The head servant, the one who was dressed in black and wore white gloves, tackled him around the knees. The two footmen leaped on top of his back, crushing him into the flowered carpet.
His father’s unemotional voice intoned, “A few good canings are in order. Thompson, I trust you’ll handle the matter.”
The man in black and white helped haul Saber to his feet, then dusted his white gloves. “Yes, my lord. Immediately, my lord.”
“Clearly, the little bastard will survive without a meal for a few more hours.” Lady Grimsborough eyed Saber as if he were a plucked chicken ready for the pot.
Grimsborough’s cold, clear, emotionless voice intoned, “As of now, his name is Raul. Raul Lawrence.”
Clearly dismayed, Lady Grimsborough asked, “Lawrence? Surely you don’t intend to—”
“Adopt him? Indeed I do. He is Raul Lawrence, son of the Viscount Grimsborough, and he is to become an English gentleman. Wife, please ensure that everyone in the household realizes how quickly he or she will incur my displeasure should the boy be given the wrong name or title.”
Once again that shiver rattled the room. These people—the wife, the daughters, the servants—were afraid of their master.
Saber had left a land where he roamed free, and landed in a hellish nightmare of hunger, pain, cold and fear.
And his father was the devil himself.
Christina Dodd, In Bed With the Duke
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