Was Renton a threat?
Iris, the warm, open girl he’d once known, was now as emotionless as he. She sat still and controlled. Once, she’d been unable to stand or sit still for more than a minute.
“Mother.”
He looked to the door as a young boy entered after Norman had left. Behind him was a woman. Monty’s guess was the nanny. The boy was tall, with brown hair. His eyes were like his mother’s, but his face was all his father’s. He gave Iris a small smile as she held out a hand to him. That fell when he noticed Monty.
He stopped walking and stood still. Nothing moved, not even his eyes. His hands hung at his sides, fists clenched. The tension in him was obvious—and fear, Monty thought. The boy was terrified.
“Henry, this is Lord Montgomery. He is an old friend of mine from when I was your age.” Iris had risen and was now beside the boy. “Greet him properly, my love.”
Monty rose as the boy bowed in a stilted movement.
“Hello, Henry. Do you mind if I call you that?”
The boy’s eyes shot to his mother, who nodded.
“My name is Monty. Lord Montgomery, as I’m also known by, but it is such a mouthful, don’t you think?”
He hadn’t had much to do with children until he’d met the Deville family. Their offspring were wonderful. He’d come to cherish the sound of their laughter the few times they’d met. As it turned out, he quite liked children; he’d just not had a chance until lately to realize that.
“Do you know, I think”—he dug into his pocket—“yes, I do have a bag of peppermint sticks in my coat pocket. An acquaintance recently introduced me to them. Have you tried them, Henry?”
The boy shook his head, eyes solemn.
“How old are you?” Monty moved closer. The boy watched warily, as did his mother. Almost as if Henry would flee if Monty moved too fast or made a noise.
What the hell kind of life had they both lived with Challoner?
“Henry is eight.”
“Well, Henry, allow me to teach you about the delights of peppermint sticks.” He held the bag out to the boy.
He didn’t reach for it but again looked at his mother.
“W-well if he’s having one, so am I,” she said. Her tone was strained.
Monty watched her take one and suck on it. Looking at those plump, soft lips wrapped around that peppermint stick was not entirely comfortable, so he studied the boy.
“Try one, Henry,” Monty said.
He did and slowly put it into his mouth and sucked. Unlike the Deville progeny who did everything as loud and rambunctious as the adults around them, Henry sucked it quietly.
“Nice?” Monty asked him. The boy nodded, and he felt like he’d been rewarded with something far greater than just a nod.
“Do you know, Henry? I think peppermint sticks may have to be a weekly staple in our household. What say you to that?” Iris asked.
“Yes, please,” he said in an excruciatingly polite voice.
“I have four left in this bag. I will give them to you, and you can eat three and give your mother one.” Monty held out the bag.
“That hardly seems fair,” Iris protested. Monty transferred his eyes to her and saw she was holding back tears.
“Take the bag, Henry,” Monty said. The boy did. He then clutched it to his chest.
“I-I will return to my room,” he said. “Thank you, my lord.”
Iris kissed her son’s head, and then he gave Monty a brief bow.
