Page 9 of Deceiving an Earl
“I don’t hate the idea.” She just didn’t think he was ready. He was… Well, to be honest, her son was lazy and demanding, and he felt the world owed him everything. He’d become an earl at too young of an age. Thirteen was too young, but even then he’d felt he was ready, and he’d resented the fact that she’d made him attend Eton. It had been his father’s dream that he attend the school, and it had been her hope that the professors would straighten Philip up.
Instead he’d been suspended multiple times. This last incident was the worst, and she feared that even Eton would not have him back. But it seemed Philip wasn’t going to give them a chance anyway. He had declared that he was finished with schooling and would not return, no matter what.
He’d been caught in the linen closet with a maid. The headmaster had not given her the salacious details. He’d been very circumspect, but she had heard one of the other boys tell another boy that Philip had been found with his pants around his ankles and his bum facing the door when it had been opened.
She’d nearly died of mortification and had wanted to flee right then—to leave him there and run away.
She simply did not know what to do with him anymore.
If he took over the earldom, he would bankrupt it within a year.
At the moment, it was being run by her late husband’s steward, and she was fine with keeping it that way, at least for a few more years.
Philip padded past her and entered his changing room.
“We are not finished discussing this,” she said. “Philip?”
He said something from the depths of his dressing room, but it was muffled.
“What did you say?”
He appeared a moment later, shrugging into a jacket that fit his widening shoulders to perfection. Philip was very particular about his clothes.
“I said I’m finished discussing this. It’s nothing we haven’t said before, and it’s tiring having to repeat myself. I’m going out.”
“You’re not going out. You’re supposed to be serving a punishment for your suspension from school.”
He rolled his eyes. “Mother. Please. Every lad there has tupped that maid. I just happened to be caught.”
“Philip!” She covered her hot cheeks with her hands. “That is completely unacceptable.”
He laughed and kissed the top of her head as he walked past her and out of his room, leaving her standing there, mortified and afraid of what the future held for both of them, if he didn’t change his ways.
…
Oliver was deep in thought, his mind cataloguing the cards that had been played and the combination of cards that his opponents held that could possibly beat him.
There were none.
He held the winning hand.
He kept his expression inscrutable as he puffed on an expensive cigar and waited his turn.
“My lord.” A servant leaned close, holding out a silver salver with a note on it. Oliver observed all of this out of the corner of his eye, keeping his attention on the game.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Something urgent, I am told.”
“Urgent? In the middle of the night? What time is it by the way?”
The servant paused. “Three twenty-two in the morning, my lord.”
The only urgent thing that Oliver could think of would be something with his mother or sister, but they were in prime health, and the Evendale ball had been this evening—they were probably not even home yet.
With a sigh he put his hand of cards down and took the note.
“Thank you,” he said absently as the servant scooted away.
