Still in My Heart by Kathryn Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

unfeeling and overdone. She was like a distorted version of Eleanor. How could he have ever mistaken her for the girl he had wanted to marry? And he must have been mistaken that night, because he never in a million years would have bedded this woman if his wits had been about him.
     
     
He remained quiet during the remainder of the meal, speaking only when a question was directed his way. Was it just his imagination, or were people going out of their way to include him in conversation? To be sure, there were those who ignored him altogether— he was bad ton , after all— but a few others seemed to pay him undue attention, as though they sought his approval. Odd. It had been many years since anyone treated him in such a manner.
     
     
Oh, there were those mamas who didn't care whom their daughters married, provided he had ample fortune; they had never stopped curtsying to him, but these guests weren't greedy mamas, though there were a few mothers and daughters present. They were socially acceptable lords and ladies who would lead others by their example.
     
     
Could it be that he had actually changed enough for society to take notice? Or perhaps he was becoming fashionable in his unfashionableness? Did it matter? His brothers and their wives and their families and friends had done so much to bring him back into the world, perhaps their efforts had not gone to waste after all.
     
     
After dinner he enjoyed a cigar with the other gentlemen, listening to their ribald stories with a relaxed smile. No one seemed to notice that he didn't drink his port.
     
     
He was just about to escape to his room for the remainder of the evening when the butler stopped him in the corridor.
     
     
"I beg your pardon, my lord, but Lord Burrough requests that you attend him in his chamber."
     
     
This was it. They'd fed him, lulled him into a false sense of security, and now they were going to toss him out on his arse like the offal they believed him to be.
     
     
Or perhaps Lord Burrough was going to tell him why he had invited him in the first place. He might even offer him Eleanor's hand.
     
     
What a joke that would be.
     
     
"Thank you. I shall go right up."
     
     
"Do you require my assistance in locating His Lordship's chambers, my lord?"
     
     
Brahm shook his head. "I know where it is." He had visited that same chamber on his last visit, sharing a brandy with the old man before retiring to bed.
     
     
The butler bowed and left him. Brahm continued down the corridor to the hall, where a wide flight of stairs awaited. He paused at the bottom, staring up the large staircase that split into two separate curving paths halfway up. What rubbish this was. He was afraid to go up, afraid to face the man who had been a friend to his father, and a friend to him. He was afraid to face him because he had acted so very badly the last time he was in this house, and he was ashamed of it. He was ashamed of so very much. Every time he was confronted by another person he had wronged or slighted, it was like a knife twisting in his gut. It whittled the shame away, but it hurt like hell all the same.
     
     
He placed the tip of his cane on the first stair and pushed himself up. No one had mentioned his cane. Everyone pretended not to notice that he limped, that he was no longer physically perfect. It wasn't vanity speaking— or perhaps it was— but he had once had a reputation as being a fine specimen of manhood. He had been a Corinthian of the highest order, and now once he finally managed to mount a horse, he could stay in the saddle only a fraction of the time he once could before his leg started throbbing. And he had given up fencing altogether due to his lack of grace.
     
     
At the top of the stairs he paused to give his leg a rest. These kinds of exertions didn't take the toll on him that they once had, but he had long ago accepted that he would never be as he was before the accident. He had made his peace with that knowledge. It