His Lady Mistress by Elizabeth Rolls

Author:Elizabeth Rolls
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2004-06-23T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Max stalked into breakfast on his birthday, thoroughly out of charity with the world. Apparently he had finally persuaded his wife that their lives should be conducted separately. He hadn’t even seen her since their row in the garden. He should be feeling relieved, not worried about whether or not she was eating properly.

‘Happy birthday, Max,’ offered Richard.

He smiled faintly. ‘You too, Ricky. Er…your present wouldn’t fit in here. At least she would, but Henny swore that she and the maids would resign in a body, so I left her in the stables.’

‘Henny?’ asked Richard with a grin.

Max chuckled. ‘No, Angelfire’s foal. She’ll be a beauty. Just up to your weight. Good breeding stock too.’

Richard flushed. ‘Damn it, Max! You can’t give me that filly. With her bloodlines she could be a champion! Another Molly Longlegs. Choose an—’

‘Oh, stubble it, Ricky!’ said Max. ‘She’s yours.’

Richard subsided, still muttering about over generous idiots. Ignoring this, Max picked up one of the parcels beside him on the table.

He cast a guilty glance at the place set for Verity. It would remain empty. But the staff kept setting it for her. The empty chair and pristine silver mocked him. And her words haunted him—Whore? Bitch? Would she really have preferred to return to the Faringdons rather than marry him? Damn it! She’d wanted safety and security. Enough to become his mistress. What more did she want now that she had it?

He glanced up and found Richard’s gaze on him.

‘Not much,’ said Richard, flushing.

For a moment his mind blanked. And then he realised that he was still holding the parcel. Unwrapping it, he found a small carving of two spaniels curled up together. He shot a glance at the fireplace where the originals lay in a tangle of paws and drooping ears. He chuckled. Only Richard could have given him this.

All he said was, ‘Now I know why you’ve been leaving such a mess in the library.’ No more was necessary. Not with Richard.

Another larger, flat parcel lay beside his place. Frowning, Max picked it up. ‘What’s this?’

Richard shrugged. ‘Open it and find out. It was there when I came in. Almeria, perhaps? She might have sent it via Henny.’

Max dismissed that suggestion with a snort. ‘Hardly!’ Almeria only noted one’s birthday if one chanced within earshot of her discourse on duty and propriety.

He opened the parcel, puzzled. A frame came into view—a picture, then. His breath caught…but how could Richard not have known? Or had he? Yet it seemed so unlike him to consent to such a thing.

Max stared down at the crayon portrait of his brother, caught frowning in concentration over something in his hands. Looking more closely Max could see that he was carving; the artist had even captured the wood shavings curling down in a beam of sunlight. He looked again and smiled. He knew where this had been done. The bay window in the library. The floor there had been littered with shavings recently. He could have been given nothing he would value more dearly.

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