by Diana Quincy
“What about girls? Why do they have girls?”
“They mostly have girls while they are trying to have boys and it cannot be helped.”
To his horror, she began to snivel again.
“Bloody hell,” he said resignedly. “What is it now?”
“If Patience and I were boys, people would want us. We’d have somewhere to belong.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a Fairfax. Of course you belong here.”
“But you don’t want us.”
“It’s not about whether or not I want you. You’re a Fairfax, the great-granddaughter of a duke, and you are here by right. This is your home.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“All you have to do is look in the looking glass to know you belong here.”
She scrunched up her chubby little face. “Huh?”
He came to his feet. “Come along.” There was one quick way to end this drama. “I have something to show you.”
* * *
—
He took her to the gallery on the opposite side of the enormous townhouse. He was practically out of breath by the time they reached the grand old room with its ornate plastered ceilings and cream paneled walls adorned with proper family portraits, marble busts, and other artworks. Several upright salmon-colored upholstered chairs lined the gallery walls like soldiers standing at attention. The last time he’d visited in the gallery he’d been in the company of three naked strumpets who’d played croquet and taken turns engaging in various sex acts with him. Those days seemed very far away now. The brats had upended everything.
He led Prudence to stand before the cluster of family portraits where their cold, proud ancestors stared down at them in icy arrogance.
“There,” he said to her. “Surely you take my meaning now.”
She blinked. “Huh?”
“Look at this gentleman. The first duke. He was my great-great-grandfather.” He pointed to the portrait of a man dressed for the hunt, staring down at them with the famous metallic Fairfax gaze. “Look at his eyes.”
He moved to another painting. “This is my grandfather, your great-grandfather.” Again the figure in the painting possessed the family’s vivid eyes.
Prudence suddenly brightened. “Their eyes are silver. Just like mine and Patience’s.” She stared up at Sunny with an expression of wonder. “And like yours.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Your eyes prove that you are a Fairfax. You belong to a great family. This is your home. Where you belong.” As he said the words, something strange happened. For the first time, he felt a genuine sense of kinship with the child. She was his flesh and blood.
She slipped her tiny hand into his large one. “If we belong here, why do you always say unkind words to us?”
He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. The child was beyond exhausting. He slumped down on the salmon-colored settee. “What nonsense are you speaking now? When do I ever say unkind things to you?”
“You call us brats.”
“You are brats.”
“And you call me Prudence.”
“That is your name, is it not?” he asked in exasperation. He’d had no idea children could be so tiresome.
“But Izzy and Patience and Uncle Abel call me Prudie.”
“Is that all? Will you stop sniveling if I call you Prudie?” At her nod, he said, “Very well then, Prudie it is.”
Her face lit up, and she surprised him by climbing onto his lap and snuggling against his chest. “Thank you, Cousin Adam.”
Good lord! Why did this child always insist on cramming herself into places she wasn’t welcome? But the last thing he needed was for her to start bawling again, so he patted her back awkwardly again.
“Cousin Adam?” she asked in a small voice.
“Yes?”
“Do you think I could get another doll’s house?”
“I’m certain that could be arranged.”
She snuggled against him even more. And then he heard her amused giggle.
“What is so funny?”
“You’re so soft and cuddly.” She prodded his stomach with a stubby finger.
He stared down at his belly and realized he had put on a few pounds of late. He was accustomed to a hard and muscled stomach. Once the duke had passed and Sunny was free to do as he pleased, he’d become a true Corinthian—a sporting man who rode, fenced, and boxed. And he’d possessed the strong masculine form that came of all of that exercise. The Fairfaxes were handsome men, and Sunny had always taken his good looks for granted.
But he’d been slack of late. In his twenties, he’d had energy for it all—women, drink, and athletics. However, these days, indulging in general all-around debauchery left him with little time or inclination to exercise.
“Yes, well, enough of that.” He’d wasted enough of his time cheering the child up. “Off you go. Finch will be looking for you.”
She went willingly and scurried toward the door. She paused in the entryway. “Thank you, Cousin Adam.”
Something in his heart seemed to squeeze a little, an alien sensation that prompted Sunny to wonder if he might be ill. He tried to recall whether anyone in the family had a weak heart.
Prudie smiled brightly at him, and he found himself smiling back.
Chapter 10
“John, am I fat?”
The substitute valet paused while brushing out his master’s clothes. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”
Sunny regarded himself in the mirror, turning to the side to examine his reflection. “Am I fat?”
“Erm…of course not, Your Grace.”
“My clothes still fit. If I’d gained more than a few stone, surely it would have shown in the fit of my clothes.”
Sunny caught the doubtful expression on the younger man’s face. “What is that look about?” he demanded.
“I believe Mr. Smith recently had your clothing altered.”
“He did? Whatever for?”
“He intimated that they were becoming a little snug. He sent out a few pieces at a time.”
“Are you suggesting my valet recently had my entire wardrobe refitted?”
“I believe so, Your Grace.” He stared at his feet. “As your valet, Mr. Smith says you must never feel a moment’s discomfort in your clothing.”
Sunny started to strip off the waistcoat John had just buttoned him into.
“Is this waistcoat not to your liking, Your Grace?”
Sunny dropped the piece of clothing to the floor. “I’ve decided to go to Gentleman Jack’s.”
Surprise lit John’s eyes. “The boxing salon?”
“Don’t look so damned shocked.” Irritation strummed through Sunny. “I used to visit the boxing salon on a very regular basis.”
“Of course, Your Grace. I shall go and retrieve the proper clothing.”
While the valet went into his dressing room, Sunny reexamined his form in the looking glass. How long had it been since he’d been to Gentleman Jackson’s or Angelo’s fencing academy? He struggled to remember, but had given up by the time John returned with his new clothing.
Being foxed every evening had clouded his memory. Vale spent a great deal of time at Gentleman Jackson’s. Perhaps his friend would recall the last time they’d sparred.
Surely it hadn’t been that long.
* * *
—
Gasping for breath, Sunny staggered off the boxing floor.
“Not bad for a beginner.” Vale came up behind him. “Not to worry. You’ll work up your strength and endurance in no time.”
Perspiring heavily, Sunny scowled. “I’m hardly a beginner.” But Vale wouldn’t know that. The viscount had only been in London for less than a year and knew nothing of Sunny’s widely admired athletic prowess. Yet Sunny had
barely managed a few minutes on the floor against Vale.
“Oh? Do you box?” Vale’s surprise couldn’t be more obvious. Unlike Sunny, the man didn’t appear at all winded or flushed.
“Of course, I box.” Sunny bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “I’m here, am I not?”
Most of Vale’s attention shifted to Cosmo, who was still sparring with Gentleman Jackson himself. The famed pugilist was difficult to miss for he never wore anything less than the brightest colors.
“Hmm.” Vale’s eyes remained on the two sparring men. “I would not have taken you for a pugilist.”
“What does that mean?”
“I come here regularly, and I’ve never encountered you.”
“It isn’t as though you’ve been back in Town for very long.” Vale, a former agent for the Crown, had spent a great deal of time abroad. He’d given all that up after unexpectedly coming into the Vale title.
“It’s been almost two years since my return.”
Sunny blinked. “Has it really?”
Cosmo’s bout with Gentleman Jackson ended. The two men pounded their muffled fists together before retreating. Jackson turned his attention to his next patron while Cosmo came over to join them.
He was a large, square-shaped man, not particularly handsome, but that had never stopped women from throwing themselves at the Marquess of Aldridge’s heir. Together, Sunny and Cosmo had once enjoyed a dizzying number of conquests until the tiresome French aeronaut had ensnared Cosmo within weeks of landing on the man in Aldridge’s Dorset cornfield.
Cosmo halted when he caught sight of Sunny. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to spar, obviously.”
Cosmo exchanged a raised-brow look with Vale.
“What is that look about?” Sunny mopped his glistening face with a towel. “It isn’t as though you and I haven’t sparred before.”
“Years ago.” Cosmo unrolled the protective muffler on one bound fist. “And you’re a bit soft at the moment.”
Sunny glowered at him. “I am not.”
“Of course, you are,” Vale interjected. “At the moment, you look as if you’re about to swoon.”
Sunny stiffened. “I do not swoon.”
Cosmo chuckled. “You must admit you’re a long way from the sportsman you used to be.”
Vale brows came together. “Sportsman?”
Cosmo threw down the discarded muffler. “Sunny used to be a hard man to beat. Whether it was on a mount, boxing, or fencing, His Grace excelled at them all.”
Vale looked dubious. “I would not have guessed it. What with all of the time he spends on whores and drink.”
Cosmo laughed. “It seems the light skirts are wearing him out.”
“We’re none of us the young bucks we used to be.” Vale gave Sunny a light punch in the belly. “But some of us are getting old and soft more quickly than others.”
“Sod off.” Sunny sidestepped Vale’s friendly assault and pivoted for the dressing chamber. “I’ll show you who’s getting soft.”
Sunny had always taken his good looks for granted and, truth be told, was rather vain about them. This new state of affairs would not do.
Not at all.
* * *
—
The following evening Sunny dropped into his favorite playroom chair, his body heavy with exhaustion. A vigorous bout with Gentleman Jackson earlier in the day had nearly done him in. But Sunny was determined to train regularly with the champ to regain his fitness.
“Your Grace.” Dowding served Sunny’s favorite brandy. “Will there be anything else?”
Sunny poured the drink down his throat. He couldn’t recall ever feeling quite this fatigued. Every one of his limbs felt like a weight was attached to it. “Just another one of these.” He set the empty crystal on the butler’s waiting tray.
“Certainly, Your Grace.” Dowding refilled the glass from the decanter he had at the ready. “And will you be entertaining this evening?”
Sunny stared moodily out at his playroom—the heavy red velvet drapes, the billiards table, empty chaises, and lonely swing. “Not tonight, no.” He could barely move, much less summon the energy to engage in any carnality. Just reaching his bedchamber under his own power would be a minor miracle. “Leave the decanter, and you are dismissed for the evening.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
Once Sunny was alone, a sense of melancholy, a gray mood that struck from time to time, crept over him. The nightly entertainments he usually hosted in this room normally helped stave off the worst of it when this mood struck him—the sense that everything was essentially meaningless, that he was just passing time and what was the point of any of it anyway?
But Finch had robbed him of that small comfort, of having the distraction of beautiful willing women, drinking, and general festivity to drown out the dreary thoughts that sometimes filled his head. He didn’t even have the pup at his feet as he usually did during his darker moments. The ungrateful creature now spent almost all of its time with the girls.
He realized, to his surprise, that he missed the animal’s companionship. He glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. It was late. The girls and their nanny would most certainly be asleep. Perhaps he could tempt Pan away.
He rose and left the chamber, his footsteps echoing over the parquet floors as he crossed to the stairs and made his way to the third floor. He crept silently past the nanny’s room to the nursery. The last thing he desired was to wake Finch and provoke the she-dragon’s wrath. He just wanted his hound and then to find his own bed.
The door to the nursery was slightly ajar when he reached it. He peered inside where one lamp had been left alight, bathing the chamber in a golden glow. The girls were together in the far bed, small lumps breathing heavily under the white blanket. The bed closest to him remained empty. As he surveyed the chamber for any sign of the pup, his gaze hitched on the rocking chair in the far corner. The nanny, clad in white, sat unmoving, her gaze fastened on the sleeping children. Sunny remained very still and watched her watch the children.
The lone lamp next to Finch illuminated her face. An expression of profound…what? Adoration? Love?…glistened in her eyes. He followed her gaze to the sleeping girls and rested there until the light flickered. The lamp was moving, the nanny reaching for it as she rose from the rocking chair.
When she came to her feet, he saw that she wore a night rail, an extraordinarily thin one that allowed him a surprisingly enticing view of the contours of her body. Unencumbered by her unwieldy, restrictive nanny garb, he saw that she was delicately made—small upturned breasts, a slight curve to her stomach, long well-shaped legs. He’d never thought of her as physically attractive before this moment.
His cock noticed. It hardened as Sunny watched Finch move toward the girls, bending down beside the bed to brush a kiss on their cheeks. Her strands were loose, wavy, and unruly, a vision to behold, really. He’d never seen such wild hair. Its true uninhibited nature was a shocking contrast to the severe hairstyle she usually favored. Finch looked like an untamed goddess ready to ravish anything in her path. Sunny was mesmerized. It felt as if he were again watching a different woman, the dancing, uninhibited woman from the music room.
Finch paused by the bedside and gazed down at the sleeping children. The glow of the lamplight caressed the soft curve of her breasts and the sweet shadows surrounding their pointed tips. An inquiring bark broke the silence, and Pan emerged from behind the far side of the children’s bed.
Finch knelt to pet the animal. “What is it, you noisy boy?” She spoke to the pup in a gentle voice. “You’ll wake the girls.” The animal barked again and stared at Sunny, his tail wagging happily from side to side in wide, sweeping flops.
Finch looked toward the door and froze when she spotted Sunny.
* * *
—
It took a moment to register that Sunderford stood in the threshold watching her. He wore a loosely belted dressing gown, and his large frame filled much of the doorway.
“Your Grace?” she asked, forgetting her place, as usual. “What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t that a question I should be putting to you?” he asked dryly.
Her cheeks warmed. A governess should never question her employer. The faux pas was even more egregious considering her employer was a duke. “I’m looking after my charges.”
“Even while they sleep?”
“Some would say children are at their sweetest when they are sleeping.” She loved watching Patience and Prudence in repose. They looked so innocent, so vulnerable, yet so perfect that it made her heart hurt.
He came over to gaze down at the children. He stood right beside her, his scent filling her nostrils. Clean and manly with a few notes of brandy. Something in her stomach curled at the smell of him and at the sensation of his bodily warmth so close to hers. “I see what you mean.”
She thought he jested until she looked up into his face and registered the soft expression there. Gone was the mocking countenance he usually donned like a favorite jacket worn too often. How many times had she longed for someone to share the precious perfection of these beautiful girls with?
“They look like angels,” she whispered.
“Yes.” His voice was a low rumble that sent chills through her. “I do believe this is the first time I’ve ever seen Patience remain still.” Was that affection she detected in his voice?
He seemed different, more subdued and serious. She looked into his handsome face. The lines around his eyes seemed more pronounced, the grooves around his mouth tightly inlaid. “Is all well, Your Grace?”
Pain shadowed his eyes when he turned to look at her. “What could be wrong?” he asked, his voice flat.
She surprised herself by putting a hand on his arm. “You seem burdened.”
He exhaled long and low, as if some terrible weight were indeed pressing down on him. But he did not answer her. Instead he reached out and touched a strand of her hair. “So soft,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t have thought to find such softness with such magnificent curls and waves.”
