She nodded, still looking up. The duke was perhaps a full foot taller than her. “You’re the Duke of Malum.”
As far as introductions went, this wasn’t at all proper. Then again, propriety was only important to Melanie in so much as it might affect Josie’s prospects—and Reed.
And since this introduction wasn’t really an introduction at all, it didn’t matter.
“Usually, yes.” There was a faint glimmer in his eyes, like the ghost of a smile. Was he mocking her?
The weight of the basket shifted again, and when she looked down, she saw that the baby had wiggled out of its blanket and was waving two tiny fists in the air.
Feeling unusually brave, she stated the obvious. “This must be yours, then,” she said. Why else would that woman leave it on his doorstep?
Something dark flickered in his eyes this time, and his mouth twisted into more of a sneer than a smile. “Right.”
He didn’t deny it.
“Well, then.” Feeling her chest squeeze, Melanie set the basket on the floor and released her grip on the handle. She could leave now. She’d done her part. He was willing to accept his responsibility rather easily, actually. Perhaps he’d been expecting something like this?
Or perhaps this wasn’t the first time a basket of this sort had been left on his step.
“Good… erm, luck,” she added.
He remained in his place between her and the doorway, barring her exit. “What did she look like? This woman?”
All those rumors must be true if he needed to ask this. Melanie frowned, not making any effort to hide her disapproval.
Still, this wasn’t any of her business, she reminded herself.
Even if he had helped Reed last year.
Furthermore, the sooner she answered his questions, the sooner she could escape.
“Tall. Red hair.” Melanie decided not to add that she remembered thinking the mysterious woman had been striking. “Green eyes, I think.” Glancing down, she studied the baby more deliberately. Although there wasn’t much of it, its wispy hair was an orange color, and the pale skin looked to be as downy as a lamb’s—nothing like the duke’s comparatively swarthy complexion.
The infant, in fact, seemed to have gotten most of its physical traits from the mother.
Melanie’s heart squeezed again, and she wasn’t sure why.
If she returned home now, she could change into dry clothing. Her mother needn’t know this visit even happened.
But she didn’t move.
“What…” She pointed at the basket. “Will you do?”
She’d heard of unwanted bastard children meeting with horrible fates, and the duke had barely even looked at the baby. Worry sliced through her.
“I’ll deal with it,” he said, looking off to the side and then back to her. “If there’s nothing else…?”
He was dismissing her. She’d done her part, after all.
Before she could even shake her head, he’d stepped to the side and was reaching for the door, allowing a burst of frigid rain to blow into the foyer.
And with one last glance at the baby, she darted back across the street.
Less than a minute later, Melanie was safe inside her mother’s townhouse. She’d done exactly what she’d set out to do, so why didn’t she feel more satisfied? Why was she left feeling as though she’d failed?
Ignoring this bewildering regret, she climbed the stairs to her chamber and rang for Eloisa, the maid who tended to both Josie and herself, to arrange for a hot bath.
The duke was more than capable of providing care for that baby. He’d no doubt hire the best nursemaid in all of England. Or, more likely, he’d pay some family to raise it.
