If he could push aside his baser instincts, perhaps they could fall into something resembling camaraderie again. Friendship, even. That would be best, wouldn’t it? Safer. Smarter. His body, of course, wasn’t entirely on board with the plan, but he wasn’t ruled by such impulses.
Usually.
He wondered, briefly, if whisking her away from the party might be deemed acceptable—as an engaged couple. Not that he particularly cared about propriety if it didn’t suit him. The idea lingered, but for now, he needed to refocus.
Rather than retreat to his study, however, he found himself climbing the stairs toward the nursery.
Inside, he dismissed the nursemaid with a nod. The room was calm, and Ernest lay wide-eyed in his cradle, babbling and grunting nonsensically, his tiny fists flailing with all the authority he could muster.
With a sigh, Malum lifted the baby carefully into his arms, and then settled into the rocking chair. The tiny weight of Ernest was startling, as always, impossibly small. He held him close, letting the child’s quiet breaths ease the tension that had followed him home.
“There we are, Ernest,” he murmured, more to himself than to the child. “Not causing trouble, are you?” Innocent eyes blinked up at him, staring at Malum as if he might find the secrets of the universe there.
Malum sighed again.Not my son,he reminded himself, though the thought carried less weight than it should have. Ernest had no one else now, save for him, and though Malumcouldn’t have expected this particular twist in his life, he felt a reluctant duty…
And still, he couldn’t keep his thoughts from drifting back to Melanie.
He wanted her. He hadn’t been able to fully admit it to himself before, but he could deny it no longer, not after today. Of course, she was beautiful, without acting like she knew it.
Malum had known hundreds of beautiful women, and yet he’d never allowed them to be a part of his life like this, to affect his decisions, to wedge her image in his mind.
He stroked Ernest’s back thoughtfully.
She’d gotten under his skin in more ways than he could count. With her quiet resolve, her loyalty to her family, and with a surprising strength of character that showed through more and more.
But her good character was a weakness in itself—an Achilles’ heel that left her blissfully unaware of evil hiding behind apparent gentility.
Ernest’s tiny hand reached up, brushing against Malum’s chin, and he felt his jaw unclench. Perhaps it was Ernest’s helplessness, or perhaps the quiet, unguarded peace of the nursery, but in the past week, Malum had found an odd comfort in this simple act of holding him.
The door creaked open as the nursemaid returned, and with a final glance down at Ernest, Malum carefully handed him back. He straightened and brushed a hand over his coat as he prepared to leave. He had reports to review, letters to write. But for now, he found himself steadied, oddly enough, by the smallest charge in his care.
But that peace didn’t last long.
Just as Malum settled at his desk, his butler intruded, extending a folded missive on a silver tray.
“A message for you, Your Grace.”
Malum took it, scanning the brief note. Of course. Trouble at theDomus.
He welcomed the distraction.
BROTHERS
An hour later, Malum stepped into theDomus Emporium, where Huxley stood near the entrance, his usual air of quiet apology intact. Boris loomed behind him, arms crossed.
“My apologies for the summons, Your Grace,” Huxley began, “but it’s delicate. Brothers by the name of Harcroft—claim they won’t leave without speaking to you. They’re here about—” His secretary lowered his voice. “Miss De la Cour’s boy.”
Malum’s brow tightened. “Where are they?”
“Boris put them in a card room,” Huxley replied.
Malum nodded curtly.
The Harcroft brothers. These men were expressing interest in the babe as Stella’s son in particular. Which meant Malum had a fair idea of who the blighters were. Predictable. They’d made a scene to force his hand—an affront he had little patience for.
As he opened the door, he took in the sight of the two men seated inside. If their well-worn garments, patched several times over and stained beyond repair, didn’t immediately set them apart from the usualDomusclientele, their rough, broad-shouldered builds would have. It only took Malum a momentto take note of the red hair and green eyes, confirming his suspicions. The resemblance to Stella de la Cour was uncanny.
Upon Malum’s entrance, the two brothers shot up from their chairs, their movements stiff and impatient.
