The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,63
one to settle down first?”
The butler’s African skin concealed any flush of potential discomfiture at Con’s intimate question. “I wouldn’t have offered my opinion on it,” he said in his deep, polished voice, “but I’d have been more surprised if any of your brothers had managed it before you, my lord.”
Con blinked, taken aback. He wouldn’t have laid a bet on himself, but Montborne certainly wasn’t going to beat him to monogamy. Antony and Bart had too many obligations to tie themselves to a single woman any earlier than must be done, even to one of ill repute. And Darius…
Con supposed if he’d known to picture any of them bound in an impossible agreement with a prostitute, he’d have placed his wager on Darius. But taking on the responsibility of a child? His twin? Never.
Con had to agree he the most family-minded one out of all of them. “Good put as always, Mr. Benjamin. Now, please tell Mrs. Quinn to send up the tea tray, and have a care to include a cup for Mrs. Dalton.” Family-minded though he might be, even he didn’t dare risk an hour without the nursemaid.
He arrived in the drawing room doorway just in time to hear a peal of baby laughter. Mrs. Dalton’s soothing chuckle followed. Curious to know what amusement they’d discovered, Con paused to observe them. They stood before a portrait of the five Alexander brothers, done when they were all children. Con immediately espied his younger self amongst the brood of blue-eyed boys, as he always did when he happened to notice the thick-framed portrait at the side of the room.
His lips parted in surprise when Mrs. Dalton stuck out a gloved finger and pressed it almost directly onto his three year-old self’s face. “Who is that?” she asked in a gently prodding voice. “Who is it? Is that your papa? Do you see your papa here with all of your uncles?”
“Ahem.”
She startled and spun to face him. Her cheeks mottled red. “Forgive me, my lord, I shouldn’t have taken the liberty—”
“Not at all. Tell me, how did you know that was me and not Lord Darius?” He was genuinely curious.
As he awaited her reply, his ears rang with her words. Is that your papa? Do you see your papa here with all of your uncles?
He swallowed hard. She couldn’t have meant it in the literal sense. She knew what had transpired the night Captain Finn had made his appearance near Ellesmere. She knew Con wasn’t really Oliver’s father.
He supposed she could have meant that he was now Oliver’s papa. In which case, it would be well within the boy’s rights to know what a terrorizing little beast Con had been in his youth. Con smiled. With that upturn of his lips, he had an epiphany. He ought to start thinking of this as a fosterage instead of a swindle. That alone might be enough to calm the foreboding he felt at lying to his mother.
Well, this was a fosterage, wasn’t it? He was now Oliver’s father. He’d pledged to be there for the rest of the boy’s life. Was that any different than taking Oliver as his legal ward?
A soothing peace settled over him. Now this, this felt right.
Mrs. Dalton craned her neck to look at the portrait behind her again. “Lord Darius? Do you mean the anxious-looking little boy?”
“We are identical,” Con replied tersely. Blast. He’d managed one unfettered breath and now he was back to feeling disquieted.
When she cocked her head at that, he explained, “I wondered how you were able to tell us apart.” Now he was sorry he’d made a point of it.
She bit her lip. Her gaze slid again toward the portrait. “You have kinder eyes.”
He wanted to see if it were true, if the painter had captured an intangible difference between Darius and himself that he’d never been aware of. That seemed too intimate a moment to share with the nursemaid, however, and for some inexplicable reason, he wished Elizabeth were here instead.
“My mother is waiting.” He’d come back to the painting later, perhaps with a stiff drink, and see if Mrs. Dalton was right. It wasn’t as though he could bring Elizabeth to see the portrait, at any rate. Best to contemplate it alone.
He wasn’t sure why it mattered that he and Darius be even a little different.
Mrs. Dalton bobbed a curtsey and followed him out of the room. If she was nervous about meeting the marchioness and presenting their lie to her