Chapter Eight
Lord Noah Peterson
“You made it.” I motioned for Lord Oliver to enter, nodding to the waiting servant. Between wrangling Ethan and dealing with Lady Ellen’s chilly demeanor after I brought Amelia home from the racetrack, I wanted to be selfish and think only of myself for a few hours. Except I was a father first and foremost, and my children would always come first, no matter how unfashionable the notion among my peers.
“I am sorry I was late. My grandmother neglected to tell me we have a dinner invitation at the palace, so I’m afraid I can’t stay as long as I planned,” he said, glancing around the room with true regret and uncertainty in his expressive eyes.
“I understand.” I had a narrow path to peace for now. Anxious not to waste a precious second, I nodded at the footman who stood outside. “You may go. I’ll call when the duke is ready to leave.”
“Very good, my lord,” he said.
I shut the door and twisted the lock for good measure. Privacy was key to my success in ferreting out Lord Oliver’s secrets. I had a sense they matched mine, but I needed him to admit he was queer before I could disclose my own leanings.
“Grandmama has been forgetful of late,” he said. Although taller and broader than me, he seemed to shrink into himself.
I could read the uncertainty in his expression. At nineteen, he lacked the sophistication expected from a man of his stature. That would come in due time. At twenty-six, I was still learning how to navigate my way in the world without Sally. “She is at a certain age. How old is she?”
“Sixty, I believe, although she would slap me for telling anyone the truth.” He fiddled with the button on his coat and went to stand before the fireplace where two chairs were situated, a table in between them. I had strategically placed a book on the table. Before long, I would guide his attention to it. If nothing else, it would spark a much-needed conversation.
“I swear to keep her secret until my last breath,” I teased, trying to lighten the moment. He was nervous, and with good reason. Confessing to his desires was taboo. I poured two glasses from a crystal decanter. The tawny liquid sloshed in the glass, the oaky tannins teasing my nose. “The brandy was a gift from a friend. I procured it during my last trip to France from his vineyard.”
Oliver turned to face me, accepting the glass I handed to him. Our fingers brushed, his touch electric. Blue orbs turned a velvety black, desire reflected in their depths.
“Is he French? Of course he’s French, you just said that,” he flushed a telling red.
“Actually, he’s an Englishman and an author of gothic novels.” I hid a smile at Oliver’s bumbling, my nipples responding to his nearness. If things went in the right direction, and barring no emergencies with my children, I would kiss him before the night ended and perhaps share more intimacies. “Please, have a seat.”
I slipped into one of the chairs facing the fireplace, indicating he take the one next to me.
“An Englishman and an author, you say?” Oliver settled himself in his seat, the bowl of the brandy glass resting in hislarge palm. Would the rest of him be equally proportioned? I shifted in my seat to relieve the tightness of my trousers.
“Yes, I met him while in Paris. He bought a winery and settled there. I had been on my way to New York City but decided to stay in France instead.” After Sally died, I fled the country and got as far as the continent. I stayed there for two months with a rakish lord and his wife whom I met. Only there had been nowhere I could go to forget her. I had followed my passions with the unconventional couple whose bed I had shared. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t run away from my memories of Sally or my responsibility. I had three children and a life in England.
“I have yet to visit the United States. I’ve been told New York City is very sophisticated.” Lord Oliver skimmed his thumb along the rim of his glass. While the action was innocent enough, it triggered a raging need in me.
“Nor have I. Perhaps we can all visit someday.” I crossed my leg and rested my ankle on my knee, hoping to hide my growing excitement. Even thinking about my author lover set my pulse to pounding. I eyed the book between us, and under the guise of adjusting my shoulder in the chair, I knocked the tomb with my elbow.
Lord Oliver grabbed the book before it fell to the ground. He hefted it in his palm and frowned down at the title written in Cyrillic.
“I found the book in an obscure shop in Paris.” Not a complete lie. I had sought out the volume on the advice of my author friend. “Of course, I have no idea what it says, but please do not open it. The depictions inside are scandalous. I meant to rid myself of the book, but alas, I was too weak to resist. Would you like a cigar?” I asked, standing on the pretext of retrieving the cigars from the humidor.
“Scandalous, you say?” With a teasing grin, he flipped open the cover, lines appearing between his blond brows.
“View it at your own peril.” My first time viewing the contents had been with my male lover, and we’d played out every position in the later pages. I hoped to share the same experience with Oliver and in a perfect world full of no restrictions, his wife, Amelia. She’d defied her mother and worn men’s garb, and I was privy to her desire for female equality.
I tucked away my wicked thoughts about Amelia and tried to keep on topic. Oliver might not wish to do more than simply talk, and if that were the case, I would offer him what advice I could. If he wished otherwise, it was imperative that I ensured he understood that we were merely having a tryst and nothing serious could become of it. My heart would be in danger of becoming involved with a woman like Amelia. It was best to stick to a road less complicated.
“This is, indeed, beyond the pale.” Instead of shutting the cover, Oliver flipped to the next page. The opening illustrations depicted men and women in various positions, all of an immoral nature.
“And yet you still read on.” I watched his expression to gauge his reaction to the content of the book. The beginning was rather tame compared to the pages in the back of the book.
“You dared me, and now you shall reap the consequences,” Oliver said. Color flushed his cheeks, but there wasn’t a hint of lust in his expression, more like resignation. I had a hunch why but I couldn’t come to a fair conclusion until he made it past the middle.
“Then I beg you not to look at the back of the book.” I knew my challenge would have the desired effect. Oliver was naïve in some ways, yet he had an inquisitive mind. He and Amelia often exchanged quips and played well off each other. I had no doubt he loved her.
