His Brother's Viscount by Stephanie Lake

Author:Stephanie Lake [Lake, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781635558043
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2020-12-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Early spring 1809, Kent

Wentworth stared at the neatly penned columns trying to make sense of the numbers, but it was hopeless. The past few hours he’d accomplished nothing. Every time he tried to concentrate, memories of large, brown eyes clouded his vision and the numbers on the parchment pages in the leather-bound accounts book blurred.

Disgusted with himself, he shoved the ledger so hard, it slipped from the desk and fell onto the carpet with a dull thud. He pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve the tension building in his head.

Over the last eight months, he had called on the boy every time his Dragon docked in Portsmouth, but Hector was never home to him. The many letters he’d sent Hector remained unanswered. When the footman he’d dispatched requested a response, the boy apparently looked at the missive, tossed it on a table in the entryway, said, “I have no reply,” and then left for a walk.

Wentworth would show up unannounced again if he thought for one second Hector would spare a word for him, but it was hopeless. They seemed to be truly done with one another.

He had damaged Hector’s adoration to the point nothing would ever help. Had he thought something involving champagne, a diversion, and a heartfelt apology would wash away the hurt he’d caused?

The past months had been so unbearably painful that even now he hardly noticed the perfect sunny weather. He missed that imp. The easy smile, the gentleness, the love freely given.

He missed knowing Hector would be there any time, every time he wanted something: to talk, touch, fuck. God, he missed it all. If he were truthful, he would even admit he missed himself, the way he was around Hector. Well, the good side of him around Hector, not the stupid, sullen him who could not bring himself to yield to their affection.

What the hell was wrong with him? When had he turned sentimental?

It was the melancholy that plagued him, that clouded his mind for years, but now memories came rushing back. Half-formed images now took bold shape. The recollections were not flattering. He was a stupid bastard who could not stop thinking about the time he did the rashest thing in his whole sordid life. The time when, he now realized, his heart broke for the second time.

✥ ✥ ✥

December 18, 1806, Grantham

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