“My lady, Lord Leath is here.”
When his mother glanced toward him, her weary face briefly brightened. “Darling, come and listen. Nell’s reading me a naughty poem.”
“You’re too young for Byron.” Leath deposited his brown paper parcel on a gilt and marble table, then kissed his mother’s cheek.
“Nell is,” his mother said with another smile. “It’s most shocking what that libertine got up to. I remember all the gossip, of course. This adventure must be based on real life.”
“Byron was a rake, mother.”
“And you didn’t like him, I know.”
“I didn’t.” He remembered the brilliant, troubled, troublesome man he’d met briefly as a youth. “He was an entertaining fellow, and clever with it, but he left a good many ladies the worse for knowing him. I can’t admire someone so addicted to selfish pleasure that he was cavalier about the harm he did.”
The blaze of heat in Miss Trim’s eyes had cooled to curiosity. He couldn’t imagine why she cared about his opinion of the notorious poet. Leath certainly wasn’t the only person in England to frown upon his activities.
Hell, he needed to stop staring moonstruck at his mother’s companion. He turned back to the table and lifted the parcel. “I’ve brought you a present.”
His mother tried to sit up and Miss Trim rushed to assist with a gentleness that Leath couldn’t help noting. “Oh, how wonderful. I love presents.”
He held the box out. “Careful. It’s heavy.”
“Not diamonds then?” she asked playfully.
“Not today.”
Miss Trim fetched scissors to cut the string. “I’ll finish those letters, my lady.”
“No, stay, Nell. This looks intriguing.”
His mother tore at the paper, as excited as a child at a birthday party, then reached inside the box. “James, and you pretended to disapprove.”
“How could I disapprove of anything that gives you such enjoyment?”
She drew out a beautifully tooled volume in dark green leather. “The Fair Maid of Perth. How wonderful.”
“I asked Hatchards to send their most popular books. There’s now a standing order each month. If you find that doesn’t meet your needs, they’ll increase it.”
“How can I thank you?” His mother’s eyes sparkled as she looked at him.
He often sent her gewgaws, jewelry or scarves or trinkets for her rooms. But he couldn’t remember her getting such pleasure from a gift. And it had been so simple to arrange. He felt like a fool that he hadn’t thought of it earlier, and unreasonably nettled that he’d needed Miss Trim to point out how a good book or two might brighten his mother’s restricted existence.
“What fun we shall have, Nell.”
“Indeed, my lady,” the girl said neutrally. Leath cast her another glance and was surprised to see that she studied him without her usual reserve. Instead, she regarded him as if he was a puzzle she couldn’t put together. He wondered why. The mystery here was Nell Trim, not the Marquess of Leath.
“Can you stay, James?”
“Of course,” he said, although now he paid closer attention to his estates, he was surprised how much work it took to run them. Even more surprising was how he enjoyed meeting the challenge of his vast inheritance.
“Lovely. Perhaps Nell will read on. She’s most entertaining.”
He stifled a groan. The last thing he needed was that low, husky, damnably suggestive voice describing seduction.
“I’m sure his lordship doesn’t want to listen to me,” Miss Trim said.
She’d avoided him recently. Was she still smarting after their talk in the library? Or had his mother told her that he’d tried to send her away?
“You should read James some of those agricultural reports that arrived yesterday,” his mother said drily.