Read My Lord's Lady for Free Online

a deep crease of concern between them. The expression was appropriate, but he marveled that he missed the sassy wit and bold self-confidence that filled the atmosphere around her with life.
    “Is there anything you
will
allow us to do to help?” Her voice was polite, but her choice of words did not escape him.
    “Yes, Vane! Can’t let Lawrence and Leticia languish in the sickroom without a bit of fun.” Amesley flicked him a smile. “Lady Sabrina and I are all set for that game of jackstraws when they are well enough.”
    Lady Sabrina flushed, but instead of staring down at her toes, managed to give Amesley a smile that indeed made her pretty. Extremely pretty, Vane noted, although she lacked her mother’s animation.
    “Thank you for your concern, but I shall look after the children myself.” Years of control could not be so easily abandoned. Expecting opposition, he glanced quickly toward Georgina, but she remained uncharacteristically silent. He unbent enough to grab a piece of toast from the sideboard. “I shall join you all at dinner and inform you of the children’s progress.”
    It was a promise he had every intention of keeping, but as the hours ticked by, even his iron will wasn’t proof against exhaustion. He’d brought a chair and propped it against the wall between the children’s rooms so he’d be within earshot. After the doctor’s visit and their breakfast, strangely enough, both had fallen back to sleep. After the third time he caught himself nodding off, he sought his own chamber.
    He carefully removed his whipcord chocolate jacket and unwound his neck cloth to place it carefully into his valet’s waiting hand. Then to Marlowe’s horror, he flung himself half-clothed across the bed. Too well-trained to do more than cluck with disapproval, the valet left Vane in peace, closing the door quietly behind him.
    Vane stretched and sighed, conscious of the responsibilities facing him. He would close his eyes for a few moments, no more.
    As exhaustion overtook his willpower, he found himself in the grips of a powerful dream: He wandered through a cold stone building, alone. Taunts and jibes echoed off the walls, which closed in around him, trapping him. There at the end of the hall stood a group of laughing, shouting boys. He was back at Eton, very small, very frightened, very much out of his element.
    The boys surrounded him suddenly, and they pulled his too-long flaming red curls, teasing him. In that circle of hostile faces, there wasn’t one spark of sympathy. He had no one to defend him, but himself. This was not the first time they had attacked him, or the tenth, or the fifteenth. But, of a sudden, he determined it would be the last!
    The feel of his fist against the first boy’s jaw sent a shock quivering through him. The crunch as his hand smashed into the second’s nose was terrifying. And a sense of power grew within as he successfully fought them off.
    They all ran then, and he ran, too, his breath gasping through his tight hot throat. He ran back through the hallways to his room, latched the door, and grabbed a glass to examine the bruises forming on his face. Badges of honor. He grabbed up a scissors, determined to cut off the hateful curls—but instead, he ran a comb through them, taming them somewhat and only trimmed them slightly.
    He shivered with cold and lifted his lids to blink into utter darkness. Taking a deep breath, he remembered where he was,
who
he was. What he had
dreamed
. That day, so long ago, he learned the truth of power—he never gave up his individuality. It was then he made his decision to be the best in everything so no one dare taunt him again. And he buried deep within the powerful emotions that had surged through him when taking revenge against his attackers.
    Painstakingly over the years, he had built an icy wall of aloofness. It had served him well. He shook his head to clear it. It still did.
    The connecting door to his dressing room creaked open. Marlowe