It’s Marriage Or Ruin. Liz Tyner
the door open, sir. I would have hated to miss your father’s encouragement.’
‘I feel it is easier for you that way.’ Marcus gripped the top of the chair, before he relaxed his elbows.
‘You are like my own…nephew,’ Robert admitted. ‘Not that it is anything to be proud of.’
‘Not that I am proud of it.’ Marcus crossed his arms on the back of the chair, rested his chin on them, while his thumb was pressed against his cheek. ‘But if a man were to have an uncle underfoot, one like you would do.’
Robert hastened to the desk and studied the top.
‘And he rifled your papers, didn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
‘He should respect your privacy.’
‘As you do?’
‘Of course.’
‘And?’
Robert picked up one of the papers and also stretched his arms out, squinting.
Marcus reached out and ripped the paper from the valet’s hands before tossing it on to the table. ‘I should have a wife. And if she could annoy Father, it might reduce some of the pain of marriage.’
Robert clasped both hands over his ears. ‘I cannot trust what I’m hearing.’ Robert coughed, gulping. ‘I must have a lie down to absorb this tragedy.’ He pulled the door shut with a soft click.
He realised Robert had not mentioned bringing breakfast to him. The man could be counted on for many things. Finding the best brandy. The best cigars. But his skills as a valet were lacking and he surmised that was a fact Robert prided himself on.
He’d been Marcus’s second tutor, then he’d guided Marcus to Oxford and been the only person to write regularly. The only person to ever visit.
When he became of age to have a valet, Marcus had talked Robert into leaving his post, and changing his profession. Robert had driven a hard bargain.
He was certain that Robert would be happy to see him married to such a woman as Emilie, who would hardly care for anything else but the canvas in front of her. Their duties would not intersect so both could continue as they had before. Oh, Emilie might add a nursery, of course, but Robert would avoid that as if it were diseased.
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