A Duke, the Lady, and a Baby

by Vanessa Riley

Yes, it was him and the memory of him—his heavy arm draped across my shoulders; the hammered muscles of his chest splayed into my cheek—left my mouth dry.

  The baby calmed, grabbed at the velvety robe falling from the duke’s bared shoulder, one with scars. The man was rugged and masculine with brown hair streaked with blond, making me wonder if, like velvet, it changed colors when my fingers swept through it.

  “Easy with my cuff in your mouth. Well, until your milk arrives, I suppose that will do. But my valet’s not going to be happy. Let’s see. One of my dear lady friends said poetry is soothing to babies.”

  The duke scrubbed his chin. “ ‘There was an old woman from . . .’ No, that rhyme might not be appropriate.”

  I wanted to laugh, but my heart felt too cheated. It should be Colin in my bed, holding our son, giving me wrong thoughts—of curling up onto a bared shoulder and listening to his sweet deep voice sort of singing.

  Very wrong thoughts, but it was such a dear picture.

  One to covet in my heart.

  I shook my head and coughed. “Sir. I mean, Your Grace. I think the baby needs to be fed now.”

  The man seemed to startle, pulling at his blanket to cover his leg as if that was indecent, not his naked chest with the curls of hair peeking over the lapel of his robe. “Who’s there?”

  I came around to the side of the bed where the curtains parted. “Your Grace, I’m here to help.”

  “A washerwoman? Barging in.” His gaze seemed to travel the length of me, but there was nothing wrong with my maid’s outfit. The blue checked cotton was pressed, unassuming, and clean beneath my white apron.

  The duke huffed. “I’m not sure how Markham had his staff trained to awaken him, but there have been a number of changes to Hamlin this past night.”

  Nose wrinkling at the fiend’s name, I stood up straight. “I’m no washerwoman.”

  He glanced my direction again before lowering his face toward Lionel. “Well, whoever you are, you need to leave. You’re no longer employed.”

  “Is the boy wet, sir? I see he’s bundled in a . . . shirt?”

  “One of my best, and I don’t think so. He’s hungry. I’ve sent a footman to find the cows. He’ll have milk soon. His first feeding will be . . .”

  The duke reached for a watch on the nightstand. “In another twenty minutes. Now please go.”

  I reached my arms out. “I’m sure he’s hungry, Your Grace. I can help.”

  Lionel started crying and seemed to lift his hands as he’d done for me last night. He surely heard my voice and remembered.

  “See, miss, you’ve gotten him out of order again.” The duke took his big thumb and waved it over Lionel.

  The baby grabbed it and suckled the digit.

  “The boy and I are friends. If you were a washerwoman, I’d hope you were good at stains. That’s the second shirt the boy’s used, and his side of my mattress might need to be attended, too.”

  “The babe slept in here with you?”

  The duke glanced up with a smile of pride. “Like I said, we’ve gotten to know each other. Now if you don’t mind. Well, look at that. His eyes have changed like my cousin’s. They’re a darker hazel now.”

  My father’s eyes were also hazel. Who should take credit for this? “Sir—”

  With a boom, the doors of the bedchamber flung open. The countess, Jemina, and two soldiers stood there.

  The duke shuffled the sheets about his one leg stuck in the blanket. His other foot dangled as if poised to toss on the boots lined perfectly by the bed.

  “Men, return to your posts. I can handle women in my bedchamber.”

  The soldiers laughed and left. The doors shut with a thud.

  “Lady Shrewsbury? Does this woman belong to you?”

  “Duke, she’s one of the servants I have brought to recommend to you. No, don’t rise, you seem to have your hands full.”

  “I hadn’t intended, ma’am, since this is my bedchamber and you are intruding.”

  He glanced in my direction as he played with Lionel’s little palm. “Normally, so many lovely ladies in my private chambers is a goal, but not in front of my ward. These days, I have to have more moral goals.”

  The man preened like a proud papa tweaking my Lionel’s nose.

  “Lady Shrewsbury, can you please lead this beautiful harem away from my bedchamber? Hmmm, words I never thought I’d utter.”

  The countess cast pained eyes at me as she passed and stopped at the bed table. “Mrs. Kelly, the young woman you sent to me, says you’ve fired your staff. You’ll need help, particularly with that bundle in your arms.”

  My babe cried harder.

  The duke rocked Lionel a little faster. “Please, son, we were just getting along. Must be all these intruders.”

  “Son?” Lady Shrewsbury held out her arms and took Lionel. “Duke, you sly thing. Your old habits of loving and leaving have caught up with you and now you’ve gained this morsel.”

  He chuckled, a rich full-bodied laugh, and I felt more cheated, even jealous.

  “Countess, I’m not one to kiss and tell, but this young lad is the son of my late cousin. I’m just a mere guardian. No lovers lost, not this year, not yet.”

  All this inane conversation and Lionel was hungry. I looked to my friend to see if she could help, but Jemina might as well have been a lamppost.

  She stood at the foot of the grand bed, stiff and stilled by a wheeled chair. The girl looked mesmerized by it.

  I rubbed my brow. “Your Grace, sir. Lady Shrewsbury. Let me take the baby. The boy is hungry. I know he is.”

  Lionel cried again.

  The duke reached for him, but Lady Shrewsbury seemed not to notice. She turned and bounced Lionel in her arms.

  “Ladies, I’m getting him on a schedule, and you’re interrupting.” He picked up his gold watch again. “Milk will be here shortly. So please leave.”

  I undid my shawl and a few buttons of my gown to expose the wetness of my tunic. “Milk is here for the babe.”

  The duke’s gaze fell upon me. “Oh.”

  That was all he said, but he took his time staring with a cheeky smile that took years from his face. “Ah, yes, ma’am, you do. Of course.” He tugged on Lionel’s foot. “Be at it. Feed him.”

  Permission given at last, I sighed and moved fast to get my son.

  Then I tripped over those boots.

  Hands flailing, I landed headfirst onto the bed. My cheek smacked hard against the chest I’d admired.

  CHAPTER 8

  THE WRONG MOVES

  Naked chest. Naked chest. I’d landed on the duke.

  There was no place to put my hands that wasn’t scars or muscles, lean shoulders, or taut abdomen.

  “Sorry. Sorry. Your Grace.”

  There was no rule, no protocol for this.

  His arms came around my back and held me still. “Woman, don’t move.”

  There was no rule for how I felt in this tight embrace. My cheeks burned.

  “Don’t thrash, woman. My leg is injured. You’ll make this worse.”

  Worse?

  What could that be?

  I was sprawled atop him. His breath wasn’t sweet like last night’s rum, but tart. I stopped twitching. With each twist he increased the pressure of his palms.

  My legs sank more into the softness of the mattress and pillows that had surrounded the duke.

  I looked up and caught his gaze. His eyes, clear blue with streaks of mischief gray held a smile. “There you go. You listened.”

  “Yes, listen to the duke, girl,” Lady Shrewsbury said. “He’s supposedly an expert in bed.”

  The man chuckled, his hands shifting from my waist to my hips, then back. He laughed more.

  It wasn’t funny to be so clumsy, so awkward. I’m refined. Mostly coordinated. I’d never do this on purpose. I started moving again to get off him and to show I wasn’t the compliant bed wench he thought I was.

  “Whoa now. I thought we agreed upon you not m
oving?”

  I fidgeted more and caught a whiff of Lionel’s handiwork and more duke, a woodsy, earthy smell. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I want off.”

  “In a moment, once you settle, I’ll lift you from the bed.”

  His head lowered to mine. We were almost nose to nose.

  “Have we met, miss? That is the correct question to ask being in bed together.”

  “She’s Mrs. LaCroy, Duke. She’s excellent with babies.” The countess cooed to Lionel as she’d done with Athena last night. “Mrs. LaCroy is so passionate about children, she forgets herself.”

  “LaCroy? Of course.” He nodded. “This is a bit of a compromising situation. Remember, Lady Shrewsbury, when I told you what that one lady tried—”

  I put my hands to his chest to push away, but my fingers tangled in his robe. Now I’ve added naked shoulder to naked chest. “I need to be free, Your Grace. The baby’s still hungry and I’m . . . I’m leaking.”

  “That won’t do.” His hands slipped down my sides again.

  My breath caught as he clasped my hips. He lifted me as if I were a feather and set me on my feet.

  “I’m so sorry, sir.” I straightened my apron but found more of my buttons were undone. When I glanced at the duke, his smile was wider.

  “All that twitching. I suppose we are both disadvantaged, LaCroy.”

  Cheeks burning like a raging fire, I took the baby from the countess. “I’ll take him to the nursery.”

  “You can feed my ward here. No need for false modesty with you falling all over me.” He folded his arms. “Women have done that before, but it usually takes a little more effort on my part. I do like to earn my seductions.”

  He pointed, his voice hardening with a sense of command. “Miss, use the chair in the corner. My ward doesn’t leave my sight.”

  It wasn’t as if I had a choice. I wasn’t even sure if I’d be employed. Flopping into the chair in the corner, I slipped Lionel under my shawl and put him to suckle. His cries stopped, and I tried to forget this new humiliation.

  “Duke,” the countess said, “Mrs. LaCroy will be an asset to your staff. She’s not always so clumsy.”

  He rubbed his face, slow along his jaw. “I think I met your husband last night, LaCroy.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir. My husband is gone. Do you see ghosts?”

  His expression softened. “Now it’s my turn to apologize. Sorry, I met and, er, um, fired your brother . . . brother-in-law last night. Let him . . . Let him know . . .”

  His head shifted.

  I felt his gaze wandering over me. I was caught, and I knew it from the way his smile thinned to nothing.

  Lady Shrewsbury moved near Jemina, swatting her hands from twisting the bed curtains. “Her brother-in-law returned to his residence after seeing to our Patience LaCroy. He won’t be visiting anymore.”

  The countess smoothed her gloves. “He has his own to protect, and I assured him you’d hire Mrs. LaCroy. Don’t make me a liar or leave a woman unprotected, not when you can help.”

  The duke fumbled with the belt of his robe. “Left, hmmm? My ward and I are still at a disadvantage. With one woman falling all over me, and another giving me sweet orders in my bedchamber, I . . . more words I’d never thought I’d say.”

  Lady Shrewsbury pulled back the curtains on the bed. “That must be hard for a military man to cede ground to his known weaknesses.”

  “Well, it’s good LaCroy doesn’t work for Napoleon. Bony elbows are definitely a torture.”

  Bony? There wasn’t a bony thing about me. Pregnancy assured that.

  When I looked up to sneer at him, I noticed the duke, truly noticed him, beyond his looks. The man was in the same position, half reclining, folded arms, brooding. Something was wrong.

  I shifted my greedy boy. “The countess has letters of recommendation. If you can forgive my clumsiness, Your Grace, I . . . We will serve you well. We will be loyal.”

  “Loyal? I do value loyalty and honesty.”

  His stare was strong, almost a summons to come back to him.

  The only man I owed such scrutiny was dead. I refused to lower my eyes or demure to him. I returned his glances with boldness.

  The duke dragged himself higher, working his shoulders and pulling closer to the carved headboard, but he sank into the mattress. “You’re forgiven, LaCroy. Lionel has forgiven you. He sounds content slurping.”

  My boy was. And I was. I rested in this moment for I knew it would not last.

  His Grace played with the belt of his robe, tugging and twirling the fine burgundy brocade fabric, but still he hadn’t moved.

  “Ladies, go downstairs. When I’ve had a shave and am fully dressed, we can discuss employment.”

  Lady Shrewsbury started pulling down the sheer curtains, then motioned to Jemina to do the same. “These will need to be scrubbed, too. And that boy needs mother’s milk daily. Look how scrawny he is. No pap solution of cow’s milk will do. That’s what I wrote to you.”

  Wrote to him advice about caring for my Lionel? The countess hadn’t mentioned that part last night. I bristled but stayed silent.

  The duke wiped at his chin. “Two young women in a house of soldiers is not wise. But I’ve never been wise about women. Fine, you’re both hired. Now leave. Wait. Who am I hiring besides LaCroy?”

  Shrewsbury lifted Jemina’s chin. “This is Mrs. St. Maur. She’ll be a maid. And she’ll get to your sheets straightaway.”

  Jemina curtsied. “I’m good in the kitchen, but Mrs. LaCroy is skilled in bread, sir.”

  “I’m sure she’s good at many things. Many hidden talents.”

  I patted Lionel, and he offered me a man-size burp.

  Proud of him, I fastened up my tunic. “Thank you again, Your Grace.”

  “Fine. Ladies, I assume Lady Shrewsbury can show you how to begin your duties here at Hamlin. You visited with my grandfather quite a lot and attended my mother’s parties.”

  “Lady Bodonel did throw some nice parties, and the late duke was quite a man. The widower would’ve made a nice husband for me. Your father was a good man, too.”

  Anger smoldered in his eyes as if the countess had dressed him down. I didn’t understand that, but I felt the fire of his mood across the room.

  The countess tugged Jemina toward the door. “As I remember correctly, the nursery is above us on the third floor. Mrs. LaCroy, you’ll serve as a wet nurse and nanny.”

  “Mrs. LaCroy, Lionel Jordan will need care day and night . . . But what of your child if you live here?”

  “My child?” I didn’t want to lie. Lionel was in my arms. How could I deny him?

  I lifted my eyes to the countess. Help.

  “Duke,” Lady Shrewsbury said, “it’s painful for Mrs. LaCroy to talk of this, but the child is no longer hers to love. Gone.”

  The duke’s grimace became deeper. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  His pity-filled voice burned my ears. I liked his flirty commands better. Snuggling Lionel, I held him close to my cheek. “I’ll work hard. And it will be my honor to serve Lionel Jordan . . . and you. This boy will have a bath of lavender and a fresh napkin. I fear, he’s in the process of soiling this shirt, too.”

  Repington folded his arms. “Ladies, I have quite a few soldiers in residence—”

  “My women will be fine and not seek out companionship, but do keep your men in line. LaCroy, St. Maur, let’s go get you both acquainted with Hamlin Hall. Duke, I will return with their letters of recommendation.”

  Jemina nodded and walked out the door.

  The countess followed behind.

  The door closed before I could slip past the odd wheeled chair.

  “Mrs. LaCroy. Wait.”

  I turned, holding my baby against my bosom like a shield. “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “Mrs. LaCroy, is there anything you wish to tell me?”

  No confession would come from me. I shook my head.

  “Fine. Is there anything you want to ask me, ma
’am?”

  I shook my head again. “Not a thing.”

  He nodded, but his expression remained unreadable. “Then, you’ll be in charge of Mrs. St. Maur. I like a woman who doesn’t ask too many questions.”

  “Then this is perfect, Your Grace. I don’t like asking.”

  “I’m not sure how to take that, Mrs. LaCroy.”

  “I should go join the others.”

  “Why rush, when you are already familiar with Hamlin? Right, LaCroy?”

  If he believed I would expose myself, he was mistaken. I hugged my son tighter. “With a baby about, this place feels very familiar. This boy needs a bath, sir. And this shirt a good scrubbing, more so with each minute we are wasting.”

  “I don’t like wasting time, but a mysterious woman, a pretty one in a house of men, is concerning. I’d hoped to hire a much older, more matronly type. You and your friend are not matronly.”

  Repington’s mood was hard to ascertain, a little flirty, a little mad, but I wasn’t going to play fetch, so I shrugged. “Is that all, Your Grace?”

  He leaned forward. “You’re sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”

  “No, I am ready to work.”

  His face, formerly plains and prisms of masculine pride and authority, softened. “Well, when I’m dressed, I’ll find you to go over the rules and expectations. Rules are necessary in my employ.”

  “Yes, that’s what they say about rules. Good day, Your Grace.”

  I edged closer to the door. Only a few more feet, and I’d be out of his scrutiny.

  “La—Croy, I have a feeling you don’t follow rules.”

  The way he said my name, hanging it on his tongue. He definitely suspected that I and the footman were one in the same. I should say something to dissuade the notion, but only a laugh escaped. Another one bubbled up inside, pressing on my chest until it exploded. It was a full giggle out loud.

  “What’s funny? What has you humored, ma’am?”

  I covered my mouth. “Sorry, Your Grace, but I was thinking that maybe you think you like rules, but unlike women, men get the option to break them.”

  “Interesting perspective, sir. I mean, ma’am.”

  I curtsied. “If there’s nothing else you need, I’ll be giving your ward a bath.”