Page 8 of Summoner of Sins

As grateful as she was to her uncle, Sophie only existed in the now. Once upon a time, she really lived. And she wished to live again.

CHAPTER THREE

Max stood under the shade of the tree, watching the fragile beauty who held a child in her arms. Was she a mother?

His fist clenched at his side. She was a means to an end. He’d danced with her to make a point to Lord Whitehouse and his henchman, the weaselly Plimpton.

He knew who they were. He was watching them too, and he was ready for them to come try and get him.

Lord Whitehouse had been attacking the members of Max’s club, the Duke Fraternity. Lord Whitehouse had a cousin who went only by the name of Adam, who’d killed two of their members and attacked two of his compatriots’ wives.

Adam was dead now, but they’d only removed the hand of the killer. The head remained. Whitehouse.

And this woman was attached to him. Which meant that Max ought not to care that she was a mother. Nor should he acknowledge the unwanted attraction that had flared within him the moment she’d run smack into his chest.

Oh, how soft she’d been.

She was a small thing. If he’d expected her angles to be hard, he’d been mistaken. And then there were her large brown eyes, her pert little nose, the fullness of her mouth. She made a man ache. He was not a man prone to aching. He hardly ever indulged in his needs at all. He’d learned from a young age that women had fangs, just like men. Letting one close meant that he risked being bitten.

He scrubbed at his jaw as he watched her. Her hands were so gentle with the child, her soft singing caught the breeze and reached his ear. Her voice was beautiful. He knew that she was supposed to be Plimpton’s niece. He didn’t see the resemblance. Nothing in her physical appearance or her comportment bore any familiarity to the man he found odious.

He’d been watching Plimpton closely. With the death of Adam, Plimpton was moving up in Whitehouse’s ranks and becoming his number two man.

Now it appeared as though Plimpton were living with Whitehouse, bringing his niece with him. Was it a coincidence that she’d been moved into Whitehouse’s estate right after he’d danced with her? That thought made something unpleasant settle in his gut. He didn’t know why. She was Plimpton’s niece. Of course, nothing bad would happen to her.

He edged closer, staying under the trees and moving behind the shrubs. He ought to have brought his investigative partner with him. The Duke of Ironheart was excessively annoying, but the man could always charm the ladies. However, the very idea of him charming this particular lady made Max’s skin crawl. He knew he’d left Ironheart out of today’s investigation for a reason.

He didn’t wish for Ironheart to know Miss Sophie Wren. Max already knew that Ironheart would like her. First, because he liked all women. Blonde. Brunette. Curvy. Willowy. But Ironheart especially liked beautiful women, and Miss Wren was that.

When he’d gotten within a few yards of where Miss Wren sat, he stopped, staying in the shadows.

“Do you remember the country?” she asked the child. “With its tall grasses and the sound of the birds?”

“I do,” the child picked up her head. She had the same brown hair, pert nose, and big brown eyes. She was so beautiful; she looked almost angelic. “I do remember.”

“What else do you remember?”

“Mama singing,” the child sighed and laid her head back down. “I miss her.”

“I miss her too, lamb.”

A jolt of surprise made him pull upright. Not a mother, but perhaps a sister? Orphans?

“Do you miss Papa?” the little one asked.

“Very much.”

“Tell me about him again,” the little one said. “I don’t remember.”

The child couldn’t be more than four. If she remembered her mother, that loss had to be recent.

“He was tall and handsome,” Miss Wren began. “He could hold your body in one arm, and he’d sit with you in his lap and tell you stories.”

“What stories?”

“His favorite and yours was Little Red Riding Hood. He’d make the funniest noises when he pretended to be the wolf.”

The child lay her head back on Sophie’s shoulder. “Do we get to have a real family again?”

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