Mistletoe and Mayhem - Cheryl Bolen Page 0,34

the boy?” Uncle asked at last.

“Pip is four years and five months old.”

“Healthy? Strong?”

“Yes. Pip is very smart, too. I have already begun teaching him his letters, and he is a very keen student of mathematics and geography.”

Uncle waved her remarks away. “I will consider later what I might do for him. As for you…”

Ruby held her breath.

He squinted even more. “I will require something in return for any assistance. I will expect you to marry a man of my choosing to wipe away the disgrace you brought upon the family,” he warned her. “I will have the final say, young lady. I will brook no argument, or you may leave tonight.”

Ruby had been expecting such a requirement, but from her father, not her uncle. She did need protection, and a biddable husband would certainly help her cause, too. It was not the way she’d want to make a second marriage, but Ruby was prepared to say yes to any good man recommended to her, if it meant food in her son’s belly.

She inclined her head. “I would be pleased to meet any gentleman you and my aunt might suggest, Uncle.”

“I expect you to comport yourself as a lady while you are here, Mrs. Roper,” Uncle said suddenly. “You will not speak of your unfortunate marriage to anyone after today without expressing the deepest regret for your past actions.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Ruby agreed, but her cheeks burned. Ruby would never regret her marriage to Liam. “I promise I will give you no trouble, Uncle, but might I speak of my husband with my aunt?”

“No, you may not,” he snapped. “Keep your son out of sight for the time being, too. Now, off with you before I change my mind.”

Ruby fled for the door, dragging Pip along in her wake.

Chapter Five

Hector could have spent this Christmas in London, gambling, drinking, and whoring with his closest friends. Instead, he was sitting before a massive marble fireplace, feeling the warmth caress his cheeks in frozen Derbyshire. Hector wore a pair of new wool breeches, his best Wellington boots, and had rested his feet upon a tasseled velvet stool. But there was no one to see his sartorial splendor—he was utterly alone and quietly miserable in his solitude.

He glanced around the cavernous library with weary resignation. He doubted half the titles up there had been read in years, but they certainly looked impressive. That was the sad story of The Vynes. It might impress at first glance, but when you looked beneath, spent any length of time here, you soon found out that was as far as the thrill ever went.

Lord Vyne rarely came downstairs, or so he’d been told over his lonely breakfast. So upon hearing that, Hector had toured the downstairs rooms and elected to make himself at home in this chamber until Meg and Clement arrived. Less work for the servants. Less disturbance for him. He had everything he needed within easy reach.

Across the room, there was an exceptional array of spirits to consume later. Hector would eat his luncheon upon Lord Vyne’s huge and unused mahogany desk and put his feet up on it afterward. No one would know because no one was here. But he expected that by afternoon, he’d be ensconced in one of the four deep-padded window seats, which provided outstanding views the estate, even in inclement weather. Or perhaps he’d take a nap.

A storm raged outside just now, and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d bother to stir himself to go and look about the district or visit the local tavern. A pity. There had been a charming piece of fancy at the distant inn he’d enjoyed upon his visit last year. He’d planned to see her again, and might even now have been entangled with her but for the foul weather.

But Meg had still not yet arrived, so he was stuck waiting for her to come. Once he’d spoken a few words with his sister and brother-in-law, dined with them once or twice, he’d probably slip away discreetly and avoid those disapproving scenes Meg was so fond of creating in recent years when he drank too much.

But in this weather, until Meg arrived, Hector would be better off amusing himself right here in this warm, well-appointed chamber.

“Here is your journal, my lord.”

Hector was startled by the abruptness of hearing his valet’s voice ringing out right behind him, and yelped. “Would you please learn to scuff your boot as you enter a room,