“Dare I—?” He blinked. “My dear lady, I meant no?—”
“Do notdear ladyme!” she snapped. “How dare you send your own child to my house and act as though I am at fault?”
Edward stared at her, open-mouthed. “My—mywhat?”
“Your child!”
“My—” He let out a disbelieving laugh. “You cannot be serious.”
“I have never been more serious,” she said through gritted teeth. “A baby, delivered to my house at midnight, wrapped in a blanket bearing your crest! What am I to think?”
“That someone at the embroidery shop has a poor sense of humor?”
“This is not a joke, Your Grace.”
Edward ran a hand through his hair, still mussed from the night before. “You think I’m in the habit of dropping infants at respectable homes?”
“Considering your—yourreputation,” she said, as if the word itself were a curse, “it’s not beyond imagination.”
“My reputation, my lady, is exaggerated by gossiping matrons and bored debutantes.”
“And fueled by your own conduct,” she retorted. “I’ve heard the stories.”
He smirked. “Most of them are lies.”
“Most?”
He gave a helpless shrug. “Some are improvements on the truth.”
She rolled her eyes heavenward, muttering something that might have been a prayer—or a curse.
Edward stepped closer, peering into the basket. “Well, whoever the little creature belongs to, it’s certainly not mine. He has far too little hair.”
“It’s a girl,” Lady Beatrice snapped.
They both looked at the basket as the baby gave another indignant wail.
Edward pointed helplessly. “That creature cannot possibly be mine. I’ve never seen her before in my life!”
Her eyes flashed. “And yet she was delivered to my house, bearing your crest. Explain that.”
“Explain—? I can’t explain lunacy!” He threw his hands up.
“You tell me,” she shot back. “It bears your mark.”
“It bearsamark,” he corrected. “My family crest happens to appear on hundreds of items. Towels, trunks, and stationery—none of which I’ve ever found crying.”
Lady Beatrice took a step toward him. “Do not make light of this! Do you understand the position you’ve put me in? If anyone hears?—”
The door opened before she could finish.
Lady Moreland swept in, her expression thunderous.
“What on earth is all this noise about?” she demanded. “Beatrice, what have you—” She stopped short when she spotted the basket. “Oh. Oh, dear heavens. I`d hoped you`d change your mind on keeping the child here..”
Lady Beatrice turned. “Mama, I was just explaining?—”
“Explaining?” Lady Moreland’s voice rose, almost incredulous. “You are alone here with a man—a duke, no less—with no chaperone, and now you are hiding an infant in my drawing room. Have you entirely lost your mind?”
