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Something was definitely amiss. Squeezing her hand, Ian gave a nod toward the house. “Go along then. I don’t mind.”

She sent him a grateful smile, which only increased his determination to know exactly what was afoot.

Gifford opened the door and assisted her down the small step. As she made her way to the cottage, a black-haired bantling called to her. A brilliant smile illuminated her face. She obviously knew the child and held him in great affection. She bent and embraced the boy, wrapping her arms around his thin body and hugging him tight to her.

She likes children.

The realization pleased Ian enormously. His pulse quickened when he considered precisely what was necessary to impregnate her. He allowed himself the luxury of a moment of erotic daydreaming to further explore that particular pleasant musing.

Vangie and the urchin spoke briefly. The child withdrew something from his vest pocket and passed it to her. With a wave, the boy trotted off, his bare feet kicking up small poufs of dust in his wake.

She watched him for a few moments. Was that sadness shadowing her face? Did her shoulders droop slightly? Ian scooted forward, his regard traveling between her and the child. It settled on the slip of paper she held.

A note? From whom? A man?

Stop it, old chap.

Vangie flipped the smallish rectangle over, studying it for a second before opening her reticule and tucking it inside. After cinching the strings tight, she looped the bag around her wrist and turned in the direction of the cottage.

Shoulders squared and chin up, as if preparing to enter a battle rather than her home, she marched through the open gate. However, instead of entering through the front door, she skirted the house and disappeared around the corner.

To use the rear entrance? Uneasiness skittered down his spine.

There was only one way to find out.

Follow her.