Gayle Buck Read Free Page B

occupation had been more to see to the late viscount’s comforts rather than to the needs of his lonely young son.
    As a consequence, Lord St. John had grown up undisciplined and wild to a fault. He learned early that his father would only bestow attention on him if he showed an aptitude for the gentleman’s own interests. Thus he had applied himself to riding and playing cards. He had become an expert at both, quickly surpassing his father’s skills, much to that gentleman’s mingled pride and displeasure. Later had come driving, and in it Lord St. John had discovered a ruling passion. Whenever he sat up behind a powerful, fast team, he felt in control and fleetingly free of the unhappiness that always haunted him.
    By the time Lord St. John was sent off to boarding school, he had already absorbed a worldly education that should by rights have been possessed only by someone at least twenty years older than himself. He was not popular with the masters and earned harsh discipline for his wild ways and disrespect.
    Yet boarding school was the making of Lord St. John. His was a keen mind and suddenly he discovered the whole world was opened to him by learning. Despite the problems that he presented to the masters, because his marks were solid, few could quite bring themselves to condemn him outright and recommend his dismissal. It was hoped, even during the worst of times, that Lord St. John would eventually come round and make a decent showing of his life.
    He had gone on to university and distinguished himself both in his studies as well as in any sort of sporting event. From that standpoint he was popular, but his cold, seemingly unfeeling manner and his biting tongue kept all but a privileged few from becoming fast friends.
    When his father died, Lord St. John returned to the place of his birth. He felt nothing for it because it had never been home to him. Over the years he had rarely gone back to Rosethorn because he had spent school holidays with the families of friends.But the estate was his responsibility, and perversely enough, he had felt that duty.
    He had done what he could to improve the lot of his tenants, recognizing that they could produce better with the proper housing and tools. His rent income deriving from the estate had thus improved, but the majority of it went right back into the land and into repairs and maintenance on the old manor house. He had no hope of ever retiring the mortgage but at least some day the place might be livable again.
    Always at the back of the viscount’s mind had been the faint glimmering of a dream—more an impression, actually—of a woman with a welcoming smile and a child or two clinging to her skirts standing at the door of the manor at dusk, a welcoming light spilling out from behind them.
    Whenever it had risen to his conscious thoughts, he had irritably brushed it aside as a childish yearning not firmly enough buried. He was a man grown. He had no need of anything but the pursuit of his own pleasures. He had seen enough of his father’s liaisons to have developed a distrust of women and disillusionment in the sincerity of their expressions of affection to either young boys or to the man who bedded them.
    Now, as Lord St. John entered the front parlor, a sardonic smile touched his face at sight of the Duke of Alton and his mistress taking tea. His grace’s mistress was bejeweled and attired in a fashion more befitting an evening function than an early afternoon tea, presenting a picture of vulgar ostentation. Nor was there anything refined in the woman’s heavily rouged face or the bold manner in which her gaze met the viscount’s own. Despite the drawbacks of her dress and unfortunate love of the gaudy, she was an undoubtedly beautiful female and she simpered under Lord St. John’s smile, mistaking it for admiration.
    Lord St. John had recognized the woman for what she was the first moment he had laid eyes on her. He did not condemn her, for it was a matter of