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His eyes darkened to jade. “I broke my father’s hands, then I traveled to the house of my mother’s lover and challenged him to a duel.”
Her stomach cramped. “What happened?”
“My mother’s lover…a Viscount, met me at Battersea Fields, sword in hand with his seconds. I ruined his life. The scandal after was terrible. His wife and daughters were grievously injured by all our actions, by my thoughtless anger. Until I stormed their town house, his family had no notion of the affair. I was the person who brought it all to the attention of the ton with my unrestrained anger.”
It was a testament to his influence that the few occasions she’d had to be in society she had not heard those rumors. “Did you…did you kill him, your mother’s lover?”
“No.”
“I’m glad.”
“You are tenderhearted.”
“Yes…but it is also balanced by my ferocity.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “My family is noto
rious for their tempers, which have been a plague to the Blade’s name. My father, grandfather, and great-grandfather have caused endless scandals. I vowed to be different, my sons will be different.”
“How?”
“By simply not being a damned fool. By not loving a woman so much that I would do stupid and reckless things for her and because of her. I will squash any scandal that attempts to affect my family. I will teach my children to control their tempers and restrain their emotions so they are always thoughtful of how society and others are affected by their actions.”
She sent him a reproachful glance. “I do not believe love caused grown men to act with such foolhardy and wanton disregard of others’ sensibilities.”
He stroked his thumb back and forth along her cheek. “And what would you know about love?”
Awareness pierced her heart and an electrifying thrill arced through her. Enough to know I am falling in love with you. “Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not.”
He had an arrested look on his face. “Did you just quote the Bible?”
She grinned. “I did, and I believe it, too. Charity is love, so your father could not have loved your mother…ever.”
His mien grew serious and she ached to know what went on behind his blank stare. “From time to time, I write…poetry,” he said, effectively shifting the topic of discourse.
She blinked. “You dabble in poetry?”
His lips twitched. “Yes.”
She tapped on her chin with a finger. “To contemplation’s sober eye, such is the race of Man; and they that creep, and they that fly, shall end where they began. Alike the Busy and the Gay, but flutter thro’ life’s little day, in fortune’s varying colors drest:—”
“Brushed by the hand of rough Mischance, or chilled by Age, their airy dance, they leave, in dust to rest,” he ended. “Do not expect me to write you any,” he warned in a gruff tone.
She grinned. “I love dogs.”
“I love snakes.”
She found that most remarkable. “You jest!”
“I had a pet snake once.”
“Oh, Tobias, the very notion of a snake in the house is wretchedly intolerable. They are…well, creepy.”
“Now I know the manner of my revenge. Be aware, countess, one day you will be greeted with one of my friends beneath the bed sheets.”
She laughed, delighted by his somewhat playful mood after such a serious turn a few seconds past. “I think you should be more worried about my reaction.”
He arched a quizzical brow.
