“Not for you. Not anymore. Hence the need for a wife to help rein in your raffish ways, settle you down, and facilitate you being respectable and reliable to all who now look to you for protection, sustenance, and guidance.”
“I didn’t neglect the dowager. After seeing her, was I to pay a visit to everyone in the family?”
“That would have been a splendid thing for you to have done.”
The corners of Uncle Syl’s mouth tightened, and Hector’s chin bobbed as he worked his mouth. Staring at his uncles’ current agitation, Zane could only imagine the shock swirling through his tight-as-a-bow-string family that he was now the earl and in charge of everyone’s allowances, their homes, and their way of life.
“The devil take it,” he whispered, his head continuing to throb. He hadn’t asked for this responsibility. “Make sure everyone knows I’ll be hosting dinner tomorrow evening, and I’ll listen to everyone’s concerns.”
“Of course,” Uncle Syl said calmly, making it clear that was exactly what he wanted Zane to say. “I’ll take care of that for you.”
“You’ll also need to start making amends for all the times you insulted half the members of Parliament,” Hector added, tapping his cane once again.
Zane had to draw the line somewhere. “If I offended them, it was because they deserved it, and half of them weren’t members at the time.”
“No, but their fathers were, and you knew they would be one day. It’s never too late to start making friends instead of enemies. It will serve you well.”
“I have friends.”
“And they are all rakehells like you.” Sylvester sniffed and pulled on the tail of his coat and lace at his cuffs. “The less you see of them, the better. They have no reason to change. You do.”
Uncle Hector made it to the bottom and Zane grabbed his cloak off the peg near the front door. His uncles were reminding him why he spent so much time away from London. The more family you had, the more worries you had. Without deliberation, he towered over Hector, who held open the door for him.
“I will accept my duties as the earl, Uncle, but don’t expect me to fall in line about everything you suggest or to be as pompous as most earls are. I don’t have the stomach for it.”
“Of course you do,” Hector said without so much as a blink of his eyes. “You just don’t know it yet.”
“Speaking of your stomach,” Sylvester added quickly, “White’s is on the way to your solicitor’s office. You could probably do with a generous plate of food and tankard of hot ale after being up all night.”
“I’m all right,” Zane muttered as he fastened his cloak at the neck and passed under the doorway.
The brisk morning air felt good hitting his face. He breathed it deeply into his lungs, hoping it would help further clear his head of the brandy and lack of sleep. The problem with what his uncles were saying was that Zane didn’t want his life to change. Being the black sheep was easy. It was what he was used to. He was good at it. Changing into the earl was going to be hard, and the damned truth of it was he didn’t know if he could do it.
Stopping to settle his hat on his head, he glanced across to the opposite side of the street and was caught off balance by the glimpse of a tall, slender young lady walking down the pavement. His gut tightened. He quickly blinked several times.
It was her. The lady from the masked ball. He was certain of it. The tilt of her head, gracious lift of her chin, and sway of her shoulders as she walked were unmistakable, even though she was now dressed in sensible clothing. He might have been ocean deep into his cups, bound, and with his mind only on stopping Robert’s foolish stunt, but he hadn’t failed to take detailed notice of the one who freed him that night in Paris.
And he hadn’t failed to remember her often.
Zane’s gaze followed the lady as she passed his lineof vision, not paying him nor anyone else she swept by the slightest bit of attention. Her short cape was fashionable enough but a drab shade of mulled wine. A black bonnet covered most of her hair, but he saw the telltale sign of a silvery blond chignon at her nape.
At the ball, some of his rescuer’s face had been covered by her demi mask, but there were things about her he’d never forget. The faint rustle of her soft skirts when she’d knelt beside him to untie the scarf. The sweet spring flower scent that wafted from her skin. Eyes so blue, he could have looked into their depths for the rest of the evening. Everything about her was still vivid to him, right down to her soft ivory complexion.
He was a man after all, no matter his pressing situation that night. He was more likely to forget his name than her brief appearance in his life.
Watching her now, he could feel the lingering pressure and taste of her soft lips beneath his. Had he imagined it or had she actually given in to the kiss for a second or two?
Because of her, Zane had caught up with Robert and hightailed it to Vienna with the impulsive blade. Zane wouldn’t have minded staying in Paris and finding out who she was from the hostess, but he had to get Robert out of Paris for a while. He couldn’t trust the randy buck not to try again to marry the French woman.
“Do you know who she is?” Zane nodded in the lady’s direction as his uncles flanked him.
“Don’t go setting your top hat for her,” Uncle Syl immediately warned. “It will do you no good. She’s one lady you won’t be adding to your queue, and no one would appreciate you trying.”
Tension expanded in the back of Zane’s neck. “Who is she married to?”
“No one,” Hector answered. “She’s a widow. Mrs. Brina Feld. Her husband was killed when theSalty Dovesank. A shame for someone to be widowed that young.”
Bits of newsprint and gossip flashed through Zane’s mind. “I’ve never met her, but I remember the tragedy. Many drowned. It happened four or five years ago.”
