Page 65

“Of course,” he muttered dryly, eyeing the cat with reluctant amusement. “You would adore the darkness as well.”

Luna meowed.

“And where is your mistress?” he asked suspiciously, folding his arms. “Have you abandoned her entirely?” He had not seen her since she returned from her visit to the vicar. He’d dined in his chamber and waited until she too had returned before going to the library.

Then he had lain down, until his dreams woke him.

The cat gave another confident meow, staring up with large luminous eyes.

The duke raised an eyebrow, then narrowed his eyes. “Are you guarding Emma again?”

The cat gave a slight twirl and meowed again. Ambrose almost smiled, half convinced the duchess had trained her pet to guard the baby. He looked away from the cat and cleared his throat, realizing he was having a conversation with a cat in the middle of the night.

“Come along, then. If you insist upon guarding her, you may as well accompany me.”

The black creature followed him to the nursery, and he opened the door as quietly as possible. The room was different from the last time he had seen it. There were more toys now, along with several soft lamps releasing a gentle glow across the nursery.

He stepped inside, with Luna slipping in beside him. His gaze found the bassinet, and there Emma was, sleeping peacefully. Just as she had been the first time he had seen her. The sight of her always made something within him tighten. She stirred both happy and dreadful memories. He imagined how happy and expectant Janet must have been.

His smile died.

His sister had deserved better. Better than parents who forbade her from visiting her elder brother. Better than a husband who could not even care for their child after her death. Anger rose within him. Janet still needed to be avenged.

He turned his attention to Emma, wanting to pick her up. Just once. But as usual, another thought stopped him. What if he frightened her? What if she looked at him the way everyone else eventually did? It was irrational, he knew it. He had not been assaulted by the sun in some while and thus did not bear any of the usual marks.

Still, it was enough to make him step back, like a man frightened of himself, frightened of the harm he could cause. He would leave her be.

No sooner had he moved than Emma twitched. The little girl moved her head slightly before a tiny sound of distress echoed from her throat. Ambrose turned at once, more alarmed still when the sound became a cry.

He froze. “Emma?” he asked. “What is the matter?”

The baby responded by crying harder, shaking her legs as she did. Luna meowed anxiously beside him, which somehow only made matters worse. Then the cat turned and slunk away, as though deciding the crying baby was not its problem. He looked after the treacherous cat, shaking his head slightly.

Returning his attention to Emma, he moved closer to the baby, his voice softening despite himself. “Have you had a nightmare? Are you… hungry?”

She kept crying, her small mouth making a noise far too loud for someone so tiny. He stared at her. He needed to wake the wet nurse. Or, better yet, the duchess. But it was in the middle of the night, and somehow the idea of waking Marina from her peaceful sleep because he had no idea what to do with a crying infant seemed foolish.

Ambrose exhaled, bracing himself. She showed no sign of relenting, and he had the distinct feeling that she would continue until he discovered precisely what she wanted.

“Very well,” he murmured with quiet resignation. “We shall attempt this ourselves.”

He stepped toward the bassinet. For one brief moment, he hesitated before bending down and gently lifting Emma into his arms. He held his breath, realizing how small—far too small—she was in his arms. He held her carefully, supporting her head as though she were something infinitely breakable.

“I confess,” he admitted quietly, looking down at her, “I have absolutely no idea what I am doing.”

Emma continued crying. Ambrose frowned.

“Your mother would be terribly disappointed to hear that,” he continued, his voice holding the faintest trace of humor.

His hold tightened a fraction. He swallowed hard, forcing his emotions down where they belonged. He was not sure whether it was the mention of her mother or simply being held, but her crying faltered.

Ambrose felt a tiny flicker of pride. He adjusted his hold, rocking her more gently still. Emma made a small sound that was very nearly a yawn.

“I am here…” His deep voice had dropped to a whisper. “Though I cannot imagine why that should be reassuring.”

He continued to watch her, watching her eyes grow drowsy. The baby quieted, almost falling asleep. And he realized that perhaps he was not as incapable as he had believed. He stood there another moment before carefully returning her to the bassinet. Once she was relaxed underneath the cover, he straightened. He should leave before he woke her up again.

He froze when he turned toward the door—or rather, at what waited beside it. Luna was back, sitting near the threshold. And beside the creature was the duchess.