“Nor is it mine,” he snapped. Then, catching himself, he lowered his voice, but not the force behind it. “And yet you behave as if your own well-being is irrelevant. Do you think an infant benefits from a caretaker who has starved herself into illness?”
Her chin lifted. Proud. Unyielding. Infuriating.
“I am managing,” she said stubbornly.
And then, her stomach betrayed her as an unmistakable, hollow growl echoed through the room.
Richard closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a breath through his nose. When he opened them again, his anger had cooled into something far more dangerous: resolve.
Without asking permission, he stepped forward and gently but firmly took Melody from Victoria’s arms.
She stiffened instantly. “Richard?—”
“You will go downstairs,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. “You will eat. Now.”
“She will cry,” Victoria protested, reaching out reflexively. “She only settles for me.”
“She will survive thirty minutes without you,” he replied. “And you will not faint under my roof.”
The baby fussed softly, as if sensing the change. Richard adjusted his grip, acutely aware of how large and unrefined his hands felt around such a small body.
Victoria hesitated, torn between obedience and instinct. “It is nothing personal,” she said quietly, color draining from her face. “It is simply that … you are a man.”
He stiffened.
“I assure you, duchess,” he said coolly, “that I am fully capable of sustaining an infant’s life for half an hour. Go.”
Her stomach growled again, louder this time.
That decided it.
She cast Melody one last anxious look before turning and leaving the room. The door closed softly behind her.
Immediately, the baby began to cry.
Not fuss. Cry.
“Now then,” Richard muttered under his breath. “That will do.”
The baby’s cries only sharpened.
“No, no—there is no cause for alarm,” he continued, adjusting his hold. “You are quite safe. Entirely safe.”
She wailed.
He grimaced. “I am aware that this is not persuasive.”
He tried again, softer. “We are merely … changing circumstances. That is all.”
The crying hitched, then surged.
“Very well,” he said quietly. “Let us approach this logically.”
He began pacing.
“Crying achieves nothing,” he told her, as if reasoning with an adult. “It does not alter the facts of the matter.”
Another sharp cry.
