Page 8 of The Marchioness of his Desire
She had taken, he noticed, to jotting notes down on sheets of foolscap. He watched, amused, as she scratched something on a sheet and tossed it off the side of her small writing table. Her ever-present maidservant, Waltham, who was nearly as odious as his mother, stooped to retrieve the page, hurriedly sanded it, and set it atop a stack accumulating in the seat of a nearby chair.
“Nicholas.”
“Good day, Mother.” He swept a mocking bow.
Several moments passed in silence before she spoke again.
“And who is this …” she set her quill carefully on the table and turned her head ever so slightly to give Ian the full benefit of her gaze, “… person … whom you have brought with you?” Her scornful glance raked Ian from head to toe.
Nicholas laughed and stepped toward her. He raised his brows as he spoke. “Mother, may I present my good friend Mr. Ian Bennet. His father also deals in the sugar trade. Ian, Her Grace, the Duchess of Sinclair.”
Ian stepped forward and bowed. “Your Grace.”
The Duchess slowly extended her hand. Ian looked flustered but recovered quickly. Laying his fingers beneath hers, he kissed the air above her wrist and stood.
“Yes. Well.” She sniffed and withdrew her hand, turning again to her quill. “You have timed your arrival ill, Nicholas. Although,” she turned toward them again, leveling a keen stare at Nicholas, “I am quite certain you know that already, do you not? It has ever been your habit to disrupt my daily routines as often as you might. You see how he disrespects me, Mr. Bennet.”
Nicholas ground his teeth.
“I beg pardon to disagree, your Grace. Your son has only this afternoon arrived from the colonies. I met him at the docks myself not thirty minutes past and conveyed him directly here.”
The dragon’s gaze shifted to Ian, and Nicholas took a deep breath. He could not allow her to rattle him so.
“Met him at the docks, you say. Hmm. At the docks, indeed.” She sniffed. “Well, that I can believe. His look and smell bear out your assertion quite admirably. However, Mr. Bennet, I remain in no doubt as to my son’s total control over his ship’s timing and his subsequent arrival here just now.”
She rose regally from her chair and moved to the more comfortable part of the room where Harrington had placed the tea items. “Please, gentlemen, do be seated.” She lowered herself onto the edge of a settee, back straight as a rod. Nicholas took the seat adjacent to her settee, leaving Ian to sit directly across from her.
“You see, Mr. Bennet,” she handed him his teacup, “my son secrets a sly and devious nature. Perhaps you have not yet known him long enough to realize this.”
“Well, my Lady, I have known Nicho…er, his lordship … for …”
Time to draw the fire to himself. Nicholas reached for his cup. “Actually, Mother, Ian and I met at Eton. And as for being sly and devious …well, some might say I have come by those traits quite naturally — given my parentage, you know.” He tossed a whole biscuit into his mouth and savored the look on her face as he crunched it loudly.
A glance at Ian’s horrified expression nearly caused him to spew the crumbs all over the delicately carved table between them. He drained his tea to prevent such a display and stood abruptly. Ian rose as well.
“Well, Mother. It has been lovely to see you again, but we really must be going. I have some business which requires my urgent attention and …”
“Sit down, Nicholas.”
“As much as I desire to oblige you, I am afraid I must decline. There is an urgent message that must be sent directly.”
She looked up at him questioningly.
“A message is it? Only a message? Well, that is easily remedied. Waltham.” She gestured to the maid who rushed to her side with parchment, ink, quill, and sand. His mother waved her hand toward the tea table, and Waltham quickly set the writing tools within his reach, clearing away the tea things that might hinder his writing process. “There. I trust that shall suffice.”
Nicholas did not move. His eyes locked with hers, and he felt the full force of her will as her gaze slowly dissolved into a glare. She obviously had more to say to him. Not that he cared to hear it, but this skirmish was not worth the effort he would expend to triumph over such a paltry issue. He sat and nodded at Ian, who, speechless from watching the drama enacted before him, sat also.
Nicholas scrawled a hasty message telling Rebecca he would call on her the next morning. He sanded, folded, and addressed the page before standing again.
“Waltham will take that for you, Nicholas.”
He smiled into his mother’s face, devoid now of the smirk he knew she was feeling. “I thank you, Mother.”
Waltham reached her hand toward him as he stepped from behind the table. “But I believe I shall hand this to Harrington myself.” He started for the door.
“As you wish, my son.” He almost turned to get a look at her expression but decided not to give her the satisfaction as he opened the door and called for Harrington.
“Now, then, Mother.” He walked slowly back to the seating arrangement, careful not to reveal his anger. “I believe you have something you wish to discuss?”
