Page 13 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
Tessa waved a hand at the maid, who promptly retreated, closing the door in her wake. “She took two sons from me. I have no wish to welcome her into my home.”
It had nearly broken her heart to realize that her second son, the one born of her heart, had grown into a man lacking in character. He’d refused to discuss his reasons for cuckolding his brother. He’d simply sat in the library, downed brandy, and acted as though his actions were of no consequence—when Tessa knew they’d very nearly destroyed Westcliffe. While she’d never felt as close to him as she’d felt to the others, by God, he was still her son, and she understood as only a mother could.
Leo walked over to the bed and tugged on the sheet, exposing her hip a little more. “It can’t have been easy for her to come here.”
Tessa sighed with feigned annoyance. Something about Leo prevented any woman from growing angry with him. “You’re going to fall out of my good graces if you continue this path.”
“At least determine what she wants.”
She jerked on the sheet, wrapped it around her body, and slithered off the bed, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “Why do you care?”
“Because I know you’re unhappy with the way things are between you and your sons. Perhaps her visit can alter the situation.”
“You are such a dreamer, Leo.”
He approached her and bussed a quick kiss across her lips. “Visit with her. What harm can come of it?”
Her relationship with Morgan was estranged, but then it had always been difficult. She’d despised his father, and God help her, she’d had a difficult time separating her feelings for the father from those for his son. She’d been so young, barely seventeen when he was born. Then Stephen, whom she had adored from birth, had come into the world, and she’d showered him with her affections, ignoring Morgan in the process. She felt so uncomfortable with him now, out of her element. She didn’t enjoy feeling like a failure, but she knew she’d been a miserable mother—at least where her older son was concerned. She pressed her body against Leo’s. “Make me happy again before I greet her.”
He grinned. “With pleasure.”
Claire sat in the parlor, her hands clasped in her lap. It was strange to be in London. She’d spent most of her youth in the country, most of her marriage there as well. When she had come to Town, she’d visited with Charity and her friends, but she’d never truly developed any friendships of her own, so it was quite unsettling to determine upon whom to call next. She might not have to make any calls at all if she could garner the support of the Duchess of Ainsley. She might be scandalous, but with two sons bearing titles, she held quite a bit of power in her little finger.
But alas, Claire had been waiting for nearly an hour. It had obviously been a mistake to come here. The woman was sending a message. Claire would have to send one of her own. She’d not be treated so shabbily. She’d taken two steps toward the door when the duchess swept into the room, her cheeks aglow and her brown eyes alight with mischief.
“Countess. What an unexpected surprise to have you visit.”
Claire detected a slight chill in her voice. She curtsied. “Duchess.”
The duchess went to a table and poured amber liquid into two glasses. She extended one toward Claire. “I’d offer you tea, but I gave up the dreadful drink long ago.”
“Oh.” Claire took the offering.
“Please sit.” The duchess indicated a settee while she, herself, lounged on a fainting couch and gazed out the window. A small smile played on her lips as a young man walked by the window. “You interrupted as I was having my portrait done.”
“My apologies. I do hope you’ll forgive me. I didn’t think I should wait much longer before coming to see you,” Claire said as she sat on the settee.
The duchess waved her bejeweled hand as though Claire’s words were of no consequence. “I’m certain I can take up the pose again with little bother. When did you arrive in London?”
“Last night. Too late to call,” she added hastily before the duchess could find fault with that.
Sipping from her glass, she peered over the rim at Claire as though she were measuring her and finding her sadly lacking in every regard. “So. Why have you come to call?”
“First, I wish to apologize for what happened on my wedding night.”
“It is not me to whom you need to apologize, girl.”
“I’ve already expressed my regrets to Westcliffe.”
The duchess sat up, her interest obviously piqued. “Have you? You’ve seen him then?”
“Yes. I’m staying at his—our—residence in St. James.” She took a swallow of the burning brew. “He does not seem prone to forgive, but he has granted me leave to remain in London.”
“Is he well?”
She was astounded that the duchess would inquire of her regarding her son’s health. She nodded. “He seems to be, yes.”
“I have seen him but once since your wedding. I went to inform him that I did not approve of … his handling of himself while he was in London. Apparently he did not think I was one to cast aspersions regarding proper behavior.” She sighed, and her eyes took on a faraway look as once more she looked out the window. “Creating scandal was much more enjoyable when I was younger.”
