Fox looked at his ward. Five years old and the girl stood with hands on her hips like an innkeep’s wife, glaring at said Mr. Dandelion McFluffles.
The cat responded by crawling under a wingback chair and hissing.
Of course.
Fox scrubbed a weary hand down his face. Three fingers of whisky had not been enough.
Twenty minutes.
He had nearly had twenty minutes of peace.
Loving a child was an odd thing, he decided. He would happily give up his life for Madeline. But sacrificing the quiet of his library to listen to her incessant questions?
Perhaps not.
“Madeline.” Her name came out half curse, half weariness. “How many times must you be told that my library is my haven—”
“Mr. Dandy is behaving wretchedly!” She pointed a finger at the cat.
For the record, Mr. Dandyalwaysbehaved wretchedly. It was the animal’smodus operandi.
The cat slunk out from under the chair and strolled to sit in the middle of the room, bushy tale swishing.The feline was objectively beautiful: pale blue eyes and long white fur with lynx-like ears. He had been an astonishingly adorable poof as a kitten, hence his absurd name—Mr. Dandelion McFluffles. Fully grown, however, the animal was an arrogant tyrant.
Damn cat.
If Madeline didn’t love the thing so much, Fox would have dispensed with it long ago.
Agitation churned in his chest.
Footsteps pounded up the staircase and a freckle-faced maid raced into the room . . . Betsy, was her name? Or Belinda? Blast if he could ever remember, they came and went so fast.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Captain . . . sir,” the woman panted, bobbing a curtsy and reaching for Madeline’s hand. The little girl danced away, shaking her head. “Madeline was minding me one moment and thenboof, she was gone. Ye ken how she can be.”
That he did.
His ward was likely destined for a life as a circus magician. She could disappear in a blink.
“Where is Mrs. Addison?” Fox looked toward the stairwell behind the maid. “Surely, Madeline should be with her nurse—”
“She left,” Madeline interrupted, dashing closer and crawling onto Fox’s lap to evade the maid’s grasp. “I told you. Mr. Dandy has behavedwrrrretchedly.”
“Mrs. Addison left?”
“She did,” the maid—Brigit?—nodded.
“She said . . .” Madeline sat back on his knees, mimicking Mrs. Addison’s brogue and wagging finger. “‘I cannae abide that bloody cat and this God-forsaken place, not even one more minute!’ And then she left.”
Madeline beamed at him, clearly proud of herself for remembering, and abruptly looked so much like her mother—blond curls, blue eyes, dimpled cheeks hinting at mischief—that Fox feared what remained of his heart would shatter.
He swallowed and momentarily closed his eyes, rubbing the heel of his hand over the ache lodged beneath his sternum.
Which, of course, gave Madeline’s words time to sink in.
His ward was without a nurse. Again.
Fox feared his staffing issues had devolved into a life-threatening hemorrhage.
His house bled servants.
