Twice Tempted by Eileen Dreyer Page A

looked up, surprised by his lapse. “She and her sister managed to land on their feet, teaching school for a friend.”
    “Well, that’s good.”
    “No, it’s not.” Restless and impatient suddenly, he got to his feet and stalked over to the window. He wasn’t sure why. There was nothing really to see. The yellow fog of the last few days lingered, dirtying everything and smelling of sulfur. “Fiona and her sister are daughters of a viscount. Granddaughters of a marquess. They have no business living a threadbare existence working like drudges.”
    As quickly as possible, he filled his father in on the tentative plans for the girls. When he finished, there was a long silence, punctuated by the snap of the fire and the steady metronomic ticking of the old clock in the hallway.
    For a long moment, the silence held. Alex almost smiled. It was an old tactic and an effective one. Sir Joseph knew Alex would become impatient and return for his father’s reaction. With one last look out at the muted street, he did just that.
    “And then when I get them settled with Lady Bea,” he said, reclaiming his seat and his glass, “I think I’ll finally do a bit of travel. I just found out that Lady Kate and Harry Lidge have gone off to Venice. It sounds warm, doesn’t it? And bright.”
    His father had the gentlest smile. “You could come to St. Petersburg if you’d like. Your mother would love to see you.”
    For a moment Alex was afraid he would give himself away. Of course he couldn’t go to St. Petersburg. He couldn’t go anywhere. Not until he was certain Fiona was finally assured of her birthright. Not until, God help him, he found out just what a blackmailer might have of Amabelle’s that could ruin him. That could ruin his family, which would be so much worse.
    So he grinned and finished his brandy. “I said warm, sir. If I want to be cold, I can just stay here and speak my own language.”
    “What about the estate your uncle left you with that fancy title? Have you been able to visit yet?”
    “Maybe for Christmas. I’m sure the staff would far rather have a bit of a break. I understand Uncle Pharly was a bit of a task master.”
    That got a full grin from his father. “Which is exactly how I’d describe you.”
    Alex grinned back and got to his feet. “Oh, I think for once I shall be a man of leisure. Hunts and harvest festivals and whacking away at the front lawn with a scythe. The bucolic life for me.”
    “You won’t last a month.”
    Alex met his father’s gaze and allowed a bit of truth to seep through. He had long suspected that his father was wrong. He was so tired. He thought he’d been tired since long before Amabelle died. But since then, he knew he’d expended far too much energy supporting his cover as one of Drake’s hedonistic rakes. And when he wasn’t showing the world how carefree he was, he was exposing the crawly, nasty things that lurked beneath the rocks. Could a stint in the country really be worse?
    His father rose. “And in the meantime…”
    Alex followed. “In the meantime, I was hoping you wouldn’t mind my battening down on you for a bit. That mausoleum I inherited on Jermyn is fit for neither man nor beast.”
    His father frowned at him. “You aren’t moving just to keep an eye on the invalid?”
    Of course he was. “Of course I’m not. I began to pack the minute my bedroom ceiling landed in my bathtub not five minutes after I’d gotten out.”
    His father knew he was lying; he could tell. But a gentleman simply did not call his son a liar. Especially when that son believed he was being helpful.
    “I probably won’t even be here all that much,” Alex said. “Tomorrow I hope to bring Lady Bea to meet Fiona and her sister Mairead. I won’t be able to plot my campaign until then.”
    His father didn’t smile, as he’d hoped. “I see.”
    “In the meantime, I will see you tonight for dinner, sir. Right now I’m due at Tatt’s.”
    He had hugged his father