The Untamed Earl Read Free Page A

father’s study for what was likely the sixth time in as many months. Only this time, Owen had the misfortunate to be completely … sober. Blast, he should have stopped at the club and been even later than he already was to his father’s favorite pastime, dressing down his son. At least it would be more palatable if he were half in the bottle.
    â€œI understand,” Owen drawled, standing up from the leather-upholstered chair that sat in front of his father’s large mahogany desk. Owen inched toward the door. He had learned over years of such meetings that it was best to get out quickly before his father had a chance to toss more empty threats at his head.
    â€œNo. I don’t think you do understand,” the earl said, stamping his foot against the wooden floor again.
    Owen pressed his lips together to keep from saying something he’d regret. Which was usually everything he said. “I understand perfectly. You’re tired of my drinking?”
    â€œYes!”
    â€œMy gambling?”
    â€œYes!”
    â€œMy fondness for light skirts?”
    â€œYes!”
    Owen picked an imaginary bit of lint from the front of his impeccably tailored blue coat. The garment had cost a small fortune, but then again, high fashion didn’t come cheap and Owen prided himself on being well dressed. Well dressed, well fed, well entertained. Well everything. He focused his gaze on his father’s red face. “There, you see? I’ve cataloged all my faults. You want me to find a wife and ‘settle down.’ I understand entirely.”
    â€œNo. You don’t understand, Owen.” His father clutched at the lapels of his own burgundy coat and tugged viciously. Owen winced. There was no need to take it out on the garment. “You don’t understand at all,” the earl continued. “How many times have we had this discussion?”
    â€œToo many to count,” Owen muttered under his breath. He was already thinking of the hand of cards he’d be playing tonight at his favorite gaming hell.
    â€œWhat was that?” His father narrowed his eyes on him.
    Oh, devil take it. His father had heard his mutter. “Quite a few,” Owen answered in a clearer voice.
    â€œAnd how many times have you left here and done absolutely nothing to comply with my wishes?” his father replied, still tugging on his lapels.
    â€œToo many to count,” Owen muttered again, glancing down at the tabletop so he wouldn’t have to witness the assault on the garment.
    â€œYou’ve never complied with my wishes!” The Earl of Moreland banged his large fist against the desk. The inkpot bounced. “Damn it, Owen, you’re to inherit the title one day. You’re to be an earl, for heaven’s sake. You’re to take your seat in Parliament and be a productive member of Society. You cannot continue to comport yourself as if you’re nothing more than a gadabout.”
    â€œBut I am nothing more than a gadabout.” Owen sighed and scratched at the underside of his chin. “Haven’t you told me that ever since my days at Eton?”
    â€œWe’re not going to talk about that again,” the earl replied, a thunderous expression hovering across his brow.
    That’s right. His father had never even asked him what happened. Just assumed the worst about his son. And Owen had set about proving him right ever since.
    â€œAnd you’re not a gadabout,” the earl continued. “Or you won’t be.” He banged his fist on the desk again. At least he’d surrendered the poor, blameless lapels. “I’m tired of having this conversation with you to no avail. I’m tired of seeing you while away your days drinking and gambling. I’m tired of hearing stories about your exploits all over town.”
    Owen rubbed a knuckle against his forehead. “Oh, come now. They aren’t all over town, are they?”
    His