Page 81 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
They’d been raised that their father’s wishes came above their own.
“Now that you have experienced your sister’s Season, do you regret that you didn’t have one?”
“Not really, no. I don’t think I would have found anyone I would have been happier with.”
“But you will never know.”
She was getting tired of this conversation. “Do you wish you’d been wealthy so you’d have not had to marry me for my dowry?”
“Unfortunately, yes. For your sake.”
“You can make it up to me, you know.”
“Can I?”
She smiled. “Ask me to dance.”
She should have had a Season. It was all Westcliffe could think as he watched her dancing with the Earl of Lynnford. Their own dances had made him want to take her home. Her eyes had glittered more brightly than the chandeliers, and she’d never taken her gaze from him. He supposed he couldn’t keep her all to himself when they were at an affair such as this, but he’d certainly wanted to.
He’d been surprised by Anne’s warm welcome. Perhaps she had forgiven him. Knowing her, she’d probably already found another lover.
“Ignoring your mother?”
He swallowed his groan. He’d not seen her approach. Leaning down, he placed a kiss on her upturned cheek. “How could anyone ever ignore you? I simply didn’t want to intrude when you were entertaining your admirers.”
She tapped her closed fan against his arm. “Shame on you—lying to your mother that way. I know good and well when I am being ignored. You don’t approve of my being here?”
“I’m surprised you’re here.”
“How could I miss such an event? The papers will be full of it tomorrow. Lady Anne has outdone herself this year. Do you still warm her bed?”
“Do you still warm the painter’s?”
“He is an artist, and what I warm of his is none of your business.”
“He is young enough to be your son.”
“Only if I’d given birth to him when I was a child. Why do you dislike him so?”
“I dislike the gossip that surrounds you.”
“I have survived far worse gossip than this. It has made me stronger, and at my age I do not care what others think. You, however …” She angled her head and looked him over with a discerning eye. He’d always hated it because she could tell when he was lying. “You’re making a go of your marriage. Jolly good for you.”
“How do you know?”
“The way you watch her. She is safe in Lynnford’s arms. I’m glad for you. I know you’ve always loved her.”
He closed his eyes, clenched his jaw, before glaring at her. “I do believe you are the most irritating mother in the world.”
She smiled. “How lucky you are then that I am yours.” She rose up and kissed his chin, the highest point on him that she could reach without his bending, and he was annoyed with her not to accommodate her and allow her access to his cheek.
“I shall see you later,” she said, turning to go.
“Mother?”
She glanced back at him.
“Do you love him? The artist.”
