you afraid that the ton will do the same to you, then?”
“No, I could give a damn about what the ton thinks of me. I’m a viscount, and the family has a lot of influence. No one will move against me. It’s Robin I’m concerned about.”
“Then you will have to use that considerable influence to prevent that from happening.” She sniffed imperiously. “Once you tell your brother, Brent. Break it to him gently. He’s very old-fashioned. A dear, but sometimes he needs a few days to settle his mind on something new.”
“Am I crazy?” Marcus placed his hands on his grandmother’s, rustling her skirts as he scooted forward a few inches. “Am I insane to fall for this man?”
“Does he make you happy?” She leaned forward to kiss his temple.
“Yes. Infuriatingly so, and sometimes I want to shake some sense into him. He does stupid things, like run out into the rain or spend hours sketching how birds fly, forgetting to eat. I’m as much his caretaker as his friend,” Marcus admitted. “And there is—well, I think of Father and how he’d… what he’d think of me.”
At the core of his fears was the betrayal of his father’s love. The man stood firm in Marcus’s heart. Even dead, the old Duke’s words guided him, especially during times when he sought some direction. He’d never told the man of his perversions, fearing rejection even as he’d secretly hoped his father would have reacted as his grandmother just had—shrugging it off and wishing his son the best.
But doubts wormed through the solid foundation of his father’s love, and Marcus wondered if he’d have found himself in New Bedlam right alongside of Robin and other unfortunates.
“Your father knew about—this, Marcus. About your preferences.” His grandmother’s voice broke through his thoughts. “He didn’t care. Not one bit. He was more interested in raising the man he’d leave behind after his passing than anything else. I’d hope he would welcome your Robin with open arms. Well, maybe not. He was never a demonstrative man, but he’d harrumph his approval soundly. I’d hope for that.”
“He told you? About me?” The air left his lungs in a rush. “How did he… what tipped him off? Do others… know?”
“Probably not.” She shrugged, the tulle of her sleeves crinkling with a soft whisper. “He was your father. And a devoted one. He knew you—all of you—very well. Harding knew you preferred men to women, and it mattered to him about as much as his knowing of Brent’s obsessive need to have spotless silverware. We talked more about Micah’s inability to focus on one subject during university more than anything else. If anyone caused your father despair, it was that one. But Micah settled down—well, as much as he is going to. There was some worry there.”
“And he didn’t care?” Marcus struggled to embrace the knowledge his grandmother so casually dropped in his lap.
“Not so much, no. He only wanted his sons to be happy. And, well, for you all to do your duty to Britain. Lead well, and others will follow with their heart.” The dowager echoed one of her son’s favorite sayings. Sighing forlornly, she poked Marcus’s shoulder, then jerked her head at the ceramic dog. “Are you sure I can’t persuade you to fetch that for me? If I’d known you’d only allow me one tantrum, I’d have chosen that over the ugly sheep woman. I’ve hated that thing for much longer.”
Five
R OBIN COULDN ’ T avoid the whispers or even the murderous looks cast his way. Everywhere he turned there was a forbidding frown, and once as he rounded a palm set in the corner of the ballroom, he found himself face to face with a man he’d only seen once and in the company of other men who’d come to witness Robin’s humiliation.
A court-ordered humiliation performed on the day when he’d been stripped of his clothes and bound to a table with thick ropes as a hot iron was pressed into his hip.
The round-bellied
“No, I could give a damn about what the ton thinks of me. I’m a viscount, and the family has a lot of influence. No one will move against me. It’s Robin I’m concerned about.”
“Then you will have to use that considerable influence to prevent that from happening.” She sniffed imperiously. “Once you tell your brother, Brent. Break it to him gently. He’s very old-fashioned. A dear, but sometimes he needs a few days to settle his mind on something new.”
“Am I crazy?” Marcus placed his hands on his grandmother’s, rustling her skirts as he scooted forward a few inches. “Am I insane to fall for this man?”
“Does he make you happy?” She leaned forward to kiss his temple.
“Yes. Infuriatingly so, and sometimes I want to shake some sense into him. He does stupid things, like run out into the rain or spend hours sketching how birds fly, forgetting to eat. I’m as much his caretaker as his friend,” Marcus admitted. “And there is—well, I think of Father and how he’d… what he’d think of me.”
At the core of his fears was the betrayal of his father’s love. The man stood firm in Marcus’s heart. Even dead, the old Duke’s words guided him, especially during times when he sought some direction. He’d never told the man of his perversions, fearing rejection even as he’d secretly hoped his father would have reacted as his grandmother just had—shrugging it off and wishing his son the best.
But doubts wormed through the solid foundation of his father’s love, and Marcus wondered if he’d have found himself in New Bedlam right alongside of Robin and other unfortunates.
“Your father knew about—this, Marcus. About your preferences.” His grandmother’s voice broke through his thoughts. “He didn’t care. Not one bit. He was more interested in raising the man he’d leave behind after his passing than anything else. I’d hope he would welcome your Robin with open arms. Well, maybe not. He was never a demonstrative man, but he’d harrumph his approval soundly. I’d hope for that.”
“He told you? About me?” The air left his lungs in a rush. “How did he… what tipped him off? Do others… know?”
“Probably not.” She shrugged, the tulle of her sleeves crinkling with a soft whisper. “He was your father. And a devoted one. He knew you—all of you—very well. Harding knew you preferred men to women, and it mattered to him about as much as his knowing of Brent’s obsessive need to have spotless silverware. We talked more about Micah’s inability to focus on one subject during university more than anything else. If anyone caused your father despair, it was that one. But Micah settled down—well, as much as he is going to. There was some worry there.”
“And he didn’t care?” Marcus struggled to embrace the knowledge his grandmother so casually dropped in his lap.
“Not so much, no. He only wanted his sons to be happy. And, well, for you all to do your duty to Britain. Lead well, and others will follow with their heart.” The dowager echoed one of her son’s favorite sayings. Sighing forlornly, she poked Marcus’s shoulder, then jerked her head at the ceramic dog. “Are you sure I can’t persuade you to fetch that for me? If I’d known you’d only allow me one tantrum, I’d have chosen that over the ugly sheep woman. I’ve hated that thing for much longer.”
Five
R OBIN COULDN ’ T avoid the whispers or even the murderous looks cast his way. Everywhere he turned there was a forbidding frown, and once as he rounded a palm set in the corner of the ballroom, he found himself face to face with a man he’d only seen once and in the company of other men who’d come to witness Robin’s humiliation.
A court-ordered humiliation performed on the day when he’d been stripped of his clothes and bound to a table with thick ropes as a hot iron was pressed into his hip.
The round-bellied
Similar Books
