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Experience had taught him that his scar could be off-putting for those unprepared for the sight. Toward that end, he’d requested Miss Feathers alert Arabelle and Bellamy to his arrival and his disfigurement.
She’d skimmed her keen gaze over his scar, and he detected no revulsion. Neither had she averted her attention as many women did upon first seeing the ravaged flesh.
“As you wish, my lord. I shall advise them. But your scar isn’t disfiguring,” she’d said matter of factly. “You should know that the girls are not shallow creatures who judge others based on appearances. They are kindhearted and considerate young ladies and understand that character is far more important than someone's looks.”
Ronan would be bound that was because of their governess’s instruction.
Holding a little dark-haired, doe-eyed girl by either hand, Miss Feathers advanced a couple of feet into the room. A rather large, long-haired gray cat with the brightest green eyes he’d ever seen meandered in behind them.
It stopped short upon spying Ronan. To his astonishment, the cat padded directly to him and, making little chirping noises, rubbed its head against his boots.
Ronan bent and scratched behind the friendly cat’s ears. “Well, hello.”
“She likes him,” whispered one of the girls in wonderment.
“She always liked Papa best too,” came the other child’s soft reply.
“Fluffer-Muffer,” Miss Feathers admonished, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Leave his lordship alone. Go lie down.”
In all of his years, Ronan had yet to witness a single cat ever obeying its owner’s directive. This one planted her ample haunches on the floor beside his boot and gave Miss Feathers a rather torpid stare which seemed to say, “Make me.”
“Fluffer-Muffer?” he couldn’t help but ask as he stood upright once more.
The smallest Masterson girl nodded shyly. “Yes, because I wanted to name her Fluffy, and Bellamy wanted to name her Muffin.” She lifted her shoulders and made a wry face. “So Miss Mercy suggested a comp…comp…” She glanced upward at her governess. “What is that word?”
“Compromise, dear,” Miss Feathers replied with an affectionate smile and sweep of her hand across Arabelle’s head.
“Yes, a compro-mise,” the little girl echoed.
“Fluffer-Muffer,” Miss Feathers repeated, extending her index finger to a nearby chair. “Go lie down.”
After giving Miss Feathers a dismissive glance, silvery tail high in the air, the creature pranced to the armchair. She jumped onto the cushion with the intrinsic grace cats possess and, with another disdainful hooded gaze, proceeded to groom herself.
An obedient cat. It seems there was a first for everything.
A half-grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, Ronan shifted his attention back to his wards. Masterson’s daughters had their father’s eye and hair color, and there was a familiar angle to their chins.
That, however, was where the resemblance ended.
Ronan directed his regard to the smiling, tranquil woman in pink in the portrait above the fireplace. Yes, his wards took after their mother in every other respect.
An undefinable sensation prickled behind his ribs—an impulse to protect these three vulnerable females who were at his mercy and the harsh world’s too. How much trust they were being forced to impart on him, and that reality humbled Ronan in a way nothing before ever had.
It also scared the bloody spit out of him.
What you ask is simply not possible, my dear. I wish it were otherwise,
but I am sure you understand the many reasons why it simply wouldn’t do.
I only take on anonymous infants at Haven House and Academy for the
Enrichment of Young Women. I am granted the sole right of guardianship fo
those unwanted waifs. Should word get out that Haven Househas become a
refuge for any young girl in dire straits, I could no longer cater to the exclusive
clientele I serve. You must use all of your skills to ensure the girls’ new
