( COMPLETED STORY)
What happens when the rakish Lord in the whole of London is truly falling in love with a simple, plain, and most ordinary girl, something he has been avoiding- his innermost fear. True love?
Miss Amy Ott is London's newest riddl...
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Lord Nathaniel Dawnton heard the knocking and glanced around his stateroom, which at the moment looked like a ship had sailed through it. Furniture was toppled over, and the evidence of his party lay everywhere. The room was a wreck.
The knocking sounded again, hurting his head. There was also mumbling going on behind his position on the couch. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as his brother, Mark, paced the floor, paper in one had, a pencil in the other. He was shirtless, barefoot, and going on and on about some integral theorem. Nathaniel cringed just thinking about it. The knock sounded again, and Nathaniel asked Mark, "Where are the servants?"
For a moment, it seemed like Mark hadn't heard him, and then somewhere in his rambling, he said, "Intoxicated."
"Splendid."
The knock sounded again.
Nathaniel got up, pushing the dead weight of the body next to him away, and left the room. In the vestibule, he checked his reflection in the mirror. He looked worse than his stateroom. He ran a hand through his blonde hair before turning to the door. Yanking it open, he was ready to scream at the person on the other side before he noticed who it was. Then he straightened. "Father."
Duke Wardington looked his son over and gave him a look of disdain. "Well, aren't you going to let me in?"
Nathaniel opened the door further, and with a sweep of his hand, he allowed his father entrance.
The duke had barely made it over the threshold before asking, "Where is your butler?"
Nathaniel laughed, "Indisposed of at the moment. Sorry you missed the party."
Wardington narrowed his eyes, "I've never partied with my own sons." Though he was sure that if the Dawnton name had been attached to the affair, then it had surely been one to talk about. Still, there were some things that a father never did and that was encourage his sons in the same wicked vices that he himself had taken on since their mother's passing. Sure, Martin may not have been the best role model for his sons, but the Duke of Wardington drew the line somewhere. All men had to.
His middle son, Nathaniel, gave a slow blink of his eyes before releasing a breath, "To what do I owe this early morning visit?"
Wardington narrowed his eyes, "It's noon."
A dark blonde brow arched its way up Nathaniel's face. "Noon?" He looked at the clock over one of his many fireplaces before chuckling. He grinned as he turned back to his father. "So, it is."
The duke shook his head, "Are your brothers here?"
In response, a mumbling from the hallway broke their speech. Both men turned to watch as Mark walked slowly past the entryway, still uttering his mathematical nonsense. He looked like a caveman with his blonde hair hanging a bit too far past his ears. Shirtless and with only a pair of wrinkled breeches for clothes, Martin was still sure that Mark was the smartest man in Bedfordshire. He'd graduated at the top of his class at Cambridge. A father couldn't be more proud. Though, it really was time for his hair to be cut. "Mark."
