The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,66
here, to his house, and leaving his mother and brothers to suffer the ton’s shock was entirely different. In fact, he could hardly agree to it without his brothers’ permission, as it was indeed their reputations that would suffer, if and when word escaped Merritt House. “It’s nice to learn you’re so progressive, although I’m not certain you’ve thought through how such an association could change your lives. Nevertheless, I won’t bring her here without the express consent of each of my brothers.” He was certain this would quell any more talk of Elizabeth setting foot in their home. Didn’t Mother have a care for her own reputation?
“Very well,” she replied staunchly. “I will speak to Antony myself.”
Con’s stomach twisted. That was not reassuring. What if she immersed herself in his scandal, all for the goal of seeing a baby who wasn’t truly her flesh and blood? He’d feel like the worst son imaginable if she lost the respect of her friends, all for supporting his impetuous commitments.
Belatedly, he remembered that he was supposed to be thinking of Oliver as his legal ward. That didn’t really hold up, though, when it came to the potential devastation of his mother’s position in society.
Antony chose that moment to round the corner and prop his shoulder against the sitting room door. “Did someone call for me? Oh, look. A baby.” His blue censure found Constantine, but he said nothing else in their mother’s presence.
“Isn’t he the sweetest little thing?” She glanced from Oliver to Antony and back. “Now, there’s a bit of a resemblance. He couldn’t look less like Constantine with all that dark hair, but you and Bart are swarthy compared to the others.” She squinted at Tony again before nodding her head decisively.
“Constantine,” Antony drawled, “we need to talk.”
Chapter Eleven
CON SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED to encounter any of his brothers while trapped in plain sight of his mother’s doorway. He never went a day without seeing at least one of them in a surly mood. That was the rub when five men crammed themselves into one modest living space. But he didn’t want to talk to Antony today. Especially not now, after his mother had just uttered the most whimsical statement about Oliver resembling the two middle Alexander men.
Surely it was impossible to feel any guiltier about his ruse.
But he would prefer even less for his mother to witness whatever dressing down Antony was about to give him, and so he pushed himself off of the mantel he’d been resting against and spared a moment to address Mrs. Dalton, who’d returned from her daydreaming to look upon Antony with imprudent attentiveness.
“You will see to my son?” Con asked her. In spite of all his misgivings, calling Oliver his son out loud felt peculiarly right.
“Yes, my lord.” She didn’t take her eyes off Tony.
“Good,” Con replied. “I’ll be but a moment.” He hoped. The look in Tony’s eyes didn’t bode well for a speedy return.
He followed his brother from the room. He heard a baby cry behind him. Oliver. Sad because he’d left? He half-turned to go back. Then he came to his senses. Mrs. Dalton would comfort the baby. Or even Mother. What could he do that they couldn’t?
He went back to the sitting room door anyway. He didn’t go in, but he couldn’t imagine leaving, either.
Oliver continued to wail.
“Are you coming,” Tony asked, “or do you want to stand in the hallway?”
“Is there a third choice?” He didn’t tear his eyes from the two women worrying over the squalling babe.
“It’s not my reputation at stake,” Tony said behind him. “Actually, maybe it is. Did I hear Mother extend an invitation to your paramour to visit her in this house?”
“I knew you wouldn’t appreciate that,” Con muttered.
“I find nothing funny about this. Do you know what’s being said—” Tony came up and thumped Con on the shoulder. “The library. Now.”
“But…” He looked helplessly from his brother to his son.
“He won’t stop that racket while you’re standing in the doorway.”
Tony probably had a point. Maybe they all knew more about babies then they let on.
It was the second time in recent memory that Con had tried to avoid being backed into Tony’s library. When they entered the room a few minutes later, he remembered why.
Bart reclined against an arm of the couch. One booted foot was propped against the far armrest and the other stuck out over it. Always the barrister, he managed to seem intense even while reclined.