The puff of Fox’s laughter brushed her ear. “Clever lass. Both of you.”
Leah flushed at the gentle compliment.
And still, he held her.
Would that she could hold the moment forever.
“Madeline was like this as a toddler,” he continued. “She would cuddle into small spaces to sleep—my arms, the corner of her cradle, an obliging cupboard. Sometimes, I think she likes Mr. Dandy so much because she is half-feline herself.”
Fox’s low words curled through Leah like eddying smoke, the timbre of voice thrumming her sternum.
The picture he painted tugged at her. Fox caring for infant Madeline, holding her in the crook of his arm as she slept.
Had she ever known a man who so readily admitted to such things? Where other men hesitated to apologize or engage in more feminine activities, like caring for a wee bairn, Fox embraced the concepts.
Was it any wonder she found herself under his spell?
She ached to sink deeper into his embrace, body and soul.
To ask questions about his past and trust in a ready reply.
To turn her head and find his lips primed for hers.
But, of course, that was not her life.
The moment her weight shifted, Fox stepped away, releasing her. Her body mourned the loss of him, hating the abrupt chill of his departure.
Leah pivoted to face him, praying her face wasnotthe color of Mrs. Buchan’s pickled beets but fairly certain it was.
“Well.” He took in a deep breath and motioned toward the open wee door behind Leah. “Now we know where Madeline disappears to.”
“Aye.” Leah glanced behind before gazing back at him.
Though his voice was steady, Fox himself appeared . . . unwell. The very definition ofpeely-wally.
Perhaps he didn’t smell of alcohol, but his eyes were bloodshot, hair rumpled, and cheeks grizzled with whiskers. The ragged scar along his neck stood purple against his skin.
But, like his voice, his gaze was sober.
Abruptly, a large poof of fur leapt out from the door behind her.
Fox yelped, jumping back.
Leah screeched.
Mr. Dandy paused in the space between them, peering over his shoulder at Leah as if to say,Oh. You again.
“Damn cat.” Fox shook his head, huffing a laugh. “I worry he’s up to no good.”
“Yourself, as well?”
“He has a Machiavellian stare underneath that angelic halo of fur.”
“Aye. Sometimes I think that dratted cat is plotting tae murder us all in our sleep.”
“Truth, that.” Fox laughed in earnest, a bright crack of sound that sent fluttery wings airborne in Leah’s chest. “I fear I will open my eyes one morning to find that beast sitting on my chest. My final memory will be a cat paw arcing toward my head.”
“Oh my goodness! That happened tae myself just last week!”
