Page 30 of A Touch Wicked
James nodded. “Mother would only take food if I brought it. The doctors made certain that I knew the pregnancy would kill her if I wasn’t watchful. She . . .” He let out a breath. “She kept herself ill.”
His brother’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? Why?”
“Why do you think?” James’s laugh was bitter as he sipped his brandy. “She’d hoped father would hear of it and come home. Love is a disease that clouds all reason, Richard.”
“Is it?” Richard asked him softly. “I don’t believe that.”
“You didn’t see her, so you don’t know,” James said.
“My, what a convenient excuse. It’s fashioned to absolve one of any responsibility for their own destruction. Here’s the truth: Mother cared more about punishing Father than taking care of her own damn children. She made that clear on more than one occasion.” His brother straightened and said, “Perhaps you ought to ask yourself why an unmarried woman would risk ruin for a mere dalliance. Here’s a tip, James: it would require tearing yourself away from a bottle for longer than five seconds.”
Richard strode out of the room and shut the door hard behind him.
* * *
James bathed,shaved, and tried every one of his cook’s concoctions for easing the headache that came from overindulging.
Still, he felt restless, on edge. His fingers itched to pick up a bottle and drown his doubts away. James didn’t even wish to consider the questions his brother asked. They meant Selene had good reason for turning him down.
Questions and doubt left too much room for hope. And James Grey was not a man who depended upon such a flimsy emotion.
He paced now in his dark office while the rest of the house slept. His mind turned over every time he and Selene had ever met, every conversation they had ever had. And, yes, every time they had made love. Things he could not forget.
Stop this, you bloody fool.
He ought to go visit the tavern, or the gin palace again, or have himself another woman. One of his past lovers would no doubt be eager for his return.
With a rough sound, he left his study and headed down the hallway.
He needed to think. He —
The door of the library was ajar, light pooling on the carpet in the dark hallway. Who could be up at such a late hour? It was the middle of the night. Curious, James peered inside.
Miss Dumont sat curled on the settee, reading a book. The nightgown she wore covered her all the way up her neck. Such a prim garment didn't fit the wild state of her hair, the loose waves that escaped her careless chignon. It was clear that she had not intended anyone to see her this way.
James almost smiled — until he saw the pinched frown of her brow and the circles beneath her eyes. She looked as exhausted as he was. Why was she awake?
“Miss Dumont,” he said gently, pushing open the door. “Is everything all right?”
When she raised her head and met his gaze, he noticed she wasn’t at all surprised by him. In fact, Miss Dumont seemed almost resigned to his presence.
How curious. He hoped their last conversation hadn't bothered her. Should he apologize?
Then she offered him a small smile. “Only restless, Lord Kent. I hope you don’t mind me using your library at such an unusual hour.”
“You’re welcome to use it as often as you’d like.” He was hovering at the doorway, uncertain if he should approach. Perhaps she wished to be alone. Still, he found himself asking, “What are you reading?”
Miss Dumont motioned for him to sit in the chair opposite her. “Another one I think you would not enjoy. Men have a tendency to back away when I mention Wollstonecraft’sVindication of the Rights of Woman.”
James found himself laughing. “Here is where I must ask: did my sister influence you, or was it the other way around?”
This time her smile was genuine. “We may bring out the most radical parts of each other. One of these days you might find us yelling with the suffragettes in the park.”
“God help the men in this country when Alexandra leaves her desk and joins the protests. I’ll have to buy her more books to keep her occupied, but I suspect that only encourages her,” James replied. “What of you, Miss Dumont? Wherever did a woman such as yourself learn these things?”
All too easily, her smile disappeared and she looked away. “A woman such as myself. What could that mean, I wonder?”
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Sometimes I forget to whom I’m speaking.”
