Page 71 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
Spontaneously combusted. Fawkes had to turn to hide his smile. “Stay there,” he said sternly, pointing. “Anddo notcome into this room.” There were too many dangerous things in here. He wouldn’t risk her.
Heaving a great sigh, the girl plopped herself on her rear end, legs crossed. He noticed not a bit of her extended over the threshold.
“Fine.” She propped her chin in her hands, and wasn’t quiet for very long. “What are you doing?”
Grinning ruefully, Fawkes began to explain. She interrupted him often with questions about the materials he was using, and what he was doing, but he was surprised at how interested she was. Her questions were insightful, if exhausting, and more than once he found himself stepping closer so he could hold something up for her studious inspection.
It felt…strangeto share this part of his life with someone else. Especially a six-year-old someone.
He’d been a killer for so long, but today he made something toheal, to help. Just like he helped those whores in Limehouse or Mister Reynald’s arthritic pain.
The day was eye-opening, to say the least.
Ellie was only half-awake when he slipped in with his concoction, and he was pleased to see she’d removed her gown and was curled under several blankets. She murmured sleepily when he sat on the mattress at her side, but forced herself up to drink.
“Tastes bad,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose.
“I ken, love, but it’ll ease yer cramps. Rest again, aye?” he assured her, brushing her sweat-stained hair from her forehead.
She followed his directions. “Merida?”
“She’s happy and healthy, dinnae fash. We’ll bring ye supper in a bit and I’ll fix her a bed.”
Ellie’s lips curled, but her eyes closed before she could respond. Fawkes held his breath until he heard her even breathing and knew the tincture had already started working.
He slipped out of the room and went to settle Merida.
The girl thought it was a grand adventure, to sleep on a pallet beside the wood stove with Tramp. Hell, she’d probably curl uponthe dog’s bed, if he gave her the option. But he had plenty of blankets, and Merida was game.
Besides, he’d be stretched out on the sofa beside her, guarding both of them all night.
“Fawkes?” Merida whispered sleepily as she rolled in a circle atop the pallet, “do you snore?”
He was crouched beside her, and had to smile at how very much she reminded him of Tramp, getting ready for bed. He reached for the blanket and pulled it up, tucking it over the girl’s chemise.
“I dinnae ken, lassie,” he admitted. “Ye’ll have to tell me tomorrow, aye?”
Although he doubted he’d sleep a wink.
“Aye,” she yawned, eyes closing. “G’Night, Fawkes.”
He crouched there on his haunches, watching the muscles of her face ease with sleep, then brushed his fingertips across her forehead. “Goodnight, wee one,” he whispered.
As he settled himself on the sofa, a blanket in the MacMillan colors wrapped around his shoulders, Fawkes waited for the fear, the anger, to fill him once more. He had two extra people to care for now, to worry about…
But for some reason, as the hours ticked by in silence, all he felt was peace.
Chapter 12
Ellie couldn’t decideif she was mostly grateful, or mostly embarrassed.
In her world, a woman’s cycle was a private matter. Her father had never known when his daughters were miserable with their cramps, and he certainly never cared. In her first month of marriage to Rufus, before he’d begun to sicken, Ellie actually had toexplainthe female reproductive system to her husband when he demanded to know why she wasn’t up to performing her wifely obligations.
Nowthathad been a supremely embarrassing conversation. For both of them.
But Fawkes…
Fawkes had immediately understood what she’d meant when she’d said she was not pregnant. He’d immediately grasped why she was miserable, as well.
