The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,54

made him tea, and sat up talking nonsense, which had irritated the hell out of him, even though he was grateful. They both knew Walsh was making sure he didn’t go off searching for a drink. Livvy might be certain there was none in the house, but a thirsty man had a way of sniffing out liquor if he were desperate.

I am not drinking. I am not drinking. I. Am. Not. Drinking.

He drew in a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs, cleansing him from the inside out. Eventually, this desperate need would dissipate, it would fade, he assured himself. He was not a feeble-minded creature. He would fight this. He was the Earl of Kingston, by God, and a bloody bottle would not rule him. Besides, he couldn’t let Livvy down….

He stilled, closing his eyes as the thought settled in his chest.

I’m proud of you.

She’d said that, meant it too. He knew she’d meant it. The desire to seek her out, to pull her into his arms and kiss her and… and just the need to see her, to talk to her, was almost overwhelming, as bad as the need for a drink. It was worse, really, for he knew he’d stop thinking about finding a bottle the moment he was with her. God, but he wanted her company, and what manner of madness was that? Yes, he wanted her in his bed, badly, but he wanted to tease her, and hear her scold him and tease him in return. Impossible. She needed to marry money, someone who could support her and the children before that imbecile Boscawen and his feckless wife landed them all in the gutter.

What a bloody ridiculous situation. He ought to be one of the most eligible men of the ton, but when his father had cut him off and set out to ruin him as punishment for not marrying that poor silly child, he’d done a thorough job of it. Yes, if the man turned up his toes, King would be in clover, but as Walsh had pointed out, his father was as healthy as a horse and everyone bloody well knew it. He’d been only eighteen when he’d done his duty, got married and sired King, so he was hardly in his dotage. There had been three other children, two stillborn, both boys, and a sister who’d died before she reached her first year. Sadly for the old man, King’s mother might now be infertile but was otherwise in good health or he’d have no doubt married again and kept trying. So King was the only heir and didn’t that make his dear papa furious? The old bastard would likely live to be a hundred just to spite him.

Why was he considering that anyway? He didn’t need prospects for marriage, he just needed enough money to live on. Even if he’d had the finances to do so, he wouldn’t wish to marry. Would he? No, of course not. Why on earth would he do such a rash thing? He had a sudden vision of Livvy at his home, of showing her around the grounds and telling her stories about his childhood, and waking up with her beside him, and…. Good God, what the devil was wrong with him?

King paused, feeling hot and panicky.

“Pack it in, old man,” he muttered under his breath. “No one is marrying anyone. She wouldn’t have you even if you offered.”

The truth of that was undeniable and yet still hit him in the chest with enough force to make his breath catch. He shook his head. No. No, no, no.

She didn’t want him, and he didn’t want her. Well, all right, he wanted her, but just for the usual reason a man wanted to dally with a pretty girl, not because he needed her, not because he….

Voices drifted towards him on the breeze from the other side of the hedge he’d been walking beside, and he let out a breath, grateful for the reprieve and the distraction from his own increasingly frantic thoughts. The voices grew closer, a man speaking now, his words indistinct.

“Best part of my day, it is. I feel like… like… a dream. Does that sound daft?”

King snorted, realising he must be about to intercept a courting couple and went to turn back, except then he recognised the woman’s voice.

“No. Not daft at all. I feel just the same way.”

Livvy.

His heart crashed about in his chest like the waves had done on the beach, the