Chapter Sixteen #2
He grinned. “Are you serious? They are going to want you with us. My sons, especially Jordan, are at that age when they are noticing ladies. If anyone is expendable in their mind, it is me. Bring a heavy woolen robe, because those young pups are going to be ogling you.”
They parted ways upon reaching the manor house.
James took a moment to enter his study and review the latest correspondence piled on his desk. Fortunately, there was nothing urgent.
He then went in search of his sons, who were just coming downstairs for breakfast.
“Papa!” Robert cried, and hugged him fiercely.
James gave his son all the time he needed, for that desperate hug was a sign his youngest remained affected by the loss of a parent.
Jordan gave him a hug, too. “Did you find him, Papa?”
“No, the cur stayed away.”
Jordan glanced upward toward Gwendolyn’s bedchamber. “She must be so disappointed. But I’m glad for us. He doesn’t deserve her.”
James nodded. “Agreed. We stayed up all night hoping he would show his face. Gwendolyn is exhausted. She’s gone up to her bedchamber to sleep, hopefully not to cry over that wretched fellow.
I’m dead on my feet and need sleep, too.
Come wake me up for our afternoon swim, if I am not already awake by then. ”
“Yes!” Robert cheered, for the lad needed his safe world put back in order.
“Behave yourselves in the meanwhile. Do not bother Gwendolyn. She’s going to join us for our swim.”
Jordan’s grin turned wolfish. “Mrs. Harting said she purchased two bathing costumes.”
James groaned. “Gwendolyn is a lady. You aren’t to leer at her, you little whelp.”
Jordan cast his father an innocent look. “I’ll look at her just the way you do, Papa.”
Ah, the lad had him well and truly checkmated. James could not chide the impertinent lad without admitting he was just as prone to ogling Gwendolyn as his sons were. “Behave. I do not want to be awakened by crashing noises.”
He gave each son a kiss on the head and then took the steps two at a time to his quarters.
Crawford was in his chamber and ready to take his clothes to be cleaned. “Shall I have a bath brought up for you, my lord?”
“Not yet. I need to sleep first. Just a shave once I wake up, then I’ll have my bath after my sons and I take our afternoon swim.”
He imagined Gwendolyn was giving Agatha similar instructions for herself.
But he thought no more about it as he stripped out of his clothes and fell naked into bed, asleep before his head hit the pillow.
After getting a solid four hours that fully revived him, he washed, had Crawford shave him, and then dressed and went downstairs to his study.
Mrs. Harting brought in a meal for him to scarf down while he worked. “Thank you,” he said, avidly eyeing the lamb stew because he was famished. “Is Lady Gwendolyn stirring yet?”
“No, my lord. Not yet.”
“Summon me once she does wake up.”
Mrs. Harting bobbed a curtsy while assuring him that she would.
James spent the next few hours trying to concentrate on the work before him, but it proved surprisingly hard to do because his mind kept drifting to last night and his time spent with Gwendolyn.
The occasional sound of an elephant horde, which had to be his sons thinking they were being quiet as church mice, also managed to distract him. Still, he dealt with the most urgent matters and got through enough correspondence for the day to allow himself to put the rest aside until tomorrow.
Anyway, it was time to take his sons down to the beach.
Since Mrs. Harting had not summoned him, he supposed Gwendolyn was still asleep and would not join them.
He stifled his disappointment and made to stride out of his study—only to find Gwendolyn preparing to knock at his door.
She must have just taken a bath, for her hair was wet and simply brushed back in a long and loose tumble while it dried. Her gown was a simple but unmistakably elegant light-blue muslin that enhanced the blue of her eyes and made them sparkle.
Well, she always sparkled.
Was this girl real? She was almost too beautiful to be real.
Her cheeks were stained pink, an angry pink, and her hands were shaking as she held up what appeared to be a letter.
He frowned. “What’s wrong, Gwen?”
Her lips were pinched with tension as she handed the parchment over to him.
“Can you believe the gall of that wretched man? He wants to call on me tonight. Here. At your home. Does he think we will invite him to stay for supper? What is his motive in coming here? Why not show up last night when he knew we were waiting for him in Brighton?”
Her reference to “that wretched man” could only be to her absent betrothed.
But James understood his purpose immediately. This was a game for Clement, a game of power and control. One designed to humiliate and insult James.
The bounder was issuing a declaration of war, showing that he could march into James’s territory and take Gwendolyn from under his very nose.
Over my dead body.
“What does he mean by this, James?”
“That he wants you back,” he said, trying to remain calm and not show that he was burning up with anger.
Truly, if he could blow fire through his nostrils, he would torch the cad as soon as he walked through the front door.
Her eyes widened. “You think he wants me back?”
Was that hope in her voice? This was not the response James cared to hear.
“Gwen, what he wants does not matter.” He took her by the shoulders and would not allow her to escape his gaze, but that had him staring into her beautiful face and pain-filled eyes. “What matters is what you want.”
She said nothing, her mouth merely parting in an O of surprise.
He took a deep breath. “You are at a crossroads.”
“A crossroads?”
“Yes,” he said, giving her shoulders a light caress. “I am standing on the new path to your right and Clement is standing on the old path to your left. So, I must ask you. Which one of us do you want? Which road will you take?”
He took a deep breath.
Several, in fact.
“It is time to choose, Gwen. You cannot put off this decision any longer.”