Page 58 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
“It’s all I’m willing to provide at the moment.”
“I find it amazing that Westcliffe is so much darker in temperament than Ainsley, and yet they are brothers. I should expect them to be more alike.”
They had stopped to visit with Ainsley before going to the dressmaker. He had a way of making them feel welcomed. Claire had a question for him, and to her delight, he knew the answer. “They have different fathers, and their inheritances were very different, which in essence gave them different lives.”
“Greenwood will inherit his father’s title; he’ll be a marquess.”
“Very commendable.”
“I do not think he is after me simply for my dowry.”
As Westcliffe had been. He’d have not married her without the dowry, which he’d made plain enough. But that did not mean that they could not be happy. “I should hope not.”
“How is a woman to know?”
“The greater question, I should think, would be: Does it make a difference?”
“In my esteem of him, no. I enjoy his company.” She glanced out the window as the carriage drew into the drive of a residence. “Who are we calling upon?”
“Lord Chesney.”
“Why ever are we calling upon him?”
Claire smiled as the carriage came to a stop. “Do you remember Ainsley mentioning that Lord Chesney had a litter of pups?”
“No.”
“Well, he did. That day at the park.” Which was the reason she’d had them stop by Ainsley’s earlier—to garner the address. “And I’m in need of a puppy.”
He was not a man who allowed his emotions to rule, but in the three days since Cooper’s passing, Westcliffe could not deny that melancholy nipped at his heels in much the same manner as Cooper had when he was a puppy—always getting underfoot, tripping him up.
He kept telling himself that it was only a dog, but Cooper had been his friend. He knew of no one who was always as happy to see him as Cooper had been.
Although sitting in his library, he couldn’t help but think part of his doldrums were brought on by the investment report he’d just received. Damnation, one of his investments was floundering. He had to right this situation immediately because he would not—could not—hold out his hand to Ainsley again. With the pages spread over his desk, he took a blank piece of parchment from the desk drawer, dipped the pen into the inkwell, and began scrawling out solutions to his investment woes. What he might sell, where he might invest with more success.
The door opened, and he fought not to groan as his intense concentration was shattered. Now was not the time for interruptions. Unfortunately, it seemed he was the only one aware of that.
He came to his feet as his wife walked into the room, holding something behind her back. Whatever it was required both hands. She looked like a mischievous young girl as she strode toward him. Before any damage to her feelings could be done, he said, “Claire, now is not a good time for visiting.”
She gave him a gamin smile. “But I have something for you.”
She came to a stop before his desk. “Do you want to guess what it is?”
He wished it was not so, but he was not in the mood for games. “Claire—”
Then out from behind her back, she brought a tan-and-white puppy, a collie. He’d have recognized the breed anywhere. His reaction came fast and furious, with no thought, no consideration. “Why in God’s name would you get me a dog?”
Startled, she opened her mouth, closed it. Shook her head. “Well … to replace Cooper.”
“Do you think something I have loved for almost half my life is so easily replaced?”
“I thought Fenimore would help fill the hole—”
“It cannot be filled, and it is certainly not your place—”
The tapping of water on paper stilled his words as horror swept over Claire’s face. She pulled the dog back into her embrace, which only served to send an arc of dog piss over the corner of his desk.
“Did you have him drink a bloody lake before you brought him in here?” he demanded to know.
