‘I have no idea. The last of his teeth, perhaps? Not that they have shown themselves. He has no temperature either and his appetite is hearty, so he is not ill. I cannot even blame the change in environment for his temper tantrums either, because he was like this a good month before we left Cheapside as you saw the night of the exploded flour.’
Mention of the flour reminded him of the flour on her bodice that night and the womanly breasts that filled that bodice. Breasts that would be unbound tonight in that nightrail. Only one layer of linen separating them from his gaze. His groin tightened at the thought.
‘Gwendoline claims that even the most even tempered of children turn into beasts in their second year. According to her that is what ails him regardless of the fact he is not two for five more months.’ Penny gave a put-upon shrug, then shifted her son from sitting on one arm to the other. Was Hadleigh a beast for lusting after her when she clearly had her work cut out? Probably. ‘I came down here to make him some warm milk, but as you can see, he is stubbornly refusing to allow me to make it. Noise and chaos in action.’
He needed something to focus his mind rather than the inappropriate ideas suddenly racing through his head and in case his hands decided to mutiny like his feet. Under the circumstances, it was best not to watch her. Aside from the fact it was a gross invasion of her privacy, he knew already he would suffer horrendously from this night forward with more fevered dreams. Dreams which would take his mind further away from his work and drive him mad with yet more unslaked lust. How long had it been since he had lain with a woman? Months? A year? A bit longer... Good grief.
Far too long than the male body was designed for if his overwhelming carnal reaction was any indication. ‘Then why don’t I hold him while you do?’ He could have offered to heat the milk for her, but reasoned that dealing with a squalling child was the perfect antidote to all the inappropriate things he was feeling.
‘Would you mind?’
‘I wouldn’t have offered if I minded. Besides, you are clearly in the grip of a crisis and you already know that is when I can be most relied upon. Noise and chaos is my forte.’ Hadleigh held out his arms, then wondered what the hell he was supposed to do when the fidgeting boy was placed in them. He had never held a child. Had no idea how to hold a child. Instinct had him supporting his bottom with one hand while the other held his back as he had witnessed her do, but conscious his big hands might harm the child, he was undoubtedly holding him far too limply if Freddie’s sudden acrobatics were any gauge.
She smiled at his ineptitude. ‘He is not made of glass and is certainly much stronger than you could imagine.’ He was heavier, too. A positive, wriggling dead weight with no personal boundaries judging by the annoyed little hand which was now pushing hard at his chin in his eagerness to escape. Hadleigh adjusted his hold which lessened the wriggling, but not by much. ‘Sometimes, the tighter you hold him, the more likely it is he will give in to Morpheus.’ She bent to fetch a pan. ‘Although sometimes it just makes him worse.’ Pan in hand, she shrugged as she filled it with milk from the jug. ‘My best advice is do whatever you think is best. That has worked for me so far. Or hasn’t.’ Hardly reassuring.
While she heated the milk, he dedicated all his energy into keeping Freddie still. He jiggled him. Rocked him. And when neither worked, dragged the boy’s moaning head to his shoulder, stroked his hair and began to pace up and down in the kitchen, whispering encouraging nonsense into the boy’s ear. Miraculously, that appeared to work, because the wrestling stopped. Then the squalling became the odd moan and by the time she was filling Freddie’s bottle, the child’s head lay heavily on his shoulder and his small body was finally limp in his arms.
Mindful that any sudden movements might end the blissful peace, he gingerly lowered himself into a chair and arranged the pair of them so that Freddie could lay across him unhindered with just the lightest support from his arms. The boy’s thumb went to his mouth and he snuggled against his chest, almost as if the sound of Hadleigh’s heart beating was like a lullaby.
* * *
Penny picked up the bottle and the two steaming mugs of milk and turned, then faltered. The sight of her son sleeping soundly on Lord Hadleigh’s chest and Lord Hadleigh cradling him as if he were the most precious thing in the world made her heart stutter. Why hadn’t she had the good sense to pick a man like that to father her child? One who was clearly born to be a natural father...
Where had that thought come from?
As if he sensed her errant and romantic imaginings, he looked up, his dark amber eyes flecked with gold in the firelight, smiled, and her silly heart did somersaults against her ribs. Good heavens, he was a handsome man. More handsome tonight, for some reason, than he had ever been before.
Perhaps because he was the most human she had ever seen him? Certainly the most relaxed. Over-long hair mussed from his pillow, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, big feet bare. The loose linen shirt both untucked at the waist and open at the neck. Even his jaw was informal, shadowed slightly with a day’s growth of beard. The overall image he presented made her feel odd and unsettlingly fluttery inside. It also made her supremely conscious of her own body in the most peculiar way and, scandalously, she seemed suddenly very aware she was entirely naked under her sensible nightgown.
‘I don’t think Freddie wants the milk any more.’ His voice was soft and low, the deep, intimate timbre sending a shiver down her spine. ‘I think he is out for the count.’
‘Never mind.’ To her shame, her voice sounded strange. Breathier than normal. ‘I made you some milk, too... To help you sleep.’
She placed the mug within his reach on the table and quickly retreated to the opposite end with her own drink which she was clutching tightly as if her life depended upon it. This all felt very naughty. Both of them here in the small hours, all alone. Not properly dressed. Her body humming with what she assumed was need.
How bizarre? She had never experienced it, but knew exactly what it was. Her breasts felt heavier and more sensitive than they ever had. Her skin felt almost on alert, not quite like her own and gloriously alive. Certain parts tingling, longing to be touched. All in all, quite the revelation as she approached her quarter century, as she had never experienced anything vaguely similar with her horrid husband. Not once.
She cradled her own mug and stared into it rather than at him, in case her needy body leaked out clues, hoping she appeared nonchalant as she sipped the warm milk. But she could feel the force of his stare before she risked returning it. It made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck dance with wanton abandon.
‘I’ve been pondering everything you said earlier and you are right. Tomorrow I will approach the wives. I am so sorry I never afforded you that same chance.’
‘I didn’t tell you so you could castigate yourself over it. In truth, I was so confused and overawed by the whole thing, I didn’t realise that saying my piece was exactly what I needed to do. Hindsight is always a wonderful thing.’
‘Even so, it was wrong of me. We men are brought up to take care of women.’
‘Not all men.’
His face clouded. ‘No. Not all.’
‘But your father taught you well.’
His expression became bland again, a sure sign he was about to hide something, then he surprised her by shaking his head, allowing bleak sadness to show instead. Gifting her with the truth. ‘Alas, my father was a man exactly like your husband... He was violent and cold. If he taught me anything, he taught me the exact sort of man I never wanted to be.’
‘He beat you?’
He shook his head, causing a lock of deliciously mussed hair to fall boyishly over his forehead. ‘No...never me. I escaped that. To be frank, most of the time he barely noticed me which suited me fine. But he took his temper out on my mother throughout their marriage—although she attempted to shield it from me even when I was old enough to k
now full well it happened. Denied it flat out as if she were ashamed. Every injury was apparently caused by something other than my father’s hand, usually inanimate objects she had walked into or tripped over, when I never knew a person move with more grace than she did. But it was easier if we both accepted the lie she was clumsy, because then we could ignore the awful truth.’ He took a thoughtful sip of his milk then stared at her over the rim. ‘My bitterest regret is that I allowed her to do that. I should have challenged her and I should have prevented him—but then it was too late.’ His irises swirled with emotion. Frustration. Anger. Self-loathing. ‘I should have been there.’
‘We mothers are brought up to protect our children. Do not be hard on yourself. You are far too hard on yourself. In everything.’ She wanted to go to him and comfort him, wrap her arms around him. ‘How old were you when she passed?’
‘I had just turned twenty. I was away when she died. Cambridge...’ His voice trailed off and the shutters immediately came down, dimming all those telling emotions like a bucket of iced water on a flame because they had stumbled into territory he did not want to discuss. He gave a dismissive half-smile she didn’t believe and his overly cheery voice came out insincere. ‘But enough of all this maudlin talk. I think it’s time this little man went to bed.’
Penny set aside her mug, not wanting this enlightening conversation to end. ‘Here—I’ll take him.’ Perhaps then he would linger and she could find a way past the defences he had suddenly raised.
‘And risk waking him up? Not a chance. I can carry him up to bed just as easily as you can.’ He carefully unfolded them both from the chair, ensuring he escaped all further questions or the temptation to answer them. ‘You lead the way.’
It was awkward walking ahead of him in her nightrail when her traitorous skin still wanted his touch and her mind was alight with curiosity about his past, but she hoped she feigned serene calm as she slowly took each of the steps on the servants’ staircase. She paused outside her door, wondering if he would relinquish his burden, but when he didn’t she experienced a rush of nerves at the thought of him entering her private space. A space that, thanks to Freddie, lacked the organised neatness she maintained throughout the rest of the house. What would such a meticulous man make of the clutter? She flicked her gaze towards him and saw his own staring down the long landing towards the guest rooms. ‘I see we are neighbours of sorts.’
‘Yes.’ Why did that suddenly thrill her? ‘Perhaps a bad choice on my part, seeing that Freddie is currently so troublesome at night.’ She practically flung open the door and scurried across her sitting room, wishing she had had the foresight to pick up the building bricks still littering the carpet, then opened the second door belonging to her son’s bedchamber.
Lord Hadleigh carried him in, his big, capable hand gently cradling his neck as soon as Penny pulled back the blankets, before carefully using his entire body to lower Freddie down. Her son murmured, let out a half-hearted cry, then lapsed soundly back to sleep as Lord Hadleigh gently stroked his hair. She carefully covered her son and found her eyes inexplicably drawn to the man opposite. The complicated man who she now knew hid more from the world than he was comfortable with it seeing. His locked with hers as he smiled and her own hearted melted.
All those years she had wasted believing that ardent suitors, bouquets and waltzes were romantic, when the singular most romantic thing she had ever known was this. This simple domestic chore shared with him topped each of those foolish ideals instantly.
One man. One woman. Bent over one sleeping child in his crib. A romantic moment which would have been utterly perfect if the sleeping child were his.
A foolish thought! Penny straightened, alarmed at the way her silly imagination was running away from her. She shouldn’t be having romantic thoughts about him, despite her wayward body’s current wild ideas to the contrary. They were pointless. She was just his housekeeper. She would always be a traitor’s widow.
He followed her to the door and waited for her to softly shut it. Then leaned close to whisper, ‘Success! Between us we can conquer a terrible almost two-year-old.’ She wished his warm breath hadn’t caressed her cheek. Wished her nerve-endings hadn’t tingled as a result. Wished he wasn’t still smiling. That infectious, handsome smile played havoc with her senses. And his eyes...gracious, they were making her swoon, when she hadn’t swooned in years. Nor had she ever swooned with the same ferocity as she was in danger of doing now. Something about him tonight had thoroughly seduced her already and she was powerless to stop it.
Panic made her retrace her steps to the door before she realised she was being impatiently impolite. ‘Thank you for helping me. And once again, my apologies for waking you up and dragging you to the kitchen.’ Minimise it. Don’t allow him to see what a wonderful time you had in that kitchen. Just the pair of them. Being themselves...
‘It was naught but a detour to the kitchen.’ Another intimate whisper, far too close for comfort. She could smell the faint traces left of his cologne, see every tiny golden whisker on his jaw and his throat. ‘I was heading to my study to work. I confess I was hoping to sneak a few more hours in without you knowing.’
As if it had a mind of its own, her hand went to his cheek. ‘No work... You need to sleep. You look exhausted.’ She made the mistake of locking her gaze with his, then couldn’t find the strength needed to tear it away.
‘Have you made it your mission to look after me?’
‘Somebody needs to.’ Her thumb was scandalously tracing one of the shadows under his eyes. They fluttered closed for a second, but when they opened his irises seemed to have changed once more. Gone was the sadness and the regret. Now the golden flecks positively burned.
Then, as if they were both caught under this night’s same, all-encompassing, intoxicating spell, they closed the distance between them at the same time. His lips brushed hers softly and Penny sighed, hers opening in response. One of them deepened the kiss, she wasn’t sure who. Nor would she later recollect whose arms had wrapped themselves about the other first. All she knew in that loaded moment with any certainty was that their kiss felt right. The passion which rapidly grew out of it felt right also.
Her hands found their way into his hair, anchoring his mouth to hers. His smoothed down her back, her hips, tugged her close so they stood touching from head to toe. Rested possessively on her bottom. She felt his desire through the flimsy barrier of her nightgown and it didn’t repulse her. She revelled in it. Revelled that he wanted her and she wanted him. Revelled in the kiss until it was he who dragged his mouth away. Still holding her, his breathing as ragged as hers, his expression confused, they simply stared at one another until he let go. Stepped back.
Raked his hand through his hair.
‘Perhaps I should bid you goodnight?’
She didn’t want him to go. Wanted to ask him to stay, but had no idea how to. ‘Promise me you will try to sleep.’
‘After that kiss, Penny, I doubt I shall ever sleep again.’ Then he left her hugging herself, bewildered, thinking the exact same thing on the opposite side of the door while he walked the scant few feet to his bed down the hallway.
Chapter Thirteen
He’d kissed her! And, blast it all to hell, it had been a kiss which exceeded all the heated kisses he had imagined nightly in his fevered dreams. He’d kissed her, ran his hands greedily over her body, then practically floated to his bed thoroughly overawed by it all, where he then slept like the dead for hours.
Now he could hear the sounds of the house in full swing beyond the bedchamber door and realised that not only had he slept, it sounded as though he had overslept to boot. He felt clumsily for his pocket watch on the nightstand and glared at the dial. Nine o’clock.
Nine o’clock, for pity’s sake, when he should have been up at six! Worse, now he would have to dress, take himself downstairs while breakfast was doubtless in full swing, be sociab
le with Flint and his family—and face her, too. She’d be there. Diligently doing her job as usual.
What exactly did a man say to a woman in his employ he had shamelessly ravished the night before? One he would have ravished further if his conscience at his own rampant and obvious lust hadn’t brought him to his senses, the evidence of the former quite apparent, pointing at him in accusation beneath the blankets. Rock hard and showing no signs of deflating any time soon despite the inappropriateness of his behaviour towards her.
Penny was a woman who under all normal conditions would still be in the midst of mourning!
She was a woman whose entire life had recently been turned upside down. One who was undoubtedly still very vulnerable from her ordeal. A woman who at his insistence now worked in his house!
Had she kissed him back because she feared for her job? He sincerely hoped not, because that made him something he really didn’t want to be.
But she hadn’t seemed reluctant...
She had kissed him back. He was sure of that. She had burrowed her hands beneath his shirt, run them over his back. He could still feel where her touch had lingered like a brand before she had moaned against his mouth and the last vestiges of his reason had temporarily flown away. Until they had come crashing back and he’d needed her consent to continue and, in so doing, killed the magical moment between them stone dead. Because she had happily bade him goodnight.
What was he going to do?
An apology went without saying. A great big fat grovelling one, explaining he had been...what? Overwrought? Overtired? Overwhelmed? When the truth was it had just felt like the right thing to do in that precise moment despite him being all of those things. And, God help him, if she was similarly inclined, it would be something he would happily do again.
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