Page 31 of Her Notorious Rake
Dalton’s heartbeat skipped. “I am in fact in possession of that very title, Miss Hayesworth.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh?” There was a tremble in her tone. “You dare?”
“Indeed. And I should very much wish for you to have it, for as long as you should require it.”
“Sir, I couldn’t—”
“I must insist,” Dalton held up his hand.
Gemma shook her head. “Truly?” her eyes began to sparkle with unshed tears, and Dalton couldn’t suppress a soft smile. “But of course. I shall have it delivered to your aunt’s home atonce.”
Gemma brought a hand to her lips. “Lord Blakemore. You are truly too kind.”
“It is my pleasure,” Dalton murmured, breathless.
Gemma’s chest rose and fell with a shaky inhalation, and he pretended not to notice. He relished the unrestrained joy lighting her features, the exhilarated smile playing at her pink lips. His heart began to beat faster.
“Well,” Theodore interrupted after along pause in which Dalton lost himself in Gemma’s eyes. “Shall we depart, old friend?”
He swallowed hard, and nodded. “Of course, of course. I bid you a good day, Miss Hayesworth.”
“And I bid you a good day as well.” Gemma dipped in a brief curtsy and they parted ways, Gemma and Prudence hurrying in the opposite direction. Dalton forgot himself, gazing after Gemma, soft dark hair fluttering about her cheeks. In his mind’s eye he continued to relive the moment he told her that he would send his own copy of the desired title. His chest squeezed, and he struggled to catch his breath.
“I beg you to refrain from speaking,” he muttered. This earned a chuckle from Theodore.
Once he had returned home, he hurried to the library, a large room in the home afforded to his father’s extensive library. Father had taken such pride in his collection of books, and he’d been lauded for it considerably. It was no wonder, Dalton thought, as he hurried through the rows of shelves until he reached one corner of the room. He ascended the little step ladder to reach the shelf, and glided his fingers over the familiar spines until at last he reached the very book he’d been seeking. The same that Gemma had seemed so put out over. He would have a servant deliver it to her at once, and make no delay. He found a footman in the hall and entrusted the tome to him,demanding a swift delivery to Miss Gemma Hayesworth.
“Of course, my Lord,” the footman nodded.
Once he’d gone, Dalton retreated once again into the library, breathing in the scent of vellum and parchment, leather binding it all together. At least a thousand books sat upon these shelves, though he was certain the true number exceeded that estimation. He sank into one of the armchairs in a less drafty corner of the library, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he considered the rest of his day. Around this time, he would be preparing to depart for his usual night carousing about town. But right now, in the bowels of this room, wherein he’d spent so many hours as a boy on his father’s heels…the very thought of going out turned his stomach.
He dozed but for a moment, and when he blinked hazily he started at the sight of his mother, pale and slight. His heart ached at the sight of her, a mere wisp of the vital person she had once been. Unease stirred low in his belly as she stared at him, a haunted look bright in her heavy-lidded eyes.
“Oh, my boy,” she whispered, gliding over to him. She reached out a frail, thin hand, touching his face.
His chest tightened, as he recalled the mother he’d grown up with. Always lively, effervescent. A magnificent host. Father would be heartbroken to see her in her current state.
“I must beg you to forgive me,” she murmured, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I have been a dreadful mother to you.”
“No, no”
“Please, let me speak. I have been squandering our time together, I’ve been so thoughtless. All I’ve done since…since we lost…” Her voice broke here. “I’ve been losing myself. And it never stops. I don’t know how to—” she choked down a sob. “I don’t know how to find myself again.”
“And you,” she lifted his chin with the tip of her finger. “You have been doing precisely the same thing, haven’t you?”
Dalton couldn’t speak.
“You hide behind this mask, my boy. This mask of carelessness and heedless pleasures. We both strive to flee the memory of what we lost.”
“Mother, I—”
“Hush. Your heart aches as mine. For your late father.”
Dalton’s eyes stung.
At last Mother drew back, twisting her mouth and reaching up to dab away her tears. She turned from him, breathing in deeply, and took a step towards the door. Then she paused, and over her shoulder inquired, “Why do you despise your uncle so, my boy?”
Dalton dug his fingers into the arm of the chair. “Despise him?” he tried to laugh.The man is a leech.
