Page 104 of A Dangerous Lord (Regency Spies & Secrets 3)

“She is taking breakfast in her dressing room,” Mott shared.

“Then I shall go speak to her.”

“As you wish, milord.”

Corbyn walked up the stairs and headed towards his mother’s dressing room. He stopped outside of the door and knocked.

“Enter,” she ordered.

Corbyn opened the door and stepped inside to see his mother seated on the settee, wearing a wrapper. A tray of food sat on a table in front of her.

“Evan,” his mother greeted, rising. “What a pleasant surprise.”

He stepped over and kissed her on the cheek. “I thought I would come earlier to speak to Father.”

“He will be most appreciative of that.”

“I doubt it.”

His mother gave him an understanding smile. “Your father loves you, but he isn’t very good at conveying his emotions.”

“No, he is not.”

“I do wish you would let bygones be bygones and appreciate the little time that you have left together.”

Corbyn frowned. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Mother.”

“And why is that?”

“Father wants me to be something that I’m not.”

“I disagree,” she replied. “You are precisely that man, but you refuse to accept that and come home.”

“I am content where I am at.”

“I know, but you can’t blame me for trying, especially since I worry about Simon.”

“Why is that?”

His mother sighed. “He hasn’t stopped drinking since Catherine left,” she said. “He is taking her leaving rather hard.”

“It was because of his choices that led to her abrupt departure.”

“I know, but I can tell he is hurting,” she remarked.

“Do you suppose he will go after her?”

She shook her head. “Your brother is much too prideful for that.”

“Then he doesn’t deserve her.”

A loud thud came from his father’s bedchamber. Corbyn raced over to the door that separated the rooms and threw it open. To his horror, his father was on the ground, struggling against a dark-haired man who was smothering him with a pillow.

“Unhand him!” Corbyn ordered as he retrieved the pistol from the waistband of his trousers.

When the man didn’t immediately respond, Corbyn took aim, intending to only wound him, and fired. The bullet struck the man’s right arm, causing him to release his hold.

The attacker rose, his beady eyes not straying from Corbyn’s. With his left arm, he retrieved a dagger from his boot and held it out in front of him.

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