Dancing With a Rogue
“Every food item, every flower arrangement was inspected. Any bloom with the slightest imperfection was removed, each platter not perfectly arranged was sent back to the kitchen, the slightest speck of dust incited rage.
Pamela attracted the most displeasure. At his summons she had arrived yesterday and had crept around the house like a mouse, her brown eyes red and swollen. His daughter had never been a beauty, but—dressed and her hair well arranged—she was acceptable.
He had ignored her for years. He had thought she might be of some use to him, but she had always feared him, and he’d never respected timidity. Nor did he like women. They served their purpose in satisfying his physical needs, and he enjoyed the attention that having a beautiful woman on his arm gave him.
Mostly, they were a bloody nuisance, of little intelligence and loyalty. His mother had run away with a lover when he was six years of age, and he’d had little use for his father’s mistresses in the following years.
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