, Garron, who took care of the grounds, and Delfina, the cook, would be rampant. They would have to be told, of course, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it right then. Maybe after he had that drink of Scotch.
He opened the cabinet and took out the bottle, and splashed a couple of inches of the amber liquid into a glass. The smoky, biting flavor was sharp on his tongue as he took the first sip, then threw the rest of it back with a neat, stiff motion of his wrist. He needed the sedative effect, not the taste. He had just poured himself a second drink when a
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