Sebastian’s eyebrows drew together in sympathy that he did not voice. But Edward’s thoughts churned. He had spent most of his life with no desire to return to any house.
Home had been a place to sleep, drink, and change clothes, nothing more. But now he found himself wanting to return. And dear God, it frightened him.
The last thing in the world he had ever expected was developing feelings—realones—for a woman. Not desire; that, he had always understood. But this… this pull. He was not prepared for it.
Sebastian walked on, unaware of his inner turmoil. “Let’s get back,” he said lightly. “The ladies will be asleep, but I can’t wait to see my wife.”
Edward swallowed hard. “Yes,” he murmured. “Let’s go.”
He kept his voice steady. But inside, he was scared.
CHAPTER 21
The house was silent in that particular way London townhouses were late at night, the faint hum of the city pressing against the glass.
Beatrice sat beside Pip’s cradle with a book open in her lap, though she had not turned a page in a while. The lamp cast a soft golden glow, catching the tufts of hair on Pip’s head.
The baby slept soundly, her lips parting on the gentlest little sighs. The rise and fall of her chest was hypnotic, and soon Beatrice felt her own eyelids begin to droop.
She tried to refocus on the words on the page, but her eyelids grew heavier. The third time, she startled awake, her spine straightening with a jolt.
Before she could gather her thoughts, a heavy warmth draped over her shoulders. It felt like soft wool, smelling faintly of cedar.
She looked up, her breath catching in her throat.
Edward stood behind her. He said nothing, only adjusted the his greatcoat lightly so it covered her properly. The movement was so soft, so careful, that she might have missed it entirely if not for the faint brush of his fingers against her neck.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” she whispered.
“You were nearly asleep,” he murmured. “I didn’t want to startle you.”
“You did,” she admitted softly. “Just a little.”
“You should be in bed,” he said, smiling faintly.
“I must have fallen asleep,” she whispered.
He crouched slightly to meet her eyes. “You did.”
“I shouldn’t have,” she murmured, closing the book. “I was only waiting for Mrs. Hart to take over. Or perhaps I was not ready to leave her yet.”
“She’ll wake up if the baby needs her,” he assured. “You don’t have to sit here all night.”
“I know,” she whispered, though she stayed seated a moment longer, watching Pip’s peaceful little face.
He followed her gaze. “She seems content tonight.”
“She always sleeps better after a fussy afternoon.” Beatrice rubbed her thumb along the book’s spine. “Being a baby is so exhausting.”
Edward gave a quiet huff of amusement.
Beatrice rose carefully, setting the book aside. “You should have some tea. I’ll fetch some for myself.”
“I’ll bring it,” he said immediately. “Meet me in the small library.”
She nodded, not trusting her tired voice. The look on his face—somber, tinged with something he rarely let show—lingered in her mind as she stepped into the dim hallway.
By the time she reached the library, the fire had warmed the room into a cocoon of amber light. She settled into one of the two small armchairs near the hearth, her shawl pulled tight around her.
