Gad, they started young.
Or was Rob just getting old himself?
He could not help but smile as he glanced at Fiona. “Yes, she certainly is.”
However, he could not think of her right now, not when getting the boys safely back on solid ground was the priority.
The boat had drawn close enough to the rocks that Rob could grab it and hold it steady while the younger lad climbed in. ThenRob did the same, trying his hardest not to capsize their tiny vessel because it was not meant to hold four people.
The water became much calmer once he rowed them away from the rocks. With strong, swift strokes, he soon had them almost to the shore. Fiona instructed the younger boy to keep her cap firmly pressed to his brother’s leg, and then hopped into the water to help Rob drag the boat onto the sand.
“That was a close call,” she whispered.
He nodded. “Too close.”
“You have good instincts. I would not have realized the danger until it was too late. You saved that boy’s life. I’m so proud of you,” she said, staring up at him with her big, gorgeous eyes.
That look.
She knew just how to make him feel like a king.
He was exhausted, but that did not stop him from casting her a wicked grin. “Does that earn me a reward?”
She laughed. “From me?”
“Well, I’d hardly ask anyone else for the reward I have in mind.”
She gasped and then giggled. “Shush! The boys will hear you.”
Rob did not think the pair were listening in, for they were too busy holding back tears and commiserating with each other over the punishment they felt certain to receive from their father. “I’ll take the blame,” the elder boy said. “I’ll let him know that I forced you to go along with my idea.”
“No, it was my fault. I’ll tell Papa that you got hurt trying to keep me safe.”
Rob noticed neither of the boys expressed any particular fear of a beating, so he expected the now-widowed marquess was not one to use physical force on his boys.
He hoped he was right. His own father had not been a kind man, usually cold, distant, and disapproving, but also one who enjoyed using his fists because he thought it would instill strength in Rob.
Utter rot. It only instilled pain, rebelliousness, and distance.
“What are your names?” he asked the pair.
“I am Lord Hatcher,” the elder one said, tipping his chin up and sounding quite authoritative.
Rob grinned, for the boy was obviously proud of his courtesy title. “And your given name?”
“Oh, Jordan. Jordan Milbury. My mother’s family name was Jordan, so my parents used it as my given name. This is my brother, Robert Milbury.”
“Robert? That is my given name, too,” Rob said, smiling at the scrawny lad.
The boy’s eyes brightened. “I am a Right Honorable.”
Rob’s grin broadened. “I happen to be a duke. The Duke of Durham, to be precise.”
Jordan laughed. “Then you outrank my father. That is a stroke of luck. Will you order him not to punish us?”
“Because we really were doing our best to behave,” young Robert insisted, his eyes big and round, his expression one of utter sincerity.
Rob smothered the urge to laugh heartily at the boy’s remark. Only a child would define “behaving” as rowing into dangerous currents and then climbing onto slippery, jagged rocks.
