Page 69 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
“Here,” he said firmly, stepping into his room and pushing the door closed with his foot. Although it was difficult to make himself release her, he stood Ellie on her own two feet and held onto her shoulders until he was certain she was stable.
Then he went to work on the ties for that ridiculous bonnet.
“What are…?”
Fawkes hushed her, his attention on the ribbon. “Did ye double knot this fooking thing?”
“The wind was quite fierce,” she murmured weakly.
And his arsehole of an uncle—merely by blood, not a relation Fawkes would normally claim—had kicked her out in the middle of it.
Figuratively, of course.
“There,” he muttered, pulling the sodden bonnet from her head and going to work on the buttons of her frock coat.
“Fawkes, why are you doing this?”
He turned her about so he could pull the coat over her shoulders, then tossed it and the bonnet atop a wooden chair. “Yer things are wet, so are Merida’s. I need to dry them. Cannae have ye both getting…getting girl sniffles.”
I need to take care of ye.
The urge was strong, not something he could ignore. So, amid her weak protestations, he nudged her over to the bed. When she sat, he dropped to one knee in front of her.
“Fawkes—” she squeaked.
Ignoring her, he lifted one of her booted feet and rested it on his knee as he swiftly untied her laces. Christ, her foot was so tiny. It was hard to imagine Merida’s would be any smaller; Ellie was just a small lass.
It made him want to protect her, care for her, even more.
She’s no’ carrying yer bairn.
Why had that reminder, that realization, shot a spike of disappointment through him?
Gently, he lowered both her stocking-clad feet to the floor and looked up to see her staring down at him, confusion in her eyes.
“There now,” he said softly. “Ye’ll no’ be able to sneak out when my back is turned.”
“Why are ye—” She broke off with a wince, and he doubted the way she pressed her hand to her lower back was intentional.
Fawkes rose, holding her boots, and bent over her. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Rest, Ellie. I have a tincture which should help ye—I used to brew it for my mother at her time of the month, when the cramps were the worst. It’ll help ye sleep. Tomorrow ye can argue with me, eh?”
She said nothing more, but she didn’t argue either as he nudged her back against the pillows and tugged the blanket over her.
“Would ye prefer tea or coffee?”
“Tea,” she whispered.
And that’s when he realized her eyes were bright with tears.
Heknewit was only her body’s response to stress and fear, the chemicals coursing through her body which were making her cry. But his heart broke all the same. “Rest, Ellie,” he managed again, backing out of the room.
Had he thought it difficult to see her in such a state? The guilt eating away at his insides, knowing he’d treated her so harshly when she’d only been trying to preserve her future?
Well, handling a six year old was even harder.
Fawkes learned quite a lot about himself that day, as he and Merida hung up the wet outer clothes and made a simple meal:
He contained depths of patience he’d never known before.
