Read Online Seduced by a Pirate by Eloisa James - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eloisa James
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household, may I extend our best wishes on the occasion of your return.”
He paused, but Griffin didn’t see any reason to exchange flummeries.
“His lordship is in the study,” Mears stated. “If you will wait in the drawing room, I will inquire whether Lord Moncrieff is available.” His eyes skittered to the tattoo and away again. Too bad Griffin had left Shark at Arbor House; Mears would likely faint at the sight of him.
Griffin considered pushing his way into the library to greet his father. But he was too old to cross swords with Mears.
He had only waited in the sitting room a moment or two before the door opened. He looked up, expecting to see the butler, but his father was on the threshold.
The viscount had grown older. Deep grooves ran along the sides of his mouth. His hair had turned silver. He still stood tall, shoulders squared, and he didn’t look frail.
But he was much older.
“Father,” Griffin said, inclining his head, uncertain what to do.
The viscount walked toward him without a word, his face showing no expression. But then he reached out and pulled Griffin into his arms. “My boy,” he said, his deep voice catching. “You came home. You finally came home.”
His arms were strong, and for a moment Griffin had a fleeting memory of being embraced like this before. But how could that be? He hardly remembered seeing his father, who was always in London, sitting in the House of Lords.
Griffin cleared his throat, feeling distinctly awkward. His right hand was clutching his cane, but he patted his father on the back with his left. “I’m here,” he said, trying for a cheerful tone. “Come home like a proverbial, piratical bad penny.”
When his father pulled away, Griffin discovered to his horror that Lord Moncrieff’s eyes shone with tears. “I thought I would never see you again,” he said, ignoring Griffin’s foray into weak humor. “I imagined you dead at sea, cut to pieces by strangers or drowning in a storm.”
“There were some thorny moments,” Griffin said, “but I’m back.”
His father touched the poppy tattoo. “The mark of your profession?”
“Of my ship. The Flying Poppy .” Griffin hesitated, then added, “I must sit down, Father.”
Lord Moncrieff sprang back. “You’re wounded. You lost a leg!”
Griffin’s smile was reluctant, thrown over his shoulder as he limped to the sofa. “My wife came to the same conclusion. But no, I managed to escape the fate of a wooden leg. I’m merely recovering from an injury.”
“If you lost a leg, I would expect you to replace it with solid gold,” his father said, sitting down opposite. “Mr. Pettigrew has given me biannual reports regarding your estate, as you instructed. It seems there’s a great deal of money to be made on the high seas.”
“Did he tell you that we have received royal pardons?”
“Actually, the Prince Regent did me the favor of forwarding that news himself.” His father’s smile spoke volumes. Griffin had thought his pardon was the result of a very large ruby, but it seemed that Viscount Moncrieff may have played a hand as well.
“I received several letters this morning indicating that the Duke of Ashbrook made a rather dramatic entrance into the House of Lords,” his father continued.
Griffin nodded. He was experiencing something close to vertigo. When he last stood on English soil, he was a youngster, forced to marry a merchant’s daughter whom he’d never seen in the flesh. He had been furious, rebellious, alienated from his father. Now that same father was revealing a dry sense of humor Griffin had certainly never known about.
Oh, brave new world.
“I want to offer my deep apologies, Son,” the viscount said now. “If I’d known how deeply you loathed the marriage, I wouldn’t have forced you to it. I was devastated when you fled the country.”
“I didn’t run away due to my marriage,” Griffin said.
His father wasn’t listening. “I thought about the match
He paused, but Griffin didn’t see any reason to exchange flummeries.
“His lordship is in the study,” Mears stated. “If you will wait in the drawing room, I will inquire whether Lord Moncrieff is available.” His eyes skittered to the tattoo and away again. Too bad Griffin had left Shark at Arbor House; Mears would likely faint at the sight of him.
Griffin considered pushing his way into the library to greet his father. But he was too old to cross swords with Mears.
He had only waited in the sitting room a moment or two before the door opened. He looked up, expecting to see the butler, but his father was on the threshold.
The viscount had grown older. Deep grooves ran along the sides of his mouth. His hair had turned silver. He still stood tall, shoulders squared, and he didn’t look frail.
But he was much older.
“Father,” Griffin said, inclining his head, uncertain what to do.
The viscount walked toward him without a word, his face showing no expression. But then he reached out and pulled Griffin into his arms. “My boy,” he said, his deep voice catching. “You came home. You finally came home.”
His arms were strong, and for a moment Griffin had a fleeting memory of being embraced like this before. But how could that be? He hardly remembered seeing his father, who was always in London, sitting in the House of Lords.
Griffin cleared his throat, feeling distinctly awkward. His right hand was clutching his cane, but he patted his father on the back with his left. “I’m here,” he said, trying for a cheerful tone. “Come home like a proverbial, piratical bad penny.”
When his father pulled away, Griffin discovered to his horror that Lord Moncrieff’s eyes shone with tears. “I thought I would never see you again,” he said, ignoring Griffin’s foray into weak humor. “I imagined you dead at sea, cut to pieces by strangers or drowning in a storm.”
“There were some thorny moments,” Griffin said, “but I’m back.”
His father touched the poppy tattoo. “The mark of your profession?”
“Of my ship. The Flying Poppy .” Griffin hesitated, then added, “I must sit down, Father.”
Lord Moncrieff sprang back. “You’re wounded. You lost a leg!”
Griffin’s smile was reluctant, thrown over his shoulder as he limped to the sofa. “My wife came to the same conclusion. But no, I managed to escape the fate of a wooden leg. I’m merely recovering from an injury.”
“If you lost a leg, I would expect you to replace it with solid gold,” his father said, sitting down opposite. “Mr. Pettigrew has given me biannual reports regarding your estate, as you instructed. It seems there’s a great deal of money to be made on the high seas.”
“Did he tell you that we have received royal pardons?”
“Actually, the Prince Regent did me the favor of forwarding that news himself.” His father’s smile spoke volumes. Griffin had thought his pardon was the result of a very large ruby, but it seemed that Viscount Moncrieff may have played a hand as well.
“I received several letters this morning indicating that the Duke of Ashbrook made a rather dramatic entrance into the House of Lords,” his father continued.
Griffin nodded. He was experiencing something close to vertigo. When he last stood on English soil, he was a youngster, forced to marry a merchant’s daughter whom he’d never seen in the flesh. He had been furious, rebellious, alienated from his father. Now that same father was revealing a dry sense of humor Griffin had certainly never known about.
Oh, brave new world.
“I want to offer my deep apologies, Son,” the viscount said now. “If I’d known how deeply you loathed the marriage, I wouldn’t have forced you to it. I was devastated when you fled the country.”
“I didn’t run away due to my marriage,” Griffin said.
His father wasn’t listening. “I thought about the match
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