The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) by Diana Douglas Read Free Book Online

contemptuous smile, then took in ragged breath that evolved into a vicious fit of coughing. He picked up the handkerchief Rand had tossed him and brought it to his mouth. When he pulled it away it was covered with blood. He sat gasping for air, waiting until he could catch his breath before saying, “I do regret the pain I’ve caused your mother,” he said weakly. “And you and your sister as well. But I can’t change what I am. Not at this point. It’s far too late for that.”
    A mix of contempt and sorrow came over Rand. It was true. His father was a weak man. Physically, as well as morally. That would never change. “You look like death,” he pointed out. “You’re obviously ill. Is it the pox?”
    His father nodded slowly. “Among other things. My liver’s bad. I’ll be dead soon enough. God knows I hate the waiting, though. Every bone in my body aches. It hurts to breath. I’m coughing up blood. I can’t even piss without bringing tears to my eyes. Don’t tell your mother, lad. I don’t want her to know.”
    Knowing she would only be hurt by it, he nodded. “Mansfield wrote that two of the boys are extremely ill. One is blind. They need money for a doctor.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “They were born with the pox, weren’t they?”
    His father shrugged. “It’s possible. If it will make you feel better, see that they get what they need. I’ll let Mansfield know he should deal with you on that.”
    Rand tried to gather enough sympathy to offer his father some token of affection; a hand to help him to his feet, or even a simple farewell. But none was forthcoming. He felt nothing but contempt. He stared at his father, then turned to leave.
    Hurt and angry, William had taken a parting shot. “Have you taken a look in the mirror lately? I daresay you’ve had more women in your bed than most men twice you age. I’ve heard the stories. You’re just like me.”
    But he had crossed the library without pause and then departed Bryony Hall without saying a word to anyone other than a curt order to the stable hand to saddle up his horse.
    Four months later, his father was dead. Eleven years had passed, but those parting words still haunted him. You’re just like me. At times, he feared they were true. God knows he had adored the fairer sex as far back as he could remember. He loved their soft skin, sweet smelling hair and ripe curves. He loved dancing with them, holding them in his arms, but most of all he loved them in his bed and he had bedded more than he could count. Yet, with that in mind, he made every effort not to be like his father. He might be a rake and a scoundrel, but he never took a wench who wasn’t willing, was generous to a fault, never made promises he couldn’t keep or led them to expect more than he was willing to give, and he didn’t sire bastards. But he was also fearful that he could never be satisfied with just one woman and so he had made the decision not to marry. He would not subject another woman to the same pain and humiliation his mother had suffered. In that regard, he would not follow in his father’s footsteps. But now, everything had changed. Without a word he tossed Hudson’s reins to the stable lad who had materialized a few feet away, dismounted and headed toward the house.

    Fishing pole in hand, the Marquis of Clarendon leaned back against the trunk of a willow tree and tugged the brim of his hat over his forehead. The air was redolent with the scents of summer; crushed grass and clover and the marshy smell of the stream. The heat of the sun and the hum of insects was enough to lull him into an idleness he hadn’t experienced in years. He’d never been much good at doing nothing and even though he held a fishing pole in his hand, that was precisely what he was doing. This was a day of planned idleness but even so, it pricked at his conscious. Whether business or pleasure, his life was filled with