The Naked Viscount. Sally MacKenzieЧитать онлайн книгу.
and fled.
He’d been trapped here, behind his desk—he wasn’t quite bold enough to walk out on the aunties. Bold, hmm…brave was probably a better word. He’d be exiled from his house—hell, he’d be exiled from London…from England…if hetried such a trick.
He’d stood, of course, the moment he’d seen them. He’d heard the baby puke comment before; he very much hoped he could get through the interview without Gertrude dredging up any other distasteful memories of his infancy.
“Aunt Gertrude…and Aunt Cordelia, Dorothea, and Louisa, what a, er, pleasant, ah, surprise. Are you in London for the Season?” he’d said.
“Well, we certainly aren’t in London for our health.” Gertrude had coughed and glared at him. “How anyone can bear to live in this filthy place is beyond me. I swear it can’t get any dirtier each time I come up to Town, and each time I’m proven wrong again. How can you stand it?”
“Only with the strictest fortitude. The soot and noise are not at all what you are used to. I suggest you return to the country posthaste.”
Dorothea laughed. “Nice try, Edmund. We didn’t come up to see the sights, you know.”
“Or attend all the balls and parties and other frivolous entertainments.” Louisa had looked as though she’d bitten into a lemon. If she had a sense of humor, he hadn’t yet discovered it.
“Ah. Then why have you come to Town, ladies?” He knew the answer, but he was hoping he might be mistaken.
He wasn’t.
“To find you a wife, of course.” Gertrude’d wrinkled her brow. “You ain’t usually a lobcock, Edmund. Must be all this dirt—it’s clogged up your brain.”
He’d tried to laugh. He suddenly knew what it must be like to be a fox encircled by hounds. Death—or marriage—was beginning to feel inescapable. “I didn’t know I needed a wife.”
A colossally stupid thing to say—he’d recognized that the moment the words escaped his lips.
Gertrude snorted; Cordelia snickered; Dorothea laughed; Louisa merely rolled her eyes.
“You need an heir, Edmund.” Gertrude had spoken slowly as if she were addressing a complete slow-top. “So, of course, you need a wife.”
“But I don’t need an heir immediately. Not now. Not this year.” He’d taken a deep breath. He was a grown man. The aunts could not force him into parson’s mousetrap. “I have plenty of time for such things.”
“You don’t know that,” Louisa said. “You could step outside this afternoon and be run down by a carriage.”
“Thank you for the warning, Aunt Louisa, but I’ve managed to navigate London’s highways and byways successfully so far.”
“It’s only a matter of time; London’s traffic is dreadful.”
“Yes, well, gruesome considerations aside, you still can’t shilly-shally any longer,” Gertrude said. “You’re past thirty, aren’t you?” She’d looked down her nose at him—a good trick as he was a half a foot taller than she.
“Ah…”
“You’re thirty-three, Edmund,” Louisa said.
“Exactly.” Gertrude nodded. “We gave you an extra three years. I wanted to have this discussion on your thirtieth birthday, but Winifred persuaded me to wait.”
Thank God for small favors.
“Where is Winifred?” He’d try anything to change the subject.
Aunt Gertrude just stared at him. “Away. Now about your marriage.”
“Aunt Gertrude, I do not wish to discuss marriage.”
“You must discuss it. There is no time to waste.”
“Gertrude is right, Edmund.” Cordelia had put a hand on his arm. “You know it took your grandpapa more than a dozen years to get an heir. And your papa, though fortunate to have you so quickly, had no other sons.”
Gertrude’d snorted. “Well, there’s no secret why that was. I never understood why he married Dorcas. She was such a milk-and-water miss.”
Louisa laughed. “It was crystal clear why he married the girl—he had no choice. He was caught with his breeches down, literally. And as it turned out, she was increasing with Edmund here.”
“And she was very beautiful,” Cordelia said.
“If you like china dolls.” From her tone, it was clear Louisa did not.
Ah, yes, Motton thought, shaking his head to dispel the memory of the aunts’ arrival, his father and his mother. He took another swallow of brandy. Theirs had been a marriage made in hell, not heaven. His father had been pushed up the church aisle just as the aunts seemed determined to push him.
He’d be damned if he ever let himself be trapped the way his father had been—though that had been partly his randy papa’s fault. If the man hadn’t always been ruled by his cock…
He took another swallow of brandy. His cock had been rather insistent over in Widmore’s study just now. He hadn’t done Miss Parker-Roth permanent damage, but if word did get out, she’d be as compromised as if he had.
Surely she wouldn’t tell Winifred—that had to have been an empty threat.
Damn it all, he did not want a marriage like his parents’. He would rather have his title revert to the Crown. Papa had lived in Town, drinking and whoring; Mama had languished in the country, quacking her imagined ills with pills and potions. When Motton was sixteen, Papa died of apoplexy in his current mistress’s bed, and then Mama took a touch too much laudanum to finally end her ills, real and imagined. No, he’d have no part of that kind of marriage.
He ran his hand through his hair. Why did he keep picturing a certain annoying neighbor? Hell, when Winifred had been listing all the young ladies of the ton, he’d been thinking only of Miss Parker-Roth. Winifred had mentioned her, but in passing—and he’d had to bite his tongue to rectify that oversight.
Was he completely mad? That would have been like waving a red flag inches from a bull’s face.
He’d been amongst the ton too much recently—he was acting out of character. First he’d agreed to Ardley’s ridiculous request, and now he was lusting after a respectable young woman. He might as well start looking for a comfortable cell in Bedlam. He needed to get away, avoid the jollities of the Season. He would—
No, he wouldn’t. This time he couldn’t disappear from the ton’s ballrooms as he had in the past. There were the aunts to consider, but more importantly, there was Miss Parker-Roth. She’d clearly taken the bit in her teeth on the issue of Miss Barnett; she’d run straight into disaster if someone didn’t grab her reins. As he was the only person aware of the issue, the responsibility must fall to him.
And that thought should not be so damn pleasant.
He should tell Stephen, dump the whole blasted mess in his lap. Miss Parker-Roth was his sister; she was his responsibility, at least in the absence of her father or John.
But Stephen was leaving on another one of his plant-hunting expeditions in a day or two, this one to Iceland of all places. Didn’t sound like the best spot to muck around looking for greenery, but then what did he know? He couldn’t tell a rhododendron from a rutabaga.
In any event, all the arrangements had been made months ago, before John had gotten the crazy notion to attend Baron Tynweith’s house party. Stephen couldn’t delay his departure. John was supposed to come up to London shortly, but not in time to keep Miss Parker-Roth out of mischief. It was unlikely her mother would keep an adequate eye on her.
This was not a job for a female in any event. Ardley had sounded desperate—and there was that bungled attack in the garden.