wife.
She had stayed. All night.
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then slid out of bed, making sure to not wake her. He’d go downstairs and have breakfast brought up to them.
After he’d given his instructions to the kitchen, he attempted to climb the stairs but was stopped by the housekeeper.
“Your mother is here, my lord, waiting for you in your study.”
“My mother? This early. Very well.” He strode into the study and found her already sitting in a chair across from his desk.
“Mother? Is all well with you?” he asked as he sat at his desk.
She started almost as if she weren’t expecting him. “I’m afraid you caught me woolgathering.”
He offered her a smile. “Mother, how do you fare today?”
She frowned.
He nodded. “Did you need something?”
“A conversation with my son is all.”
He motioned for her to continue.
“Matilda is lovely,” she said.
He released a pent-up breath. So it was to be this conversation. “Shall I ring for tea?”
“No, I already had some.” She folded her hands in her lap and leveled her gaze on him. His mother wasn’t a meek woman, never shying away from what she wanted to say, but she had a quiet way about her. “I have been blind to many things when it comes to your brother.”
“Thomas?”
She nodded. “I fear my coddling might have made things worse for him. Made him worse.” She bit down on her lip.
“Nothing you’ve done or failed to do is to blame for Thomas. He is selfish.”
“True. And miserable.”
“What can I do?”
“You cannot make the same mistakes. Do not think I haven’t noticed how things are between you and your wife.”
His heart sped, banged against his ribs. “Noticed what?”
“You. Keeping her at a distance. Have you told her how you feel about her?”
“I care for Tilly. I’ve made no secret of that.” His mother was shrewd. But he wasn’t certain what she wanted from him. He’d merely wait and let her say her piece and then he would send her on her way.
“Your brothers are all married, two of them happily, and you could be the third. There is no hope for Thomas.” She sighed, clearly resigned by the truth of her own words. “He is selfish and an idiot. But you, though impetuous, were always more intelligent than him. Certainly more courageous. Yet here you sit, a complete and utter coward.”
He rubbed at the back of his neck, his skin feeling hot and tight beneath her perusal. “Mother, do you not think you’re being too harsh?”
“Not in the least. Someone needs to say these things to you before it is too late.”
“Very well, continue. But I would prefer you do so without calling me any other names.”
She gave him a pinched look. “It is quite obvious you love your new wife, yet you are doing your damnedest to pretend you do not. Care to explain that to me?”
“I have no notion to what you’re referring. I never claimed to be in love with Matilda.”
“Honestly, Sullivan, do you take me for some daft fool? It is all over your face when you look upon her.”
He looked at Tilly with lust; it wasn’t more than that. But he was certainly not going to discuss that with his mother. “I do not think you daft, Mother. I do think you overestimate my affections.”
She rolled her eyes. “Very well, I can see you aren’t willing to admit your feelings yet.” She folded and refolded her hands in her lap. There was more she wanted to say. She leaned forward and placed her hands on the desk, reaching to his. He grabbed on to hers.
He didn’t love Tilly. Not yet, but he realized in that moment that if he wasn’t careful he would. He’d give her his entire heart on a platter for her to do with as she saw fit. But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe it was precisely what he needed to do.
“Don’t push her away as you’ve done everyone else. Allow yourself to be happy, truly happy, the way your father and I were. The way your other brothers are. You deserve it, my sweet boy.”
Chapter Twelve
Tilly had been waiting for Sullivan to return. She’d taken care of her needs, brushed her hair, and moved from one position to another. Still, he hadn’t come back. She glanced around the room, and a book caught her eye. A small bound volume tucked next to an ornamental box on his bedside table.
She leaned over and plucked the book