and stable, and whose voice boomed out in a commanding bass. Suddenly the man's eyes fluttered open.
"It's you, eh? Don't know why you bothered comin' to see me. Lawyer says you're the one, all right. Gonna get it all; don't have to make up to an old man after all, y'know."
Smiling, Marcus relaxed at the familiar tone of brusque impatience and said, "I hope I am as cussedly ornery as you when I reach your age. Uncle."
"Won't reach my age; nobody does!" The crabbed hands plucked at the covers irritably. He eyed Marcus with something like resentment. "Wouldn't have recognized you myself, you know. Last time I saw you, you was just a little lad—a little bugger if I recall—always askin' questions and wan tin' to ride the horses."
"I haven't changed that much. I'm still always asking questions and wanting to ride the horses. As for the other part—^I suppose I'm not so little, but I might still be a bugger!"
The old man cackled and then yelped, "Call m'man and tell him I want to go downstairs today. Hate being in bed all the time! Nothing to do, nothing to look at. If I'm gonna die, might as well see somethin' besides this room. So, you been gallivanting around enjoying the Season? Making up to all the pretty gels? They do still make pretty gels don't they?"
"They do, at that One in particular is very pretty, like some kind of a ... an angel. But a calculating wench. Kissed me, then told me it was just for practice! She's planning on marrying a man of sixty and some odd years!" Marcus sat back in his chair, stretched his legs out in front of him, and said, "Disgusting, I say."
"Good for him, / say," the old man retorted. "If I was ten years younger I'd be giving him a run for his money, if she's as pretty as you say. What's she look like?"
Marcus closed his eyes. "Blond hair, bright, like spun gold. Eyes the color of oriental jade, the finest kind. Lips like rubies, only soft as velvet and honey mead sweet"
The man cackled in, and then coughed, his thin shoulders hunching as he hacked and wheezed. Marcus sat up straight, alarmed, but his uncle's valet came running and lifted the old man to a sitting position, pounding on his back.
As the cough subsided and he caught his breath, the old man rested back against the pillows propped up on the massive headboard for him. "Realize you described the gel in terms of gold, jade, and rubies?" the old man said, as his valet fussed around him, straightening the bed linens. "No wonder she's a fortune hunter! Got to keep up with her looks!"
Marcus laughed. "I hadn't looked at it that way."
"So is it just her looks that keep ya comin' back to her?"
"I didn't say I kept coming back to her," Marcus said, examining his uncle's surprisingly shrewd eyes. But it was true. He had followed Miss Arabella Swinley for a number of days before the embrace on the terrace. He knew he was fouling up her plans for tempting Lord Pelimore into a proposal, and took a strangely savage delight in disconcerting her. Ruthless little wench. "It's just—well, I don't want to see her throw her life away."
"Liar. There is something else there that you're not tellin' me."
"Maybe," Marcus said, abruptly, moodily. "But that is my business." He recovered his good humor, not wanting to upset his uncle. Who knew how long they would have to talk? The doctor said he could go anytime. This last coma that he had just emerged from had been longer and deeper than any other. He was very sick—dying, in fact—and he knew it. "But it is true as far as it goes. She is a brilliant diamond, about to be set in dullest pewter. It is not good enough for her. She ... I suppose I think she deserves something better."
"Then marry her yourself!"
With a grin, Marcus said, "She wants a rich man, and I am very poor, in her eyes."
"I'm sure you could convince her. You're a handsome devil, I'll give you that. Women like that kind of thing, almost as much as they like money. See if you can't tempt her into makin' a disastrous
"It's you, eh? Don't know why you bothered comin' to see me. Lawyer says you're the one, all right. Gonna get it all; don't have to make up to an old man after all, y'know."
Smiling, Marcus relaxed at the familiar tone of brusque impatience and said, "I hope I am as cussedly ornery as you when I reach your age. Uncle."
"Won't reach my age; nobody does!" The crabbed hands plucked at the covers irritably. He eyed Marcus with something like resentment. "Wouldn't have recognized you myself, you know. Last time I saw you, you was just a little lad—a little bugger if I recall—always askin' questions and wan tin' to ride the horses."
"I haven't changed that much. I'm still always asking questions and wanting to ride the horses. As for the other part—^I suppose I'm not so little, but I might still be a bugger!"
The old man cackled and then yelped, "Call m'man and tell him I want to go downstairs today. Hate being in bed all the time! Nothing to do, nothing to look at. If I'm gonna die, might as well see somethin' besides this room. So, you been gallivanting around enjoying the Season? Making up to all the pretty gels? They do still make pretty gels don't they?"
"They do, at that One in particular is very pretty, like some kind of a ... an angel. But a calculating wench. Kissed me, then told me it was just for practice! She's planning on marrying a man of sixty and some odd years!" Marcus sat back in his chair, stretched his legs out in front of him, and said, "Disgusting, I say."
"Good for him, / say," the old man retorted. "If I was ten years younger I'd be giving him a run for his money, if she's as pretty as you say. What's she look like?"
Marcus closed his eyes. "Blond hair, bright, like spun gold. Eyes the color of oriental jade, the finest kind. Lips like rubies, only soft as velvet and honey mead sweet"
The man cackled in, and then coughed, his thin shoulders hunching as he hacked and wheezed. Marcus sat up straight, alarmed, but his uncle's valet came running and lifted the old man to a sitting position, pounding on his back.
As the cough subsided and he caught his breath, the old man rested back against the pillows propped up on the massive headboard for him. "Realize you described the gel in terms of gold, jade, and rubies?" the old man said, as his valet fussed around him, straightening the bed linens. "No wonder she's a fortune hunter! Got to keep up with her looks!"
Marcus laughed. "I hadn't looked at it that way."
"So is it just her looks that keep ya comin' back to her?"
"I didn't say I kept coming back to her," Marcus said, examining his uncle's surprisingly shrewd eyes. But it was true. He had followed Miss Arabella Swinley for a number of days before the embrace on the terrace. He knew he was fouling up her plans for tempting Lord Pelimore into a proposal, and took a strangely savage delight in disconcerting her. Ruthless little wench. "It's just—well, I don't want to see her throw her life away."
"Liar. There is something else there that you're not tellin' me."
"Maybe," Marcus said, abruptly, moodily. "But that is my business." He recovered his good humor, not wanting to upset his uncle. Who knew how long they would have to talk? The doctor said he could go anytime. This last coma that he had just emerged from had been longer and deeper than any other. He was very sick—dying, in fact—and he knew it. "But it is true as far as it goes. She is a brilliant diamond, about to be set in dullest pewter. It is not good enough for her. She ... I suppose I think she deserves something better."
"Then marry her yourself!"
With a grin, Marcus said, "She wants a rich man, and I am very poor, in her eyes."
"I'm sure you could convince her. You're a handsome devil, I'll give you that. Women like that kind of thing, almost as much as they like money. See if you can't tempt her into makin' a disastrous
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