Page 49

“Oh. Well, in that case, I would be ever so grateful,” Mercy conceded. She’d not see the staff rebuked because of her.

That gave Mercy half an hour to check on the girls and finish unpacking.

She let herself out of her bedchamber and walked the short distance to Arabelle and Bellamy’s room along the thick carpet. The Brockman’s certainly liked their carpets.

A lone sconce lit the hallway, casting weird shadows along its length.

Slipping inside the girls' chamber, she breathed a relieved sigh. They were fast asleep, the fire banked in the grate, and the lamp turned down on a table beneath a window—just as she’d left it. Once she’d checked on each girl and kissed them atop their downy heads, she wandered to the window and pushed the draperies aside.

Even in this prestigious neighborhood, a myriad of foreign city sounds carried to her. London was far different than Rochester. Bigger. Noisier. Faster-paced. Less friendly. The pinnacle of High Society.

This was home now.

But for how long?

Mercy had no way of knowing.

Ronan might decide to do what Purity’s employers, Lord and Lady Ceddes, contemplated doing and send the girls off to school. Naturally, she would strenuously advise against such a thing. Regardless, in the end, Mercy had little influence and no control over what happened to Bellamy and Arabelle.

She thrust her chin out and straightened her shoulders.

Well then, she’d just have to make sure the girls wiggled their ways into Ronan’s and his family's hearts the way they had hers. Then no one would consider sending them away.

As she turned to leave the nursery, her heart launched to her throat. A large shadow darkened the open doorway for two blinks before Ronan slipped inside.

Upon spying Mercy, he smiled and advanced toward her. “I see they’ve fallen asleep,” he whispered, the sound tickling her ears. “I worried they might be too overwrought to relax and was prepared to send for warm milk.”

“That was very thoughtful of you,” Mercy whispered in return.

Would this man never cease to surprise her? He actually came to check on the girls’ wellbeing himself? Many, many aristocratic parents did no such thing. Those tasks were delegated to servants.

Ronan whisked his appreciative gaze over her, a glint of something a mite more than professional approval in the dark brown depths.

Making a dramatically rueful face more appropriate for a precocious adolescent, he placed his hand over his heart. “I confess, it was my mother’s suggestion. I’d never have thought of it. She’s quite taken with the girls already.”

“I’m glad. I understand what a disruption this is to your life and your family’s as well.” Mercy sent a fond glance toward the slumbering girls. “I pray they adjust quickly.”

“And what about you, Mercy Feathers? Will you adjust quickly?”

His voice had dropped to a low, husky, and wickedly seductive tenor.

“Me?” she all but squeaked.

“Aye. You.” A smile teased one side of his mouth in that rakish manner that made her feel all squishy inside. “Everyone’s attention and concern has focused on Bellamy and Arabelle. But your life has been turned teakettle over spout too.”

She almost believed he cared.

Mercy’s tummy quivered. Something foreign and warm pooled in her center while something else entirely tingled behind her breastbone.

Lord, what was wrong with her?

Of a sudden, she was much too warm.

Had the room suddenly shrunk?

Had Ronan moved closer?

He surely seemed as if he had. His masculine presence dominated the area until all Mercy could see, hear, and sense was him. The tempting heat of his body, the aromas of sandalwood, mint, and that woodsy essence that always seemed to emanate from him beckoned her. And tonight, there was also the faint odor of spirits.