Alex, and all that entailed.
Katie sent her a knowing glance. Missy clutched her husband’s forearm, rose on her tiptoes and whispered something in his ear. The only part of her sister-in-law’s statement Charlotte could make out was, “…wait until the morrow.”
James responded by patting her hand solicitously. “Don’t fret, love.”
In the drawing room, her brother motioned for her to take a seat. It was clear it was going to be one of those conversations.
James waited until she and Katie had availed themselves of the sofa and he and Missy of the one opposite before he began. “Nicholas—”
“Is Alex’s son,” Charlotte concluded. “Of that I’m certain you’re aware.”
James exchanged a brief look with his wife. “When do you intend to tell him?”
“Alex already knows.”
Her brother’s brow rose. She’d managed to shock him again.
“Alex met Nicholas yesterday when he came by to pick up some papers,” Catherine explained.
Missy’s mouth formed a silent “o”. James’s gaze snapped to Katie and then back to Charlotte.
“And?” he prompted.
All eyes were on her now.
“He wants him. He says he intends to take him from me.” And that is when Charlotte’s composure crumbled and a sob shook her. Broke her.
Alex was sitting at his desk in the study when the explosion came, disrupting the calm of the morning. Rutherford’s pounding on the front door reverberated throughout the house. It was loud enough to send the servants scampering from their posts to discover the source of the commotion. Disturbances like these made excellent grist for the gossip mill.
A glance at the long case clock revealed it was almost half past ten. Yes, at least two hours earlier than Alex had expected. His friend’s arrival had been a foregone conclusion.
A minute later, Rutherford swept into his study like a whirlwind or perhaps more like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Alfred trailed in his wake, an eddying mass of gesticulations, his hands moving about as if trying to rein in a fractious stallion with a feather.
“My lord, Lord Windmere to see you,” Alfred finally announced when it became obvious Rutherford would not be restrained or controlled.
“So I see,” Alex replied, his voice heavy with derision. “Thank you, Alfred.”
His butler wasted no time in taking his leave. It was the fastest Alex had ever seen him move. Poor man probably didn’t want to be witness to the bloodletting he thought sure to come.
Alex shifted his gaze back to Rutherford, noting the red slash of anger along his cheekbones. If his arrival at the front door hadn’t all but advertised it, his expression surely said this was not to be a social visit. He’d come armed to do battle.
“Back from London so soon?” Alex asked, lifting a brow.
“What the hell are you doing? Have you deliberately set out to kill every ounce of affection I have for you?” Rutherford looked as if he wanted to hit him, the skin of his face tight, his pale eyes spitting fury.
The corners of Alex’s mouth lifted ever so slightly. Glibness would not be appropriate at this time but his tongue appeared to have a mind of its own. “Yes, everything I do is for the want of your affection. I fear if I ever lost it, I should perish and die of longing.”
Once upon a time—and under vastly different circumstances—such a response would have elicited a round of hearty laughter.
Today, Rutherford emitted something resembling a snarl and then lunged at him. But Alex knew him well enough to anticipate his reaction. He was out of his chair in a second flat while the earl caught himself in time to stop his forward momentum from sending him hurtling over the desk and into the now empty chair. Rutherford’s solid weight against the desk sent papers sliding across the mahogany surface and onto the floor. The inkwell tipped precariously before landing upright with a distinct plop, thankfully not spilling its contents all over three shipping
Katie sent her a knowing glance. Missy clutched her husband’s forearm, rose on her tiptoes and whispered something in his ear. The only part of her sister-in-law’s statement Charlotte could make out was, “…wait until the morrow.”
James responded by patting her hand solicitously. “Don’t fret, love.”
In the drawing room, her brother motioned for her to take a seat. It was clear it was going to be one of those conversations.
James waited until she and Katie had availed themselves of the sofa and he and Missy of the one opposite before he began. “Nicholas—”
“Is Alex’s son,” Charlotte concluded. “Of that I’m certain you’re aware.”
James exchanged a brief look with his wife. “When do you intend to tell him?”
“Alex already knows.”
Her brother’s brow rose. She’d managed to shock him again.
“Alex met Nicholas yesterday when he came by to pick up some papers,” Catherine explained.
Missy’s mouth formed a silent “o”. James’s gaze snapped to Katie and then back to Charlotte.
“And?” he prompted.
All eyes were on her now.
“He wants him. He says he intends to take him from me.” And that is when Charlotte’s composure crumbled and a sob shook her. Broke her.
Alex was sitting at his desk in the study when the explosion came, disrupting the calm of the morning. Rutherford’s pounding on the front door reverberated throughout the house. It was loud enough to send the servants scampering from their posts to discover the source of the commotion. Disturbances like these made excellent grist for the gossip mill.
A glance at the long case clock revealed it was almost half past ten. Yes, at least two hours earlier than Alex had expected. His friend’s arrival had been a foregone conclusion.
A minute later, Rutherford swept into his study like a whirlwind or perhaps more like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Alfred trailed in his wake, an eddying mass of gesticulations, his hands moving about as if trying to rein in a fractious stallion with a feather.
“My lord, Lord Windmere to see you,” Alfred finally announced when it became obvious Rutherford would not be restrained or controlled.
“So I see,” Alex replied, his voice heavy with derision. “Thank you, Alfred.”
His butler wasted no time in taking his leave. It was the fastest Alex had ever seen him move. Poor man probably didn’t want to be witness to the bloodletting he thought sure to come.
Alex shifted his gaze back to Rutherford, noting the red slash of anger along his cheekbones. If his arrival at the front door hadn’t all but advertised it, his expression surely said this was not to be a social visit. He’d come armed to do battle.
“Back from London so soon?” Alex asked, lifting a brow.
“What the hell are you doing? Have you deliberately set out to kill every ounce of affection I have for you?” Rutherford looked as if he wanted to hit him, the skin of his face tight, his pale eyes spitting fury.
The corners of Alex’s mouth lifted ever so slightly. Glibness would not be appropriate at this time but his tongue appeared to have a mind of its own. “Yes, everything I do is for the want of your affection. I fear if I ever lost it, I should perish and die of longing.”
Once upon a time—and under vastly different circumstances—such a response would have elicited a round of hearty laughter.
Today, Rutherford emitted something resembling a snarl and then lunged at him. But Alex knew him well enough to anticipate his reaction. He was out of his chair in a second flat while the earl caught himself in time to stop his forward momentum from sending him hurtling over the desk and into the now empty chair. Rutherford’s solid weight against the desk sent papers sliding across the mahogany surface and onto the floor. The inkwell tipped precariously before landing upright with a distinct plop, thankfully not spilling its contents all over three shipping
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