Lord of Scoundrels - Loretta Chase [1]
In May of 1795, Providence answered his prayers.
When he got his first look at the infant, though, Lord Dain suspected it was Satan who'd answered them.
His heir was a wizened olive thing with large black eyes, ill-proportioned limbs, and a grossly oversize nose. It howled incessantly.
If he could have denied the thing was his, he would have. But he couldn't, because upon its left buttock was the same tiny brown birthmark in the shape of a crossbow that adorned Lord Dain's own anatomy. Generations of Ballisters had borne this mark.
Unable to deny the monstrosity was his, the marquess decided it was the inevitable consequence of lewd and unnatural conjugal acts. In his darker moments, he believed his young wife was Satan's handmaiden and the boy the Devil's spawn.
Lord Dain never went to his wife's bed again.
* * *
The boy was christened Sebastian Leslie Guy de Ath Ballister and, according to the custom, took his father's second highest title, Earl of Blackmoor. The title was apt enough, the wags whispered behind the marquess's back, for the child had inherited the olive complexion, obsidian eyes, and crow black hair of his mother's family. He was also in full possession of the Usignuolo nose, a noble Florentine proboscis down which countless maternal ancestors had frowned upon their inferiors. The nose well became the average Usignuolo adult male, who was customarily built upon the monumental scale. Upon a very small, awkwardly proportioned little boy, it was a monstrous beak.
Unfortunately, he'd inherited the Usignuolos' acute sensitivity as well. Consequently, by the time he was seven years old, he was miserably aware that something was wrong with him.
His mother had bought him a number of handsome picture books. None of the people in the books looked anything like him— except for a hook-nosed, humpbacked devil's imp who perched on Little Tommy's shoulder and tricked him into doing wicked things.
Though he'd never discerned any imps upon his shoulder or heard any whisper, Sebastian knew he must be wicked, because he was always being scolded or whipped. He preferred the whippings his tutor gave him. His father's scolds made Sebastian feel hot and clammy cold at the same time, and then his stomach would feel as though it were filled with birds, all flapping their wings to get out, and then his legs would shake. But he dared not cry, because he was no longer a baby, and crying only made his father angrier. A look would come into his face that was worse even than the scolding words.
In the picture books, parents smiled at the children and cuddled and kissed them. His mama did that sometimes, when she was in a happy mood, but his papa never did. His father never talked and played with him. He'd never taken Sebastian for a ride on his shoulders or even up in front of him on a horse. Sebastian rode his own pony, and it was Phelps, one of the grooms, who taught him.
He knew he couldn't ask his mother what was wrong with him and how to fix it. Sebastian had learned not to say much of anything— except that he loved her and she was the prettiest mama in the world— because nearly everything else upset her.
Once, when she was going to Dartmouth, she'd asked what he'd like her to bring back. He'd asked for a little brother to play with. She had started crying, and then she'd grown angry and screamed bad words in Italian. Though Sebastian didn't know what all the words meant, he knew they were wicked, because when Papa heard them, he scolded her.
Then they would quarrel. And that was worse even than his mother's crying and his father's angriest look.
Sebastian didn't want to cause any horrible quarrels. He especially didn't want to provoke his mama into saying the wicked words, because God might get angry, and then she'd die and go to Hell. Then no one would cuddle and kiss him, ever.
And so there was no one Sebastian could ask what was wrong and what to do, except his Heavenly Father. But He never answered.
Then, one day, when Sebastian