Page 30 of The Smuggler’s Escape

His mother said, “I hardly think you want Holmes to hear me tear your character to shreds.”

“Holmes is acquainted with all my failings.” Richard swallowed some scalding coffee. “Do your worst.”

Lady Boltwood rose and said with dignity, “I shall leave you now. I sense that I shall find this interview rather more distressing than you.” She took her coffee cup and sailed toward the door. “We shall continue our discussion at breakfast. In the meantime, I suggest you think deeply and carefully about the ways your behavior resembles that of your father.”

“I’m nothing like him,” he said to the closed door. Half an hour later, clean-shaven and dressed, Richard glowered over strangely flavorless grilled kidneys and cold coffee.

If Johnny were to be believed, he must be not only polite and proper, but should neither consider his own enjoyment nor trust his own judgment where Noelle was concerned. What fun would that be? He had never thought his own pleasure was all that mattered. He cared about Noelle’s enjoyment of their bed sport, too.

Lady Boltwood entered the breakfast room with as much dignity as she’d left his bedchamber, followed by a footman with fresh coffee and soft-boiled eggs. She poured coffee for them both, and after the man had served her and withdrawn, asked, “Have you thought deeply?”

Blast the woman. He wasn’t a child anymore. “About what? I’m not at all like my father.”

“I’ve hurt your feelings, have I?” His mother didn’t sound contrite. She salted her egg and tore open a roll. “As you well know, your father ran roughshod over me. He never considered my thoughts or feelings or concerns. He slighted me repeatedly in both public and private, and yet he claimed to care for me.”

Richard said nothing. During his childhood, he’d seen rather a lot of his mother’s tears. Last night, he’d exulted at a tear on Noelle’s cheek . . . because he thought it showed she cared for him. He’d never meant to hurt her. As for what Johnny had said about Noelle crying herself to sleep . . . He swallowed his chagrin. He had meant well. His mother didn’t understand.

“You were brought up a gentleman, but you behaved like a lout when you advertised your possession of Noelle’s derriere to a drunken crowd at the alehouse.”

Richard drew himself up. “I was merely establishing both possession of and authority over her. She’s been behaving shamefully, too.”

“Stop puffing yourself up like a cockerel. Her behavior does not excuse yours.”

Richard refused to be deflated. “What choice did I have but to show her and everyone else how matters stand? In private, I won’t order her about.”

“What choice did she have? You raised her expectations by flirting outrageously, then ran off to the Continent without a word of farewell to her—or to me, by the way. I don’t blame her for giving up on you and inviting the attentions of other eligible men.”

“Surely my father explained that I was rushed there to fill a diplomatic vacancy.” A lie to cover his real purpose, and a stupid one in Richard’s opinion. He hadn’t a diplomatic bone in his body.

“Yes, one of his foolish attempts to mold you. You should have resigned the post and returned.”

He would have, if he’d been permitted to.

“At the very least, you should have corresponded with Noelle.”

He would have done that, too.

“Both your father and I were disappointed in you.”

“Father was disappointed?”

“Of course! He liked Noelle very much.”

Astonished, Richard said nothing. Why would his father pretend to approve of Noelle?

“She was one of the few people he permitted to visit him in his last days.”

Even more baffled, Richard said nothing.

“If you had shown the least understanding of the female mind . . .” She drifted off. “I suppose you can’t be expected to understand completely, but you could at least try.”

Richard made a rude noise.

“I am surprised that she still wishes to marry you after last night’s display.”

“As a matter of fact, she doesn’t.” He held a hand up to forestall the shock and recrimination. “Or so she says. But that was before we went to the alehouse. She’s not like you, Mama. She doesn’t care about gentlemanly behavior. She enjoys ripping up at me. She—” He could hardly explain the sexual excitement their disputes aroused. “And yet she says she doesn’t want to marry me after all.”

“Then I fear you will have to marry Miss Darsington,” his mother said, and burst into tears.