Page 5 of This Marquess of Mine

“She’s a gift,” Griff explained. “For my mother.”

“Ah.” Winters stepped back, fussing with the gloves before clearing his throat. “Forgive my impertinence, my lord, but I do hope your gift will lift Her Ladyship’s spirits.”

A smile tugged at Griffin’s lips. “Been a right terror today, has she?”

A mildly pained expression crinkled the older man’s brow, but all he said was, “I will leave you to draw your own conclusions, my lord. She’s been asking for you.”

“Thank you, Winters.”

Griffin turned and carried the kitten up the stairs, shaking his head at his mother’s behavior. Not that he could blame her for being out of sorts. She was cranky because of her injured ankle, and the mandatory bedrest forced upon her. This would make anyone cranky, but it was especially irksome to a woman as active as the Marchioness of Keswick.

Unfortunately, her injury wasn’t the only reason for her ill temper. Guilt tightened his chest and he grimaced. She was displeased with him at the moment and had made little secret of it. She had grown rather desperate for him to marry and his disinterest in taking a wife seemed to confuse her as much as it irritated her.

“I hope you can cheer her up, little one,” he muttered under his breath. Perhaps the kitten would distract her enough that she would forget to lecture him. A man can hope.

Lady Keswick seemed to think she would wear him down, that if she kept asking and prodding, he would finally come to realize she was right, that it was time for him to marry. That, in fact, he couldn’t wait to take a wife and start a family.

The truth was, he simply wasn’t ready for marriage. He had nothing against the institution, and when he was ready to take a wife, he hoped they would be happy together. He had no illusions that he would marry for love, but he knew it could happen. He knew love existed. He’d seen evidence of it with his own parents, before it was all ripped away without warning.

He knew he would have to marry eventually, and he was prepared to do his duty. Someday. But not just yet.

He wasn’t ready to give up his freedom, his fun. He was only thirty years old, for God’s sake; hardly a relic. There would be plenty of time for marriage and begetting heirs later.

He would take a wife when he was good and ready, and his mother would simply have to accept it.

Shifting the kitten to his other arm, he drew in a fortifying breath. What he really wanted was a stiff drink, maybe two, but that would have to wait. It was best for everyone not to keep his mother waiting.

He reached the door to her chambers and, bracing himself, rapped his knuckles on the dense oak.

“Enter,” came her reply.

Griffin went in wearing a smile. Lady Lavinia Keswick did not return it.

“Ah. There you are,” she said coolly from her enormous four-poster bed with its damask drapings and mauve silk coverlet. “I wondered when you would finally pay me a visit. I thought perhaps you had gone to bed without seeing me first.”

Griff swallowed a laugh as he shut the door behind him. Even laid up in bed, wearing a lavender-hued nightdress and a white cap covering her dark hair, Lady Keswick was as imperious as a queen.

“Come now, Mother,” he said, turning to face her with his most disarming smile. “Have I ever done that before?”

She sniffed. “No. But considering your behavior of late, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised by the change.”

The room was dimly lit and smelled of chamomile tea, the fire blazing in the hearth heating the room to near-sweltering, but Griffin knew better than to mention it. Never poke a cranky lioness.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing to the kitten, who was peering about the room with avid interest.

“It’s a cat,” he said. “For you.”

He crossed the room to the bed and gently transferred the little fluffball into his mother’s outstretched hands. She cooed, turning the kitten’s face to hers so she could get a closer look. “Well, aren’t you a precious little thing?” She looked at Griffin, skepticism sharpening her pale blue eyes. “A cat? For me?”

“Well, I, ah...”

Lady Keswick sighed. “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know.”

Relieved at having avoided discussing his mistress with his mother, Griffin sat down beside her on the downy mattress, mindful of her injured ankle. “Now,” he said, “what is it I can do for you?”

“Pardon?” she asked, looking up from the kitten playing in her lap to meet his gaze.

“Winters said you’ve been asking for me. He said you’ve been in an ill temper all day.”