Page 70 of An Earl to Remember
Stephen rushed from the drawing room, and he gently eased his grandmother to sit on the sofa.
“Bah, stop all of this fussing. It is merely a dizzy spell.”
“You fainted twice last week,” his mother said gently, holding her hands.
Dread pooled in his gut. His nana had fainted twice last week? He sat beside her, and she rested her head against his shoulders.
“Would you like to retire to your chambers, Nana?”
“I am not feeling up to the journey.”
Daniel stood, hugged her to him, and lifted. A shocked sound came from his grandmother, and she slapped his shoulders.
“You will put me down this instant!”
He chuckled and walked with her from the drawing room, down the hallway, and up the winding staircase until he reached the large and elegant chamber she often stayed in whenever she visited his townhouse. He lowered her into the center of the bed, not liking how wan and frail she suddenly appeared. What the hell was going on?
Without taking off his shoes, he reposed on the bed beside her, and his mother sat in the single armchair close by.
“Incorrigible and impudent,” his nana muttered with great vexation, “to have lifted me so in your arms. The last person to hold me like that was your grandfather.” A beat of silence, then she said, “You look very much like him.”
“So you’ve said.”
Daniel smiled when she shifted closer to him.
“What are you thinking about?” his nana asked, patting his hand.
At first he thought about diverting her, but somehow the truth came out. “Peach orange wine.”
She made a small huffing noise low in her throat. “Is there such a thing?”
“Yes.”
“Surely it could not have been palatable to the senses.”
“Perhaps it was the company I had when I drank it,” he murmured, those hot memories washing over him, stirring his blood…and an ache inside his chest. While he enjoyed the scent and taste of a woman, their sensual and comforting company, he had never missed a lover after parting. Yet he bloody yearned to see Miss Georgianna Heyford again. “However, it was the best wine I ever drank.”
His mother straightened in the chair, and he saw the curious glance exchanged between his mother and grandmother.
“Who is she?” Nana demanded imperiously.
“My fake wife.”
“That impudent wench who had you sitting with your leg crossed at the knee?”
He almost laughed.
“What are her connections?” his nana asked in accents of alarm. “From any family we know?”
“No one you know,” he said.
“What is this creature’s name?”
“She is inconsequential, Nana.”
A small silence reigned, and he narrowed his gaze at the calculating glint in his mother’s eyes.
“I’d like to see you happy with a family of your own before I die,” Nana said.
