Hold Your Breath 02 - Unmasking the Marquess (21 page)

Killian staggered into Devin’s study, squinting in the low light and fighting the bleariness in his eyes. He was greeted by the sight of Devin’s long legs straight out in front of him, back arched on the sofa, the baby sleeping soundly on his chest. Devin’s hand covered the full length of the baby’s back.

Killian turned to escape the room. Even in his current inebriation, he was not willing to disturb the tranquil scene.

“Stop. Don’t make me speak above a whisper.”

Killian’s foot stopped mid-air, and he looked over his shoulder at Devin.

Devin waved him over with his free hand, pointing to a wingback chair across from the sofa. Killian shuffled silently into the room, slumping into the chair.

Devin eyed him for a moment. “I know that look. I assume your driver must still be under strict orders to deliver you here when you ask to hit a gaming hall?”

Killian nodded, not meeting his eyes.

“So what would have driven you to your current depths?” Devin’s voice remained a whisper.

“I told her.”

Devin’s eyebrows arched, but he didn’t say a word. After a minute, he shifted his feet close to the sofa, and stood, leaning back so his solid hold on the baby didn’t waver. He walked over to Killian. “Here, hold him.” Devin tilted the boy backward on his hands, holding him out to Killian.

Killian held his hand up in refusal.

“Hold him. It will sober you.”

“He will not wake?”

“Doubtful. He has kept both Aggie and the nanny up for the past twenty hours. But he has been fast asleep for an hour. I doubt the ringing of Bow Bells could awaken him—but keep your voice low for good measure.”

Killian held his hands out, taking the baby, and mimicked Devin’s earlier posture, leaning back in the chair and settling the baby on his chest. The smallest sigh and twitch, and the baby settled, cheek on Killian’s heart.

Devin was right—the baby’s tiny sweet puffs of breath were completely sobering.

Devin walked over to the sideboard and pulled two glasses, setting them in front of the decanter of brandy. He poured the first glass, then glanced quickly over his shoulder at Killian. He set the second glass back to its proper place, empty, then picked up his own, taking a healthy swallow as he turned and walked back to sit across from Killian.

“He is a wonder,” Killian said.

“He has a name now. Andrew Theodore Stephenson.”

“For your great-grandfather. Well done.”

Devin took another sip. “What did you tell her? Everything?”

“Most of it.”

Devin’s head tilted. “Your mother?”

Killian shook his head. “No.”

“And her reaction?”

“She hates me.”

“Did you expect anything less?”

Killian paused, mulling that question. “No, I suppose not.”

“So what will you do now?”

“Nothing. She wants nothing more to do with me.”

“And you are just going to accept that?”

Even with the baby on his chest, Killian managed a shrug. “What else can I do?”

“I think it is time to review.” Devin leaned back, tossing an arm along the top of the sofa. “You spent the last fourteen years of your life plotting the downfall of one man, not to mention the years of dreaming about it before that. You never once reversed course, never gave up, never contemplated defeat. And you succeeded. Now, in this moment, you are facing a wife with a heart the size of the ocean, and one little setback, and you are done? I must say, a tad weak, my friend.”

Killian’s eyes narrowed on Devin. “I destroyed her. Time and again. Do not underestimate the damage I have done. I am nothing in her eyes.”

A smirk fell onto Devin’s face. “You may have destroyed her, but you also fell in love with her, didn’t you?”

Killian let his head fall backward, looking at the coffered ceiling. “It does not matter. I am not worthy of her.”

“Debatable.”

“I do not know what convoluted mind would debate that.”

Devin shrugged as he stood and poured himself another glass. “My convoluted mind, for one. Aggie’s convoluted mind, for two.” He turned back to Killian. “Anyone that knows the whole story—your whole story. Which, when truly told, includes your mother, as well.”

Killian’s eyes went down to the dark fuzz on the top of the baby’s head. He moved his free hand to caress the tiny hairs sticking up, surprised by the soft smoothness of babe’s head.

“I went too far with her. Her anger runs deep.”

“I have found that anger is a good thing sometimes, at least when it comes to my wife. It means she is paying attention. Those moments Aggie is the angriest with me, always precede the moments she loves me the most. Anger means Reanna is still engaged with you. It is something to work with.”

“Aggie is stubborn—how do you even begin to erase her anger?”

Devin smirked. “I am not at liberty to explain, but I do have my ways. You know me to be charmless, but Aggie apparently thinks differently.”

Devin swallowed the last of his brandy. “As for you, my friend, stay in front of Reanna and accept her anger. You cannot change what you avoid. You talk of stubbornness? My wife would tell you that you have the ability to wear down anyone. So show up. Be there—wherever she is. You are a hard one to deny.”

Killian’s eyes went back down to the baby.

He had to get sober.

~~~

Reanna looked out the front parlor window of the small, but cozy townhouse as she stood from the chair. She hated to rush the meeting along, but she wanted to get back to the Brook Street townhouse as quickly as possible to check on the mother and baby that had joined the household this morning.

Pounding on the front door had woken the household at daybreak. By the time Reanna had a robe on and had made it to the foyer, Miss Collier had already answered the door. A bloodied, sobbing woman, baby in arms, was pleading with Miss Collier to take her baby.

It took some time to actually understand the woman, but once Reanna had ushered her into the front parlor and had her seated, the woman calmed enough to get coherent words out. Fresh blood still trickled down her face, as words tumbled. “He will kill me, and the baby, when ‘e finds me. Kill me, ‘e will. ‘E already tried. Ye need to take me boy. I’ll leave ‘em here with ye. This place keep comin’ to lips of folk. No matter me own life. Ye keep ‘im safe. Please. Please. I beg ye.”

It only took Reanna a second to decide what to do. “Nonsense. I refuse to separate you two. You will both stay here and be safe from your husband.”

“No ma’am. Just me boy. ‘E’s all that matters.”

“I am going to round the doctor to come and tend to your face, and then you will stay here until we can find a suitable, safe life away from your man,” Reanna said. “You will be safe here. I promise.”

The woman, Pertie, had relented, but Reanna had to leave for this appointment just as the doctor had arrived.

Yes. She needed to get back quickly.

Reanna turned to the Jacobsons, a childless couple who were hoping to take in four-year-old Cynthia. This was Reanna’s fourth and final interview with them. “I see the rain has not stopped, but I must take my leave.”

The couple walked her out of the parlor to the door.

“Thank you again, so much, Lady Southfork. You do not know how much this means to my wife and myself. Rain or no, this is truly a blessed day.” They both beamed at the prospect of Cynthia becoming theirs. Mr. Jacobson put his arm around his wife, squeezing her shoulder.

The small gesture concurrently warmed Reanna’s heart, and stung it with jealousy. So simple. So loving. So honest.

She took a deep breath and produced a bright smile. Cynthia would be very happy with these two, who clearly adored each other. Mr. Jacobson owned a large blacksmith shop, a solid trade, and their household was simple and loving, perfect for the little girl. Cynthia was one of the children that had been abandoned at the townhouse during the time she had been healing at Killian’s home. Killian had given orders to the staff that any child showing up at her aunt’s home would be taken in.

“It is indeed, Mr. Jacobson. I know Cynthia will be very happy with you. She has spoken of little other than you two since she met you. She is very excited, and I appreciate your patience with my sometimes probing questions. I meant to cause no discomfort in asking them.”

“No, we understand. You want the best for Cynthia, and we have no secrets. I am impressed you would go to such lengths to ensure the happiness of the child.” Mr. Jacobson opened the door.

“Thank you for understanding. Will you be ready for her tomorrow, possibly at two?”

“Two would be fine. Do tell her we are most excited.”

“I will. We will be by at two tomorrow.”

Her new driver, Filbert, stepped quickly up the stairs, umbrella open and ready to shield her on the stairs down to the carriage. It had only been a few days, and she was still getting used to his enthusiastic assistance at every turn.

Filbert, the large carriage, and the matching horses had appeared three days earlier. After a weeklong besiege of gifts to the home from Killian—all of them attached with some purpose to the children—Reanna quickly discovered how hard it was to refuse gifts that the children immediately latched onto. And then they would inevitably ask about Killian visiting. It was hard to deny them both his presence and his gifts. So the gifts had stayed.

But Reanna had reached her breaking point with the carriage and was about to send Filbert on his way, when the children began crawling all over the carriage, glee on their faces.

The carriage was long, with an extra middle bench, for transporting the lot of the older ones together. But before Reanna could open her mouth, she knew she was going to give in. It was easier than watching eighteen little faces fall to disappointment. And for what—her own pride?

“Did it go well today, my lady?” Filbert asked, water from the umbrella streaming over half his hat as they went down the stairs.

Ignoring his appalled look, Reanna shifted the pole of the wide umbrella so it covered both of their heads. “It was wonderful, Filbert, they are a delightful couple, and this last visit convinces me that Cynthia will find a lovely home with them.”

“It is good to hear, my lady.”

Filbert stepped out from under the umbrella to open the carriage door. He assisted her onto the carriage step, and Reanna froze, half in, half out of the carriage.

The bastard was sitting there.

“Reanna, please, come in. You will catch a chill out there.” Killian was sitting in the back corner, ankle resting on his knee, relaxed as though he owned the very air around him.

“I will, if you would be so kind as to exit immediately.” Her voice was ice.

“I am afraid I cannot do that. The chill out there is even worse than the one in here.”

Reanna lifted her foot already in the carriage to back down to the street, but Killian shot forward, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the coach.

She landed awkwardly on the backward facing bench.

Stunned, Filbert stood outside the door with gaping mouth.

Killian didn’t look at him, his eyes were trained on Reanna trying to right herself. “Filbert, if you please, drive. Drive anywhere. Just close the door and drive.”

Indecision clear with his stutter, he looked back and forth between Killian and Reanna. “My lady?”

She tossed a hostile glance at Killian, who still held her arm firmly, before she turned to Filbert. “It is fine, Filbert. Do as he says. My home shall be fine. I will let you know if I need assistance.”

With a quick nod, Filbert closed the door and collapsed the carriage steps.

Reanna jerked her arm away from Killian’s grip.

“Their loyalty so quickly wanes,” Killian muttered.

“You question his loyalty to me?”

“I did hire him.”

“Is the choice between us that hard?” she said, not hiding the venom in her voice.

Killian cocked an eyebrow at her remark, but said nothing. He moved back, sitting on the middle bench, brown eyes running over her body, head to toe.

“What is it that you want, Killian? I thought we both understood that I want nothing more to do with you.”

“We do. But that does not preclude the fact that I still want things to do with you.”

Reanna’s hand went to her forehead—she could feel it starting to pound. “Killian, please, what do you want? I do not have time for this.”

“I wanted to tell you a few things I did not get a chance to the other day.”

Reanna eyed him warily. “If I listen, will you leave me alone?”

“Honestly, no. I do not intend to ever leave you alone. But what I say may make my presence in your life a bit more acceptable.”

Reanna shook her head, crossing her arms over her waist. “I doubt it will.” She sighed, waving a white-gloved hand. “Fine. Speak what you need to speak.”

For a moment, Killian looked unsure. Reanna wondered if he had expected her to put up more resistance. She just wanted him gone, out of sight. And if listening to him was the fastest way to that end, then he could speak all he wanted to.