Page 16 of The Moonstone Marquess
And why was her traitorous heart fluttering in anticipation?
Chapter Five
“Melrose,” Cormac said,stepping inside his house only long enough to check on his guests before leaving again, “have my carriage brought around. I shall be taking Lady Phoebe and my nieces for a sail around the harbor.”
His butler nodded. “What shall I do with your guests when they wake?”
“Serve them breakfast and let them have at my stock of wine. Brandy if the men prefer. Otherwise, leave them to entertain themselves. I should be back by the time they really start to stir.”
His comment met with a look of disapproval, for he and his guests had been waking late and staying up all night to engage in less-than-sterling conduct. However, this would now change for him, and had changed as of last night. He refused to be dissolute around his nieces. Perhaps Phoebe had something to do with his improved behavior as well, since he suddenly had no desire to touch anyone but her. He did not want to think about that.
“How is Lord Crawford?”
“Not good, my lord. I have assigned footmen to take turns watching him, for he remains distraught.” Melrose cleared his throat. “Not even the ladies seem able to console him, if you understand my meaning.”
Cormac ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I promised his brother I would help him through this difficult patch. Do the best you can. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
If only his nieces had arrived at the end of the week instead of now. He had made a deathbed promise to Lord Crawford’s brother, but he also had a duty to his own nieces. They were little girls, while this lord was a grown man, and yet he behaved worse than a child.
If ever there was a man in need of a strong woman’s guidance, it was Lord Crawford. He had no leadership qualities, although he was not a stupid man by any means.Scholarlywas a better description of him. The man cried out for someone smart, compassionate, and spirited—like Phoebe.
But not her.
Phoebe was his. He did not share or ever give up what was his.
No matter that Phoebe detested him. He would win her over in time.
He simply had to.
The impudent girl was meant for him, even though she refused to admit it yet.
He ran upstairs to look in on Lord Crawford, the new Earl of Crawford since the death of his elder brother, James, who had been Cormac’s good friend. The two brothers could not have been any more different—James a soldier, fierce and brave, while Richard was little more than a scholarly mouse.
Relieved to find Lord Crawford sleeping, Cormac quietly stepped out of the young lord’s bedchamber and gave a whispered instruction to the footman. “Do not disturb him. Let him sleep the entire day away if he chooses.”
“Aye, m’lord.”
Cormac did not bother to look in on his other guests, these friends of Lord Crawford he had mistakenly believed might offer him solace. One was an Oxford schoolmate by the name of Lord Harding who seemed nothing more than a grasping toady. No substance or character to the man. The two women brought along with him were nothing but elegant whores. Both unhappily married, one a countess and the other a viscountess, and each grasping for whatever they could claw from the distraught lord.
Their little party had indeed turned his home into a brothel, just as Phoebe had accused. But the blame lay squarely on himself for allowing it to happen.
And he was not proud of himself for partaking in the nightly pleasure games…well, until he had met Phoebe yesterday and his stupid heart would not permit him to touch another woman.
He found the lot of them tragically unhappy and a painful reminder of what he had become. That he was ready to make changes to his life did not absolve him of anything, for he had indulged in their stupid games and imbibed himself into a stupor right along with them—until Phoebe had stormed into his life like a little tempest.
Had it only been yesterday?
Until that moment, his life had been boring. Mindless. Empty.
The worst of it was, she was right about everything. None of his bad behavior offered him relief from his pain.
He did not know whether being good would either.
Figuring it out would have to wait for later, once he was rid of his houseguests. Unfortunately, he could not simply kick them out because of that deathbed promise to his dying friend. “Gad, James,” he muttered to himself, “what did you have me do?”
Having them all here painfully revealed what all of them were, misfits who were in torment. How was he to fix others when he was nothing but an unhappy cripple himself?
Yet others saw something more in him.
