Page 8 of The Viscount's Code
Anthony smiled, but it was a grim one. “I am looking for a book.”
“You’ll have to be more specific. I have an entire library full of them.”
“Very well. It is a brown leather-bound book in hand-written scrawl.”
He waited for the earl’s reaction, but he gave away nothing, except for the slightest tick of his right eye.
“What’s so special about this book?”
Anthony hadn’t been sure how much he would share with the man, and decided to tell a half-truth, as he didn’t feel that he could yet trust him – or if he would ever be able to.
“I am a book collector. I have found one similar and I would like to compare it to yours.”
“Why would you think I have such a book?”
“I heard a rumor.”
That would teach the earl about rumors.
“Whatever rumor you heard is false,” Embury said, sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.
“So you have never heard of such a book?”
“I have not.”
“That is too bad,” Anthony mused.
“I suppose you have come all of this way for nothing, then,” the earl said now, and Anthony shrugged.
“That’s not true. I also have the wonderful company of your family.”
He smiled coldly at the man, then, knowing how much his words likely irked him. It was not that he had anything against Embury. He just didn’t like how the earl was treating him, as though he was someone lesser than – not good enough for his daughters, clearly suspicious about his motives. Anthony could tell he had the book in his possession. He just didn’t want to share it with him, likely convinced that he was a traitor, if he believed the same about Anthony’s own father.
“Be careful, son,” Lord Embury said, eyeing him, to which Anthony stood.
“I am not your son,” he said, biting out the words, before motioning toward the door. “Perhaps we should go join the women now.”
“Perhaps,” Lord Embury said. “Remember what I said about my daughters.”
“How could I forget?” Anthony murmured.
As much as Anthony was pleased to be away from Lord Embury and his judging stare, when they entered the drawing room, he immediately regretted his suggestion, for Lady Embury’s incessant chatter hadn’t ebbed since they had retired. One would think she would have run out of topics by now.
She paused for a moment and greeted the men when they entered before she returned to her soliloquy on whatever it was that most noblewomen amused themselves with – for this particular woman it seemed to be the latest gossip of the day. Lady Embury was quite proud of her letter writing and had much to share from it.
When she finally took a breath, Anthony interjected. “Excuse me.”
Lady Embury looked to him as if he had interrupted the Prince Regent himself.
“Yes, Lord Whitehall?”
“Perhaps one of the young ladies could play a song for us.”
Lady Embury’s eyelashes fluttered as she brought a hand to her chest and Anthony gathered that, if she was anything like most noble mothers of young ladies, she was as interested in showing off her daughters as she was in gossiping about their rivals. “Oh. Well, I suppose.”
A smile lit the face of Anthony’s mother. She had always loved music, particularly when his father had played, and had been asking him to take up instruments for a time now. He had always refused.
“Anthony has always loved music,” she said softly, and he nodded stiffly. At this point, anything was better than listening to Lady Embury.
