Page 3 of Return to Wildsyde

His mother’s soft voice reached him through the fog of pain and confusion, and he turned his head, feeling as though he’d been asleep for a thousand years as he blinked at her.

“Ma?”

“Oh, Lyall, look at the state of you, love. Mrs Baillie is bringing you coffee and some breakfast.”

“Ach, Ma, stop fretting,” he said, rubbing a weary hand over his face and discovering he’d not shaved for some time. How long? He could not quite recall.

“Don’t say such utterly idiotic things,” his mother replied with a tut of impatience. “I am your mother, it is my job to worry about you. Did this make you feel better?”

She picked up the empty bottle that had rolled over the floor and now rested before the dying fire. She quirked an eyebrow at him, and he grunted.

“Aye, for an hour or two.”

“And now you have a headache and a sick stomach for several more,” she said with a sigh.

“Ma, don’t nag, I beg ye,” he pleaded, massaging his aching temples.

She sighed but said nothing more. He felt a gentle hand stroke his hair. The tender touch made his throat tight, and he swallowed hard, determined not to make more of a fool of himself than he’d been made of late.

“Is Da here yet?” he asked, uncertain if he was dreading the answer or not.

“Not yet. I expect he’ll arrive soon though, and don’t look so wretched. He’s on your side, Lyall, surely you know that?”

“Aye, but that does nae mean he’s proud of the mess I’m in.”

“That woman…” his mother began, and then took a breath for whenever she spoke of his wife—his late wife—she got a bit het up. “Lilith made this mess, Lyall, and a woman like that could turn any man inside out. When I think of the things she might have achieved if she had not been so shallow and spiteful, it makes me furious. I suppose I ought to pity her, for her parents created her in their own image and she stood little chance of being anything but what she was. I admit I am struggling to do so, though now she has met such a sorry end it is rather easier, I suppose,” she added with her usual blunt honesty.

She turned then and looked at him directly, and he knew she was going to ask him how he felt, what was going on in his head, but he did not know how to answer her questions. Would she be shocked that overjoyed relief was the largest part of it, or should he tell her he was beyond mortified that he’d been trapped so easily, led by his balls by a pretty face and manipulated to the altar? Lilith had intended to keep manipulating him too, but he was not so big a fool as she’d hoped. When she had failed to get her hands on his money or been allowed to establish a place in his life, her parents had tried as well, constantly haranguing him for cruelty to their daughter. How could she hold her head up when the entire world knew her husband couldn’t stand the sight of her? If he meant to ignore her, at least send her to London so they might live their own lives.

Apparently, giving her a beautiful home and a generous allowance was not enough. She ought to have a place in Mayfair and a carriage of her own, and money enough to entertain, and… the list was endless. As if they believed Lyall was fool enough to allow her to run wild among the ton bearing his name, taking lovers as she pleased and making him a laughingstock. Not in this lifetime.

He supposed his mother was right. Lilith had been as much a victim of her parents’ ambitions as he had. It was they who had chosen him as her mark—as she had bitterly informed him when she realised she had met an immovable object who could not be twisted about her finger. The whole family were an ignominious band of confidence tricksters, liars, and adventuresses. He could only thank God he was done with them now, though he did not doubt her parents would try to make this his fault and demand compensation. It made him sick to his stomach, but Lyall knew he would pay them a sum, just to make them go away and keep them out of his life. Blood money. The phrase sounded in his ears with an unpleasant ring of truth, but he’d pay it to silence them. He just wanted to be quiet for a while. There was no going back to the life he’d lived before Lilith had ruined everything with her wiles. But no, that wasn’t entirely fair. He’d been no more innocent than Lilith, only she had been calculating while he’d been guilty of nothing but honest lust.

Lord, but it had been only five months since she and her parents had staged the little scene which had caught him so neatly, and yet he felt he had aged fifty years in the interim.

“Lyall,” his mother began, and he knew she was going to do it, to make him speak of his feelings, of what had happened, of the future that ought to stretch out brightly before him when all he could see was a fog of confusion. He sprang to his feet, instantly regretting the action as his head spun and his stomach twisted.

“Ma, if you’ll excuse me…” he managed, and fled the room before he boked in front of her. Ah well, at least he had a valid excuse for avoiding her questions. Every cloud…

By the time his father had arrived, the devil had stopped using Lyall’s head as an anvil and the pain had subsided to a dull thud. At his mother and Mrs Baillie’s insistence, he had eaten a plate of sausages, eggs, and fried potatoes and, rather to his astonishment, it had stayed put. So, he had washed and shaved and put on clean clothes and done his best to look like a man in charge of his own destiny instead of the wreck he was feeling before he faced the Earl of Morven.

Making his way down the worn stone treads of the staircase, Lyall was unsurprised to find his mother waiting for him. She was a tall woman of generous proportions, handsome rather than beautiful, with strong features, her dark hair threaded with silver. The Countess of Morven was also the fiercest and most capable woman he’d ever known, and he was proud of her. His father adored her and, though the two of them were more than capable of arguing loud enough to rattle the rafters, there had never been a moment when Lyall had not been certain of their devotion to one another. Strange, really, when one considered the circumstances of their marriage.

His mother, the daughter of a wealthy Cit, had despaired of finding the titled husband her father had wished her to marry. His father had been desperate for money. So, his mother had proposed to his father, offering her hefty dowry as the incentive. She said it was his knees that gave her courage, an attribute she found unaccountably alluring. An unlikely beginning to a love story that had seen them through the intervening years, four children, and the pressures of inheriting an earldom. But they were as strong and committed to each other now as they had always been, and Lyall wondered at the amount of luck involved in such a union, or perhaps it was fate. Either way, luck or fate had deserted him, and he was damned if he’d get caught in such a trap again. From now on, he’d have his eyes wide open, and no pretty face or sweet words would ever tempt him again.

“He’s waiting in your study,” she said, her smile warm and encouraging.

Lyall nodded, bracing himself.

“Oh, and… Hamilton is here too,” she added in a rush.

Lyall groaned. “Ma! I told ye I dinnae want the eejit here, blethering at me from dawn until dusk. Why did ye no stop him like I asked?”

His mother’s usually placid face darkened. “Your brother has come all this way because he was worried for you, because he wanted to be with you in your time of trouble. You damn well be grateful for that or you’ll have me to answer to.”

“Aye,” he said uneasily, knowing better than to take that threat with anything less than seriousness. “I beg your pardon.”

“I should think so, though it is Hamilton you had better be civil to. I suppose you threatened Muir with dire consequences, should he show his face?”