Page 73 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
“I beg your pardon!”
A humorless smile touched his mouth. “I leave for town soon.”
“I cannot credit that you would—”
“Jules Southby will be with me.”
“Is that supposed to reassure me, Wulverton?” she said frostily. “You are not ready—”
He leveled a curious gaze at her. “It is not up to you to decide what I am ready for. I’ll not be running around town like a lunatic if that is your worry.”
His mother’s lips flattened, and she made a sound of frustration. James had only meant to inform her he was leaving for a few days. Now that he had done so he would retreat back into the woods and to his lover whom he had left sleeping deeply after another bout of lovemaking. He stood, frowning as he recalled the words his lover had said to him as they held a long, intense discourse.
Eventually it will be perfectly well to allow those cracks to widen, especially for your family.
He lowered himself back to the swing and met her regard.
“I keep with me always that I am the Duke of Wulverton. The family’s name will be safe from scrutiny, Duchess. I assure you, there will be no need to worry I will shame the family.”
Emotions flared her eyes wide. “Then why have you not answered anyone’s query as to who the mystery woman was you danced with last night? Everyone was in an uproar when you left!”
“Her identity is not important.”
The duchess narrowed her gaze. “Is this person someone you might make your duchess?”
An intense, primal sensation hooked itself through his chest. “She is…a friend, nothing more.”
“You did not look at each other as if it were only friendship. I was mortified by your…intensity, and Uncle Hubert speculated this lady might be yourmistress. Youcannotmarry somehow who does not have the social connection and reputation to make our family. I do not wish for you to be mortified by anything, and our society can be vicious.”
A dark humor washed through him. “Nothing can embarrass me, Mother.”
“You have no humility,” she said tartly. “Or concern for my nerves which have not been settled since last night.”
“Is that lack of humility not the mark of a good duke?”
She blinked. “You are smiling.”
He lifted a brow. “I have been known to do it from time to time.”
“Never with me or the rest of your family,” she said, smiling in return. “Only with Mr. Southby. The connection observed between you both is rather…interesting.”
There was an inquisitive, almost hesitant nature to her probing. James glanced toward the path leading to his woodland cottage and his sleeping lover. He had nothing to say to his mother’s assertion and chose to remain silent.
“Your Uncle Hubert, Aunt Margaret, and your cousins will also withdraw to town in a few days in preparation for the start of the season. All the preparations are underway for the ball. It is to be held at a new town house I’d purchased in Mayfair. That is where it has been held for the last three years.”
James assessed the pointed way his mother stared off in the distance. “I have sent word for the town house in Grosvenor Square to be opened.”
Her throat worked on a swallow. “Very well.”
“Why did you make a new purchase?”
His mother met his gaze, and a sharp feeling lanced into his chest at the flash of pain.
“It was where your father went on to his rewards.” Her gloved hands tightened on the rope of the swing. “It has been most difficult to return to Grosvenor Square.”
“Some of my last memories of him is that year I turned eighteen and he took me with him to Westminster.”
Her face softened. “He spoke of it often as well, James. Your father never believed you had died and that you would return home one day. Every day we spoke of you.”
