“What a strong grip she has for her size!” Was that a ring of pride he heard in his voice?
“No wonder she is pretty,” said Annabelle. “You and your friends are famed for the beautiful women you seduce. Does she bear a resemblance to any of your past mistresses? That might be the quickest way to track down her mother.”
Her question hit Jack like a splash of cold water. If the child turned out to be his, he would have to make room in his life for a woman with whom he had never intended a permanent connection.
“I cannot see an obvious resemblance to anyone I know.” He pulled his finger from the child’s firm grasp.
But when that caused her smile to fade and her tiny lip to quiver, he returned it to her again. She grappled onto his finger, brought it to her mouth and gnawed it with her toothless gums.
“In that case,” said Annabelle, “remember what I said about the time this little one was likely bred. Who were you and your friends... trysting with between November and January of last winter?”
Reluctantly, Jack cast his thoughts backward. It was not something he did often. He preferred to focus on the present rather than dwelling on the past or fretting about the future. That philosophy had served him well... until recently.
“I spent last Christmas at a house party hosted by Lord and Lady Pendleton,” he mused. “I had a brief dalliance with Mrs. Archer. She was anxious to strike back at her husband for his affair with Lady DeWitt. But I have seen the Archers since then. The lady did not appear to be with child.”
For some reason he could not look Annabelle in the face when he told her of his liaison. Instead he concentrated on the baby. Could she be Lucinda Archer’s daughter?
“You had better ask her just the same.” Annabelle advised him in a stiff, disapproving tone that reminded him of Frederick’s stern father. “High-waisted dresses can conceal more than you might think. Surely the lady would have been in the country for the summer when her condition was most evident. Her confinement would have fallen during shooting season.”
Did he now detect a note of contempt in her voice? Jack refused to confirm it by meeting her gaze. “We can discuss all that later. Now that Sarah has been fed, I must locate the other items you need.”
He removed his thoroughly-gummed finger from the baby’s mouth and tapped her on the nose, which made her chortle.
“I shall return soon.” He addressed the baby, though it made him feel rather foolish. “Be a good girl for your Auntie Annabelle while I’m gone.”
He rose from the floor, a trifle stiff from the unaccustomed position and strode away with an odd mixture of relief and reluctance.
A while later, he returned with a quantity of linen that had been intended for cravats and a wooden crate that had once held bottles of wine. The packing straw should make a suitable mattress when covered with the thick, woolen blanket he’d taken from his bed.
As Jack entered the room, his well-rehearsed apology for taking so long died on his lips when he saw no sign of Annabelle or the baby.
Where could they have gone? A jagged blade of alarm ripped through his belly, unlike any fear he had ever experienced before.
His gaze darted about the room. When he spied Annabelle lying on the bed with the baby, a dizzying wave of relief rocked him.
He set down the wine crate carefully, so as not to wake the sleepers. His heart pounded against his ribs as if he’d just run all the way from the bank of the Thames. He struggled to catch his breath. His emotions had not been so agitated since he’d learned of his cousin’s death. That terrible news had stirred up wretched feelings of grief, guilt and regret. This time his reaction was even more complicated and volatile.
What had come over him? This time yesterday he had not been aware of the child’s existence. Now her welfare mattered to him more than he could bring himself to admit.
Conscious of every faint creek of a floorboard, he crept toward the bed. Once he reached it, he stood for several minutes staring down at the sleeping woman and child. They looked so peaceful and vulnerable, it stirred tender, protective instincts within him.
They lay on top of the coverlet, the baby wrapped in the blankets from her basket. Annabelle had nothing over her and her dress did not look as if it would provide much warmth. The room was a comfortable temperature now, but it would grow cooler when the fire died down.
Moving quietly, Jack fetched his blanket from the wine crate and draped it over Annabelle. She did not wake, as he feared she might, but snuggled under the covering with a grateful sigh.
Now what should he do? Part of him wanted to steal back out of the room and hope Annabelle and the baby would sleep soundly until morning.
But what if Sarah woke before then and needed to be fed again? How often did infants need to eat? Annabelle might know, but he had not the slightest the idea. With his friends gone off to who-knew-where, he was responsible for the child. He was responsible for Annabelle too, since she had only come here at his insistence. He could not abandon her or the baby now.
He glanced toward the chair then back at the bed. Sarah nestled in the middle of the mattress with Annabelle on one side of her. Was it possible the child might roll or wriggle off the other side and fall to the floor? Jack’s stomach plummeted at the mere thought.
Determined to prevent any such calamity, he pried off his boots and stretched out with the baby between him and Annabelle. As he lay there, lulled by the soft, slow breathing of the baby and her, he realized this was the first time he had shared a woman’s bed without any carnal intentions. It surprised him to discover what an agreeable experience that could be.
A faint squeak from the baby startled Annabelle awake.
Where was she and what was she doing here?
Memories from the previous night came flooding back and with them a sickening qualm of guilt. She had not meant to fall asleep, only to rest her eyes for a moment after little Sarah slipped into a peaceful doze. What if the baby had rolled off the bed?
Obviously she hadn’t, Annabelle realized as her eyes fluttered open. Or it would have been a loud thump that woke her, followed by deafening shrieks. Her vision not yet focused in the dim light of early morning, she reached out to comfort the baby with a soft caress.
But it was not a bundle of blankets her hand came to rest upon, nor the downy cheek of an infant. Instead it was the firm, smooth flesh of a man’s hand.
Jack! As she wrenched her hand back, a sharp gasp of air seemed to freeze in her lungs, unable to find its way back out.
He lay on the other side of the baby, one hand resting upon the child in a protective embrace. Sleep had smoothed out the ruggedness of his features and softened the air of rakish mockery with which he viewed the world. He looked far more like the boy who had captured her heart from their earliest acquaintance. How she had once dreamed of sharing a bed and a child with him—but not like this!
Catching her stolen breath, Annabelle threw back the blanket covering her. Where had it come from? She scrambled up from the bed and seized the baby, who evidently did not care to be handled so abruptly.
Little Sarah gave a sharp cry of protest at the same moment Annabelle demanded, “Jack, what is the meaning of this? As if spending the night under your roof did not compromise my reputation enough!”
“What?” Jack came awake reluctantly. He rubbed his eyes then squinted up at her. “Oh, Annabelle, it’s you. What are you talking about? You said I should not leave all the baby’s care up to you, so I stayed in case you needed my help. I was afraid she might fall, so I lay down to keep her safely between us. What else should I have done?”
His reasons made sense, Annabelle was forced to admit. He could have taken advantage of her slumber to slip away for a good night’s sleep in his own bed. He had shown unexpected concern for little Sarah’s safety and her comfort. Who else could have covered her with that blanket?
Her confused, too-intense emotions refused to let her pardon him so easily. “You could have woken me.”
“I couldn’t bring myself to.” Jack sat up and stretched. “You looked so peaceful and I knew how tired you must be. Don’t fret about your reputation. We both know nothing improper took place between us. How could it with our little chaperone on duty?”
“But your servants...” Annabelle sputtered, violently flustered by the thought of what might have happened in the absence of Baby Sarah, who had calmed down after her first vocal protest.
“They are well-paid for their discretion,” Jack assured her as he rose from the bed, rumpled but far too attractive. “There will be no gossip about this, I promise you.”
Annabelle had her doubts about that, but belaboring the point would only focus her thoughts in directions they had no business going. Better to drop the subject in favor of a safer one. “I am pleasantly surprised this little one did not wake through the night. The pap must have agreed with her, but she will need milk soon. Were you able to find diapering cloth?”
“I was.” Jack fetched a bolt of fine linen from a crate by the door. “At least I hope this will do.”
Annabelle looked it over. “For now. Today you can send someone to buy flannel. It absorbs better. What is that box?”
Jack explained how the wine crate had been the closest thing to a cradle he could locate at that hour.
“Not inappropriate, I suppose,” Annabelle muttered, more to herself than to him. “But I commend you on your resourcefulness. It is a trait one needs when raising a child.”
But Jack had no intention of raising little Sarah, Annabelle reminded herself, even if she did turn out to be his daughter. He would track down the child’s mother today and give her money to make the problem go away. Then he would return to his carefree bachelor existence and forget this scandalous incident had ever taken place. She must not get any foolish ideas that a man like Jack Warwick could be domesticated.
“What needs to be done for her now?” he asked. “Shall I have my cook boil some more bread? You should have seen the look he gave me last night when I asked for it.”
“I can imagine.” Annabelle rolled her eyes. No doubt Jack’s entire household viewed women as a passing diversion and children as a major inconvenience. “She will soon need to be fed again, but first she needs to be changed. Tear me a strip of that cloth.”
Jack did as she bid him then watched from a safe distance as she removed the baby’s wet linen. Once free from the damp fabric, little Sarah kicked her plump, dimpled legs, cooing and chortling in a most endearing manner. Annabelle tried to keep from smiling but could not help herself. She cast a fleeting glance at Jack to find his lips arched in a rather foolish grin.
While she folded and tucked the fresh, dry diapering cloth around the baby’s bottom, Annabelle caught him watching her with something like admiration. It brought her a dangerous rush of happiness.
She forced her features into a severe frown. “Once the baby has been fed, you and your friends must get to work locating her mother. I will say this for her—apart from the folly of abandoning little Sarah on your doorstep, she took good care of the child.”
“How can you tell?” Jack asked.
Annabelle bit back a contemptuous reply. Were babies such a mystery to the man that he could not even use his eyes? “Sarah is obviously well nourished. Her body and clothes are clean. There are no sores anywhere on her skin and she has a pleasant disposition when she is dry, fed and well-rested. All that is quite an accomplishment for a woman on her own. Something must have altered her circumstances and forced her to take such desperate measures.”
“You sound sorry for the woman.” Jack spoke as if she were guilty of shocking disloyalty.
But what sort of loyalty did he imagine she owed him?
“I am sorry for her,” Annabelle retorted with a defiant tilt of her chin. “A gentleman may take his pleasure then go merrily on his way while his partner suffers all the consequences of their tryst.”
Contemplating his many romantic conquests made her insides seethe, just as they had last night when he’d mentioned his casual affair with another man’s wife.
“I told you,” Jack protested. “I would have assisted the woman if she’d come to me. How could I help with a difficulty I knew nothing about?”
“How was the poor creature to know you would help her?” Annabelle lifted little Sarah off the bed and held her close. Fortunately the child was too young to understand she was unwanted. “Did anything in your manner suggest you cared about more than your own pleasure? Or did she have reason to fear you might make her situation worse if she told you?”
Jack flinched.
Clearly her barb had found its mark. But Annabelle could take no satisfaction from it. Her show of indignation was not so righteous after all. Her criticism had not been prompted by sympathy for Sarah’s mother as much as her need to keep her old feelings for Jack safely buried.
“Forgive me,” she begged. “That was unfair. At least, you rose to the occasion last night, unlike your friends. Did they ever come home?”
Jack gave a rueful shrug. “Not before I came to bed. And you needn’t apologize for what you said just now. It may not have been tactful, but that does not make it wrong. No doubt you judge my behavior by how Frederick would have acted. Surely you must know by now, I can never measure up to his standard.”
She was tempted to remind Jack that his beloved cousin had not been entirely without flaws, while he possessed more good qualities than he was given credit for. But at that moment, the baby began to fuss again.
Annabelle welcomed the diversion. “I beg your pardon, Miss Sarah. Have we not been paying you sufficient heed?”
She glanced up at Jack, reluctant to meet his eye. “You had better go fetch her food before she gets any unhappier.”
He gave an apprehensive nod then headed for the door.
“Take her linen to be laundered as well,” Annabelle called after him.
“Of course.” Jack grimaced but gingerly picked up the sodden cloth by one corner, deposited it in an empty chamber pot then bore it away.
He might find many aspects of tending an infant offensive, but at least he was trying. Annabelle wondered how many other gentlemen would be willing to do as much as he had.
“Just the same,” she murmured, pressing a kiss on the little one’s forehead, “I hope they will find your Mama today and return you to her. I do not know how she could bear to give you up.”
Already Annabelle found herself growing too attached to this sweet child. As for the man who might be Sarah’s father, she had long cared far more for him than she could afford.
Chapter Four
“I REALIZE NONE of us have a sterling reputation.” Later that day, Jack regarded Rory and Gabriel with a solemn frown as they perched on the drawing room sofa, looking thoroughly uncomfortable. “But I never took you two for cowards.”
“Cowards!” Rory tried to rise but sank back down. His bold features had a distinctly greenish cast. “See here, Jack, if you were not one of my dearest friends, I would call you out for such an insult. A Fitzwalter never runs from a fight!”
“Perhaps not.” Jack had little sympathy for his friends’ obvious indispositions. “But the presence of a helpless infant in the house makes you turn tail at the first opportunity. I call that cowardice. You are welcome to challenge me to a duel, but it will not alter my opinion.”
“I wasn’t frightened of it.” Rory shot Jack a bilious scowl. “But I knew I would never get a wink of sleep with it wailing all night, so I stayed out. The child certainly isn’t mine, so I saw no reason why I should lose sleep over it.”
“Do not pretend you got any sleep last night.” Jack folded his arms across his chest the way his uncle always had when delivering a lecture about his errant behavior. “And kindly refer to the baby as she or Sarah. She is not an article of baggage. I see no reason why she could not be your daughter. Like you, she is vocal when displeased or when she wants something. Besides, wasn’t your mother named Sarah?”
Rory tried to rise again, without success. “Leave my mother out of this, God rest her soul. Plenty of women have that name and none of those I’ve dallied with would remember my mother. There is a reason I don’t go bedding young chits like the two of you.”
Before Rory could say anything more, Gabriel spoke up for the first time. He sat hunched forward with his head in his hands—the picture of debauched misery. “I thought it was because they give you expensive presents and lucrative sinecures.
“Et tu, Gabriel?” Rory growled. “I will not deny I am grateful for the bounty my paramours shower upon me and I appreciate the female form ripened to perfect maturity. But I also consider it wise for a man of my limited resources to avoid women who are prime for children-bearing.”
His friend’s confession surprised Jack. It suggested greater forethought and unselfishness than Rory seemed to possess.
“Don’t be so certain the child isn’t yours.” Gabriel continued to cradle his head as if he feared it might shatter. “Not all your amours are past the age of child-bearing.”
“Perhaps not,” Rory bridled, “but they are all clever and experienced enough to know how to avoid it. If one did find herself enceinte, she would be quite capable of providing for the child without my assistance. I assure you no lady of my acquaintance would stoop to such melodramatics as dumping her baby on my doorstep.”
“Be that as it may,” said Jack, “we must each make a list of the women we... spent time with last year from shooting season until the London Season. Then we must make discreet inquiries whether one of them might be Sarah’s mother.”
“Do you suppose the lady will admit it?” Gabriel asked. At the moment he did not look capable of anything more strenuous than lying in a dark room with a cold cloth over his forehead. “Word of our predicament has spread all over town. There are already a dozen wagers in the club’s betting book as to which of us is the father. You may be flattered to know the odds favor you, Jack, by four to one.”
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