The housekeeper stared at me. I was sort of glad the sheet covered my breeches.
Daniel sighed. “Hope’s napping?”
“Yes. Sir, is all well here?”
“Yes, my friend here, Mrs. St. Maur, was caught in the rain.”
“The note writer? Ahh. I’ll go get you some tea.” She left the room and eased the door closed.
Daniel pushed up his lenses and rubbed his beard. “Why? You could’ve come and asked to borrow sugar. That’s a good excuse, not outright burglary.”
“You don’t tell me anything unless you’re cornered. And I only entered your bedchamber without permission. Well, you sort of gave me permission to be there.”
“No, not at Finchely, not where my daughter is.”
“Hope welcomed me to the rest of your house. She thinks I’m a nanny candidate.”
“Don’t lie to my daughter.”
“I didn’t. I told her I was a friend. I think that was more appropriate than saying I’m your father’s mistress. Well, his mistress candidate.”
“You turned down my offer, though those kisses in my fields says there may be room for negotiation.”
His head bent to mine. I lifted to his lips, ready to taste, to surrender—
A scream.
Piercing and infinite, the shriek filled the house.
The child’s cry ripped at my chest, slashing my recovered heart to ribbons. Sheets and all, I dove out of his study. Hope was at the top of the stairs, wobbling and crying. “Mama! I want Mama!”
Everything slowed.
My ears exploded with the crash of thunder, with seeing her fall.
I leaped and had her in my arms, but the tangle of sheets, made me crash and roll. It was my shoulder, and then my head that felt the impact of the treads. I tucked Hope deep against my ribs so my arms, my legs, my spine hit each step.
When the world stopped. I saw my baby being taken from me again, and I screamed and screamed.
Then I let go and sunk to depths with theMinerva.
CHAPTER 27
DANIEL—THESTAIRS
Pacing back and forth outside the bedchamber adjacent to his own, Daniel waited on the landing.
The stairs, twisting and steep, lay to his right. He loved going up and down, counting the polished balusters, sweeping his fingers over the carved newel posts.
They’d always been a danger. He just thought he’d been clever enough, guarded enough, to keep disaster at bay.
None of this was supposed to happen. Hope was supposed to be taking her nap, secure and safe. Thank goodness she was well and sleeping in her room. Dearest Jemina—he wasn’t fast enough to save either.
He swiped at perspiration on his brow. Jemina had protected Hope, but his favorite widow burglar, she lay hurt behind the bedchamber’s door, unconscious. He stared at the knob, the inset panels. Memories of hearing his mother sob in that room constricted his heavy throat.
Someone in that room needed to come to him.
Someone needed to tell him if Jemina opened her eyes.
