“What is an imbecile?” asked the impudent creature.
He clenched his jaw. “I will give you all the answers you seek if you emerge from your hiding place.”
“What makes you so certain I am hiding?” he asked, his query accompanied by the rustling sound of a small body sliding across the carpet.
Cristo, the beggar had been secreting himself beneath the settee. Alessandro should have known. “Because you were lying on the floor beneath a piece of furniture,” he said dryly.
“Very well.”
Alessandro detected a flurry of movement in the darkness as the lad emerged from his hiding place. He stood to his full height, then offered a bow.
Upon second glance, the lad was taller than he had recalled, but his frame was wiry and slight. His face, too, was soft and almost feminine. Bright eyes. Rounded cheeks. The lad was almost pretty, in fact.
Suspicion crept over him.
What if the lad was not a lad at all?
He resembled a female of twelve years far more than he resembled a male.
“There you are,pícaro,” Alessandro said slowly, feeling as if he were seeing a great many things now for the very first time. “It means rogue, child. And an imbecile is—”
“A man who were swindled by another?” the cheeky miscreant interrupted.
“No,” he bit out.
“A man who be’s wandering about in the darkness when he could have as much light as he wished?”
“A fool,” he said. “A dolt. A halfwit. That is what it means.”
“Same difference,” said the squatter with a sniff.
“See here, imp,” he said. “If I had my way, you would already be back in the village where you belong. Lady Rayne has taken pity on you, and to your great fortune, my wife possesses a heart of utter gold.”
In that sense, she reminded him of his sister Leonora.
The sister who felt too much, who loved with her heart upon her sleeve. The sister he had very much feared would have her heart broken. But who was looking after the heart of Catriona? Her drunkard brother? He nearly scoffed aloud at the notion.
“Are you certain it don’t mean donkey piss?” the lad dared to inquire.
To his utter shame, Alessandro felt his lips twitch involuntarily. The boy had daring, he had to admit and admire.
But he was not about to acknowledge either of those facts. “I am certain,” he said, stoic. “Just as certain as I am you must find the bed assigned to you and get some rest.”
“I’ll go to my bed, m’lord,” the lad said. “But I can’t make any promises about sleep or rest. That don’t come easy.”
“It does not come easily,” he corrected absently.
“Right,” said the lad. “It don’t.”
With that parting volley, his unwanted interloper promptly shuffled across the study and disappeared out the door.
Leaving Alessandro to stare after him.
And to realize, much to his chagrin, the boy was right.
Rest would not come easily to him this night.
Chapter Nineteen
