contemplate that it wasn’t his? Wouldn’t entertain the notion of giving it up? She couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed in his unwillingness to pursue the possibility that he wasn’t Sachse.
“I’ve seen it from the outside, of course, but I’ve never been inside,” she finally admitted. “I don’t remember Lady Sachse ever hosting a ball, and if she gave a dinner, I wasn’t invited.”
Suddenly he sat up. “I want to share something with you, but it’s at the house.”
“Tom—”
“I know it’s not proper for you to be in a gentleman’s house without a chaperone, but what we’re doing here isn’t exactly proper either. The only one who will be awake at this time of night is the butler, and Matthews isn’t going to tell anyone. Since I’ve been here, I’ve learned that servants keep what goes on between the walls to themselves.”
“Unless someone pays them handsomely,” she reminded him.
“No one’s going to know, Lauren. Come to the house with me.”
“It’s after midnight,” she said, not entirely comfortable with the notion of going into his home that late, which was silly really. Nothing could take place inside his residence that couldn’t take place there by the Thames.
“It won’t take long,” he said. “I’ll have you home before the sun is up and anyone has realized you’re gone.”
Her curiosity overrode her hesitation. Besides, she wasn’t quite ready to give up her time with Tom. “All right.”
Chapter 8
L auren stared at the portrait of the last Earl of Sachse. She shifted her gaze over to the man standing next to it. The resemblance was uncanny. “You have kinder eyes.”
Tom glanced back over his shoulder at his father’s striking image. Even if it hadn’t been the largest framed portrait in the gallery that surrounded the balcony overlooking the entry hallway, it still would have commanded attention. The pose, the expression of the man rendered in oils demanded it. “He was a handsome devil,” Tom admitted.
She laughed. “Like father, like son.”
“God, I hope not.”
Her laughter abruptly died as she recognized the burden of his father’s legacy mirrored in Tom’s somber eyes. He stepped away from the wall, crossed his arms over his powerful chest, and leaned back against the balcony railing. He’d removed his duster when they’d arrived, and she could easily see the bulge in his arms that came by way of hard, honest work. While most of the gentlemen had their clothes custom tailored, she suspected Tom’s tailor would find himself challenged, because he’d probably seldom been required to make clothing for such a fine physical specimen.
“I’ve been in London only a few days,” Tom said, snatching her attention away from his muscles to the seriousness of his expression. “I’ve visited a gentleman’s club, my solicitor, a business manager, the bank, and your family.” Holding her gaze, he shook his head slowly. “Not a single person I’ve met regretted my father’s passing. No kind words are ever associated with his name. The same held true while I was at my ancestral home. Everyone looks at me as though they’re waiting for a fatal blow to be delivered. This afternoon in your drawing room was the first time that I’ve felt any sort of welcome from anyone I wasn’t related to. The only family I’ve met is Archibald Warner. He’s a fine gentleman, but his blood is far enough removed from my father’s that his every action wasn’t scrutinized with suspicion.”
“Tom, I’m sure you’re misreading people’s reactions.”
“Do you know why I’m so wealthy?”
The question was asked matter-of-factly, without any boasting, as though the extent of his wealth was simply something achieved without fanfare. Still, she couldn’t help but think it an odd question. What in the world did one have to do with the other? She shook her head, raised a shoulder in helplessness, and stated the obvious truth, “Because you
“I’ve seen it from the outside, of course, but I’ve never been inside,” she finally admitted. “I don’t remember Lady Sachse ever hosting a ball, and if she gave a dinner, I wasn’t invited.”
Suddenly he sat up. “I want to share something with you, but it’s at the house.”
“Tom—”
“I know it’s not proper for you to be in a gentleman’s house without a chaperone, but what we’re doing here isn’t exactly proper either. The only one who will be awake at this time of night is the butler, and Matthews isn’t going to tell anyone. Since I’ve been here, I’ve learned that servants keep what goes on between the walls to themselves.”
“Unless someone pays them handsomely,” she reminded him.
“No one’s going to know, Lauren. Come to the house with me.”
“It’s after midnight,” she said, not entirely comfortable with the notion of going into his home that late, which was silly really. Nothing could take place inside his residence that couldn’t take place there by the Thames.
“It won’t take long,” he said. “I’ll have you home before the sun is up and anyone has realized you’re gone.”
Her curiosity overrode her hesitation. Besides, she wasn’t quite ready to give up her time with Tom. “All right.”
Chapter 8
L auren stared at the portrait of the last Earl of Sachse. She shifted her gaze over to the man standing next to it. The resemblance was uncanny. “You have kinder eyes.”
Tom glanced back over his shoulder at his father’s striking image. Even if it hadn’t been the largest framed portrait in the gallery that surrounded the balcony overlooking the entry hallway, it still would have commanded attention. The pose, the expression of the man rendered in oils demanded it. “He was a handsome devil,” Tom admitted.
She laughed. “Like father, like son.”
“God, I hope not.”
Her laughter abruptly died as she recognized the burden of his father’s legacy mirrored in Tom’s somber eyes. He stepped away from the wall, crossed his arms over his powerful chest, and leaned back against the balcony railing. He’d removed his duster when they’d arrived, and she could easily see the bulge in his arms that came by way of hard, honest work. While most of the gentlemen had their clothes custom tailored, she suspected Tom’s tailor would find himself challenged, because he’d probably seldom been required to make clothing for such a fine physical specimen.
“I’ve been in London only a few days,” Tom said, snatching her attention away from his muscles to the seriousness of his expression. “I’ve visited a gentleman’s club, my solicitor, a business manager, the bank, and your family.” Holding her gaze, he shook his head slowly. “Not a single person I’ve met regretted my father’s passing. No kind words are ever associated with his name. The same held true while I was at my ancestral home. Everyone looks at me as though they’re waiting for a fatal blow to be delivered. This afternoon in your drawing room was the first time that I’ve felt any sort of welcome from anyone I wasn’t related to. The only family I’ve met is Archibald Warner. He’s a fine gentleman, but his blood is far enough removed from my father’s that his every action wasn’t scrutinized with suspicion.”
“Tom, I’m sure you’re misreading people’s reactions.”
“Do you know why I’m so wealthy?”
The question was asked matter-of-factly, without any boasting, as though the extent of his wealth was simply something achieved without fanfare. Still, she couldn’t help but think it an odd question. What in the world did one have to do with the other? She shook her head, raised a shoulder in helplessness, and stated the obvious truth, “Because you
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