The Scoundrel's Lover by Jess Michaels

Author:Jess Michaels [Michaels, Jess]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Regency, General
Google: uyRTCgAAQBAJ
Publisher: The Passionate Pen
Published: 2015-03-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Marcus leaned back in his chair, unable to stop himself from laughing at the very amusing story Lady Hartholm had been telling. To his surprise and despite all his misgivings, he had been having a smashing time all night. Mrs. Flynn was nothing but kind and welcoming, Rafe was his old self, Serafina was lovely…and then there was Annabelle.

Wonderful, fiery, magnificent Annabelle, who he wanted so much that it physically hurt him to look at her sometimes.

Mrs. Flynn wiped tears of mirth from her eyes and smiled at him. He could see Annabelle in her face, in her eyes, in the way she tilted her head. Perhaps that made him like the older woman even more than he normally would have. He couldn’t help but return her smile.

“So how is it that you and my son are acquainted, Mr. Rivers?” she asked.

Marcus felt his expression falter, and he slid his gaze toward Rafe. There was really no appropriate way to explain this, especially not to ladies. And he found he didn’t want Annabelle’s mother to think less of him, as she surely would if she knew the truth.

Hell, Annabelle might think less of him if she knew the truth.

Rafe leaned back in his chair, all calm and certainty as he flashed a big grin toward his mother. “Ah, Mama, I am not certain you want to know the answer to that question.”

She shook her head, but there seemed to be no upset on her face, nor even surprise. “And here I thought I had asked it.”

Rafe shrugged. “You know our wicked ways, Mama.”

Now Mrs. Flynn’s smile vanished and Marcus flinched as he waited for her to turn a judgmental gaze on him. Instead, she merely ran her finger along the tablecloth reflexively.

“I suppose by our that you mean he is a friend of yours and Crispin’s?”

It was amazing to Marcus to watch the mood of the table shift with the mere mention of Crispin’s name. Serafina reached out to take her husband’s hand, Mrs. Flynn’s shoulders slumped and Annabelle went stiff as a board as she stared at her plate like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

He cleared his throat. “I do know your younger son, Mrs. Flynn,” he admitted. “He is as fine a man as your oldest.”

She lifted her gaze, snagging his. He saw her pain, her struggle, and it nearly took his breath away. He had been raised most of his life without anyone to love him, to give a damn whether he lived or died. That had changed thanks to…well, thanks to the sons and husband of this very woman.

His painful past meant he appreciated love even more. This family cared for its own. Annabelle was not alone in that.

“Thank you, Mr. Rivers,” Mrs. Flynn said softly.

With a screech of her chair, Annabelle leapt to her feet. The entire table turned toward her, eyes wide, including his own.

“Mr. Rivers, would you like a tour of the gardens?” she asked, hands opening and shutting at her sides.

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