“My darling boy.”
Leo had yet to make good on his escape from the library—and his ignominious stay there on the settee—when he was importuned by yet another female. He was dressed in only his shirtsleeves of the night before, he hadn’t shaved, his head thumped, and his neck and back ached. Moreover, he was certain he looked as bedraggled as a man who had been drawn on his back behind a runaway carriage.
But that did not stop the next woman who intruded upon his solitude. Nor did it hamper the beaming smile on her face. Lily Ludlow was the woman his father had loved, his longtime mistress, and more of a mother to Leo than his own mother could ever hope to be. She was the one female he trusted implicitly in this life, and the only one he would happily sacrifice his for.
“Mother,” he greeted her, aware the word still sounded stiff on his tongue. She was the mother of his heart, but some part of him was still the young lad he had once been, who had only known rejection and his own mother’s icy resentment.
“Son.” Her smile was as warm as the bright golden-yellow of her dress as she opened her arms to him. “Why has it been so long since I have last seen your handsome face?”
Guilt snaked through him, landing heavy as an anchor in his gut. Though he had written, he had not visited her as he had promised he would do. There had never been time. His days and nights were spent stalking his prey and determining the means of not only defusing their bombs, but seeing them all in gaol where they belonged.
And now he stood before her bleary-eyed, mouth tasting as if he had been drinking donkey piss the night before. He may as well have been.
What the hell had he been thinking?
A woman, that’s what.
A beautiful, raven-haired governess whose lips tasted like bergamot—surely from her tea, unless all goddesses tasted like citrus. Who kissed like a courtesan. Who he had wanted so badly, he’d sported a cockstand until he had been too inebriated to recall he even possessed a cock.
Fuck.
It would seem Fate’s fickle wheel had decreed he must be plagued by Janes.
But he could say none of that aloud, so he smiled at Lily, embraced her, and bussed her cheeks. “I have been otherwise occupied, and for that I am wholeheartedly sorry.”
She took several, exaggerated sniffs. “Darling, why do you smell as if you have fallen into a river of whisky?”
Why indeed?
He was reasonably confident he had fallen asleep only after placing the bottle of Clay’s excellent liquor atop the table. He had never previously awoke drenched in spirits. How fortunate for him that pretty, vexing Jane Palliser had been present to witness his shame.
Unless…?
Suspicion stirred within him. There was something different about the governess, and it was not just the melancholy in her eyes. She had seemed awkward this morning, and though he may be wrong, he suspected the change in her air was not because of the kisses they had shared the night before but for another reason entirely.
One he would necessarily investigate as soon as possible. Jane Palliser was an enigma. A beautiful, lush-lipped mystery. Perhaps it was that she was looking after his nephew. Perhaps it was something more. Whisky-bit as he was, he couldn’t say.
“I have no notion why,” he answered his mother’s query with utter honesty.
“No notion at all, Leopold?” Lily’s voice, taut with concern, splintered through his thoughts. He scarcely recognized the name “Leopold” as referring to himself.
“None,” he agreed, knowing he was playing the role of cad and not having anything to say for himself. She had already caught him at far too many games. “Please do say whatever it is you wish, Mother. You know I cannot abide by your looks of quiet censure.”
She pursed her lips. “I am sure I have no such looks. You were drinking, Leo.”
He tensed. “Yes.”
“Oh, my darling. You are not over-imbibing again, are you?” She frowned.
Of course he had been. He closed his eyes for a moment, wincing. But that did not mean he was once again drowning himself in drink. There had been a dark time in his life where he had turned to spirits and opium to sate the restless devils in his soul. But altering his mind did not kill the devils—it only drowned them out temporarily. And he was of no use to anyone when he was lost inside himself or lying abed, coming down from a cloud of indulgence.
“Only last night,” he admitted with great reluctance. Here again was one of Lily Ludlow’s unique talents: she could make him confess almost all, lay him low, with one soft look or one sweetly croonedmy darling son. He bit his lip before he mentioned last night had been the first he had slept in three days. Spirits were not a cure, but they were nevertheless a balm for the darkness burning inside him. An escape, albeit a fleeting one.
“Are you certain?” Her worried gaze searched his.
Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant.
“Certain, Mother. It was a long and trying day.”
