Tempting Fate Kerrigan Byrne (ebook reader .TXT) 📖

handled the little ones with expert care. Not when they seemed so delighted with him.

Looking down at the small human in his lap, he was struck by an odd sense of wonder. The child stared back at him with eyes the startling color of Felicity’s, her fingers inelegantly gripped the bottle, even as he held it steady. Her lips sealed around the nipple as she gnawed on it rather than suckled. He ran a single finger over thin black curls through which he could see her round head.

It was difficult to believe, to comprehend the size of her toes, even though they were right in front of him. How did one’s feet go from looking like a mangled dumpling to the useful appendages people so relied upon? How did something so plump, dimpled, and creased with rolls, stretch into a whole person?

How was it possible that he’d once been like this? Small. Helpless.

It was due to his mother and a few miracles that he and Raphael survived.

He almost hadn’t. So many times. His father would not have minded his demise so long as he profited from it.

The mirror had told that story until recently.

“’Tis nice to have a man about the house again.” Mrs. Pickering’s comment drew his notice to where she stood over him, beaming down with an approving smile. “Despite the circumstances.”

He nodded his thanks, not exactly knowing what to do with a compliment. “Do we have a place for them to sleep?” he asked.

“Well certainly, but you have to burp her first.”

Certain he misunderstood, he cocked his head. “I have to… what?”

“Prop her on your shoulder and give her a few swats.”

His jaw dropped. He’d heard of the aristocracy having some odd and alarming child-rearing practices, but this? “I am not striking an infant.”

At that she crowed a laugh. “Like this, you dolt.” Plucking the girl from Felicity’s arms, she propped the baby up on her shoulder and gave her a few firm pats on the back. “Where did ye find this oaf?”

Felicity’s breathy laugh joined in. “I found him in the archway, and I’m ever so glad I did.”

The warm spark the evening had ignited in his chest expanded to a glow that rivaled that of a good whisky.

“Now you try, lad,” Pickering instructed. “Like so.”

Hesitantly, he propped up the little mop-haired angel and cupped his hands, gently patting her on the shoulders and back.

Both women sighed in tandem, which drew his brows together in puzzlement.

“Am I doing it wrong?”

A rude little sound erupted next to his ear, followed by a warm spread of something on his collar and down his back.

His eyes went wide as a sour smell followed. “Oh fuck. I mean— shite. I mean… sorry, ladies. Is it— she— all right? Did I—”

“Don’t fret, my boy, it’s something babies like to do from time to time.” The housekeeper bounced Caroline, her apple cheeks bunched in an endlessly amused smile.

Felicity surged to her feet and bent over him, lifting the baby from his shoulder. The darling miscreant looked oddly pleased with herself as she plucked at a lock of his hair before she was dragged away from him.

Tucking the child against her hip, Felicity wiped at the corners of the baby’s mouth and was unable to cover a giggle at his dumbstruck expression. “I’m so sorry she soiled you. Please don’t be cross.”

“I’m not.” He shrugged. “I’ve been soiled with worse.”

He couldn’t identify what he saw in her expression before she hid it from him. Something like distress, or maybe desire… Perhaps he needed his own vision checked. “You’ll be wanting to clean up.” She pointed to the door. “Mrs. Pickering and I will set things to rights here.”

Gareth could do nothing but nod as he took in the tableau before him. Golden lamps created a halo around Felicity’s corona of hair. The calming silver, ivory, and grey of the room contrasted with the violet of her dress, which somehow painted her eyes the same shade.

The child in her arms splayed a hand over her peach-tinted cheek, hooking a finger into her mouth, which caused her to laugh and nibble at the tiny fingers. “Look what you’ve done to poor Mr. Severand, Charlotte,” she cooed. “You certainly take after your aunt Mercy.”

Burbling nonsense, the baby rested her forehead against Felicity’s, who closed her eyes, apparently reveling in the sweet affection of the gesture.

Someone would make her a mother someday.

Some fucking lucky bastard would plant a baby inside of her. Would watch her form that child with her miraculous body. Would hold their progeny with pride.

The very thought made him ill.

“Pardon me then, ladies.” Before he could return Charlotte’s dubious favor and be sick all over, he spun on his heel and quit the room.

Gabriel took his time bathing and dressing, castigating himself for his ludicrous sentiments.

The urge to kill any man who touched her, integrating with all the reasons he refused to do so became a tumultuous vortex of frustration directed only at himself.

He wanted nothing so much as her happiness.

He wanted nothing so much as her… which would very probably destroy her chances at happiness.

Life had defeated him, even before he’d been born.

By the time he’d bathed, dressed, groomed, and ventured back to the main floor, Cresthaven Place was silent and almost dark as Mrs. Pickering bustled about dousing the lamps.

She greeted him with a smile and a wink. “Sir and Lady Morley came to collect their little ’uns not a half hour ago.”

“I see.” He looked at the closed parlor door, wondering if Felicity read behind it.

“She’s gone up to bed,” the observant woman informed him. “But there’s some smoked meats, cheeses, and fresh bread in the kitchens. Me husband, Gordon, was a man your size. Before he died of the cholera, he was always wanting an extra meal before turning in. Near ate me into the poorhouse, God rest his soul.” She adjusted her cap and winked up at him. “You remind me a bit of him, if you’d believe it.