“LaCroy, I asked what has frightened you. You can tell me. You’re the keeper of my secret. You can trust me with one of yours.”
Those words, trusting someone who wasn’t Lady Shrewsbury or Jemina, stiffened my floundering spine. I took my hand from his and pulled my blankets around me.
“I’m fine, Your Grace. Just startled. I didn’t expect you up here.”
“I do like surprising people. But you have proper quarters. Though I admire your dedication, you don’t have to stay with my ward every moment. Why are you sleeping in here?”
There wasn’t an answer that sounded plausible or sane. I stopped returning his gaze and went to the crib.
Lionel had fallen asleep gumming the robe-belt ball.
I took it from him and wiped it on my blanket. “Is it wrong to be dedicated to my charge? He’s so small and innocent.”
The duke was behind me.
I felt him close. I smelled Demeraran rum on his breath, felt the softness of his robe. If I took a half step backward, I’d be in his arms, whether he wanted me there or not.
It was only a few seconds, dreaming while I was awake about that savior, about being comforted in strong, unyielding arms. Thoughts of the texture of brocade fabric slipping along my cheek, the heat of a man’s chest holding me close, made me stand still, made me wait.
But I wasn’t brave enough to turn, to ask or take what I wanted.
His palm fluttered over my shoulder, then landed softly on the crib rail. “Lionel is sleeping well. You should rest. In a proper bed, lying in pillows and sheets, a blanket on your bare feet . . .”
He rubbed his forehead. “The late hour makes me babble. Sorry, LaCroy.”
A savior was needed, that thing bigger than the duke or me, that would make everything good. That would melt away distance and distrust between us. “I’m sorry, too.”
Thankfully, regrettably, he moved. I heard him sit in the chair. “Hand me my ward, Mrs. LaCroy.”
When I turned, his face was stone. None of the softness, I’d seen earlier. This was an order.
I scooped up my son, my precious boy and put him in Repington’s arms.
“You go sleep until this soldier’s next feeding. I’ll stay with him.”
“That’s too much, Your Grace.”
“No. I think an extra measure of protection is good and perfectly suited for me, as I don’t sleep well most nights.”
He told me another secret, and I still hadn’t told him my name.
“Go sleep, LaCroy, in a decent bed. I have the little fellow. No one is going to take him from me. I’ll even keep your little knife for protection.”
Whether he made fun, or was trying to tease me, didn’t matter. Lionel was secure in his arms, bundled within his robe.
The man looked incredibly good and natural playing . . . no, being a father to my son.
I bent and picked up my knife. “I know he’s well protected, but I still have to make it back to my room. Never know what’s in the shadows.”
“Don’t tell me you believe all those foolish tales of Hamlin’s ghosts. I’m going to have to speak to Lady Shrewsbury to stop spreading tales. Now go, before Lionel decides he’d rather milk than my robe.”
I moved to the threshold. With a final glance, I eyed the precious picture of the two. Then, I left.
On the other side of the door, I lay my head against the panels. I was dizzy, my heart stuttering with the pounding of the rainstorm.
When I left for Demerara, how much will Lionel remember of Repington? How much will he miss him?
How much wouldImiss him?
