Lottie glanced frantically about her ankles just in time to watch a streak of brown-and-white fur disappear under the settee. She could have sworn the creature had appeared a bit large to be a feline.
“Who is Cat?” Brandon asked patiently, “and what, my darling girl, is chase-chase?”
Her heart still pounding over the sudden interruption and ensuing fright, Lottie glanced in the duke’s direction. Which proved a dreadful mistake. Because he was on his haunches, at eye level with the child, putting his handsome profile and muscled thighs on display. And he was speaking with such tenderness that something inside her that had previously been all hard, jagged edges smoothed and softened, despite her every inclination to remain as impenetrable as granite where the Duke of Brandon was concerned.
“Chase-chase is when I tries t’catch Cat,” the girl said with the excited guilelessness only the truly young can muster. “Cat’s my dog friend. It be great fun, Duke. Wanna play?”
“You’ve a dog named Cat?” Brandon’s brow furrowed. “Since when, Pandy?”
“Since yesterday. I finded her in the garden whilst Nurse were napping. I gived her a stewed pig trotter, and we’ve been friends ever since.”
Brandon winced. “What the devil were you doing with a pig trotter?”
“You mustn’t saydevil,” the girl chided, her eyes wide, whispering the last word. “Someone might hear.”
Lottie rolled her lips inward to keep from laughing. She couldn’t help herself. The scene before her was, quite possibly, the most ludicrous she had ever encountered. To be sure, it was positively scandalous. Most aristocrats kept their bastard children discreetly housed out of sight, cared for financially, if in no other manner. Their miscellany certainly weren’t running about their town houses. And they absolutely weren’t luring stray dogs with pig trotters and naming them Cat.
“Forgive me,” he offered with a sigh.
“You’d best ’pologize to the lady too,” the girl said.
Grimly, Brandon turned to Lottie, his vibrant eyes causing a frisson of unwanted awareness as they connected with hers. “I beg your pardon as well, Lady Grenfell.”
What was it about the sight of this gorgeous man with his daughter that moved her? It wasn’t merely that he was handsome. She had seen any number of handsome rogues in her day. And it wasn’t the lingering, persistent memory of his mouth on hers either. Rather, it was something far more complex. Something she refused to examine too closely, for fear of what she would discover about herself.
No, best to place those dangerous feelings where they belonged—buried deep and forgotten.
“Your apology is accepted, Your Grace,” she said, striving for a suitably serious tone. “Er, perhaps we should attempt to rescue…Cat.”
It truly was an unusual name for a dog. And the creature had darted beneath the furniture faster than a streak of lightning across the sky. He was decidedly not accustomed to so much commotion, which perhaps explained the game of chase-chase that the child was engaging in. The girl chased, and poor, startled “Cat” hid.
“You gots to be quiet,” the girl told Lottie solemnly, pressing a finger to her lips. “Shh.”
For a wild, foolish moment, Lottie was struck by the realization that this cozy little gathering of father and daughter could have been something she would have been a part of. Had she accepted the duke’s proposal of marriage, she would have been his wife. The mothering of the child—who had presumably been left to the care of the duke—might have fallen upon Lottie’s shoulders. And oh, how she would have enjoyed it, regardless of the scandalous nature of the girl’s birth.
Once upon a time, she had wished for children of her own. But now she understood that being a mother was a dream shemust forget. Not just because she remained uncertain whether she was barren—which was a distinct possibility, for neither her marriage nor her liaisons had produced issue, though she had taken great care with her lovers to prevent such an outcome. But also because she couldn’t bear to ever be so vulnerable by marrying again. Having endured the misery of unrequited love once, she knew she couldn’t survive it a second time.
No indeed, children and a husband were not for her. Fortunately, Grenfell had left Lottie a more than generous widow’s portion and a town house unencumbered by the entail. She was a woman of means and independence, and that—she reminded herself sternly—was how she preferred it to be.
“Come, Cat,” the girl was saying, peering beneath the settee, her ringlets dancing about her small head. “Come out, sweetheart. I ain’t gonna let the wolf man get you. I’ll save you from that rotter always and forever and ever and ever.”
The wolf man?
Lottie turned a questioning look upon Brandon. He sighed again, rising to his full, impressive height and running his fingers through his dark, wavy locks, leaving it tousled in a rakish manner that only served to heighten his appeal.
“She has been having nightmares about the wolf man ever since she arrived,” he confided in Lottie, keeping his tone quiet.
“I dreamded ’bout him,” the girl insisted, giving Lottie a wide, green-eyed look. “Ever since Mama goed away. She’s gone on a grand adventure, ’n young girls can’t go on adventures. Did you know that, missus? They might fall off the ship and get drowneded.”
Lottie bit her lip, her heart squeezing with a pang of sympathy. She knew she ought to be scandalized, for it simply was not done to parade one’s natural child before company. However, the child was innocent and sweet, and Lottie couldn’t help but to be charmed. And saddened to have her suspicionsconfirmed. The girl’s mother had indeed abandoned her to Brandon.
She cleared her throat against a rush of emotion. “I hadn’t realized that, my dear. You ought to call me Lottie if we shall be friends. And what shall I call you?”
“My name’s Pandora,” the girl said, straightening with almost comical speed, throwing her thin shoulders back. “Duke calls me Pandy. You can call me either, but I reckon Pandy suits me better ’cause it sounds far more lovelier, don’t it?”
Lottie’s heart gave a pang. “It does indeed sound lovely. It’s settled, then. I shall call you Pandy, and you shall call me Lottie. Now, then. Shall we rescue Cat from her hiding place?”
The girl shook her head, her expression adorably serious. “Can’t say as I’ve ever managed to get her out of a hiding place unless I offer her food. Her likes tarts, cheese, roast chicken, and all manner of puddings. But thus far, it’s pig trotters what’s her favorite. Have you got any of those?”
