Page 32 of Her Wicked Highwayman
Ashton’s laughter followed him as he stalked across the lawn toward Isla and Rosalind, who were now examining a ring of toadstools at the edge of one of the flower beds.
“Look, Papa, we found fairies!” Isla proclaimed as she pointed at the ring of mushrooms.
He crouched down beside her, smiling. As always, his daughter had managed to restore the sunshine on his most cloudy days. “Well then, we must be sure to leave them a tea cake tonight, or else they will creep into your bedchamber and take you away to their magical realm.”
Isla’s eyes widened. “Please dinna let them take me, Papa!” Isla leapt up, exposing her grass-stained pinafore, and latched herself onto his leg.
“Hello there, what’s this? My daughter’s turned into a tiny little monkey!” He gasped dramatically and looked upon her with mock terror. “The fae folk have already bewitched her! Whatever shall we do?”
Rosalind tried not to laugh, her gray eyes sparkling with delight. “Oh dear, I think you must take the monkey to the kitchens and feed it tea cakes at once!”
Rafe carried his little monkey, still wrapped around his leg, for several steps before he pried the little creature off and swung her into his arms. They headed straight inside to find the magical cure of the tea cakes. Isla giggled the entire way, and the matter of a dreaded country ball was, for the moment, forgotten.
Ashton drummedhis fingers on his folded newspaper as Rafe carried the little orphan inside. He corrected himself. No, she wasn’t an orphan any longer. Isla may not have been Rafe’s child by blood, but she washischild in all the ways that truly mattered.
Ashton had been concerned when Rafe had returned from Scotland and declared his intention to adopt an orphan. Ashton assumed Rafe had found some wayward boy, but when Rafe had shared it was a girl and told Ashton the child’s sad history, Ashton had been even more puzzled about his younger brother’s fatherly response. Rafe had taken no interest in children before. But when Rafe asked to have Brodie and Lydia bring Isla to meet Ashton, he had finally seen what had so captivated Rafe’s heart. Isla turned out to be bright, brave, and so utterly innocent that it was impossible not to adore her. Simply being around her had set off Ashton’s already protective instincts. He’d become “Uncle Ash” to her nearly overnight.
Yet what had convinced Ashton to consent to Rafe’s desire to adopt Isla was the moment the little girl had been reunited with Rafe. How she had clung fiercely to his neck, her face stained with tears. Her tiny nose had been red from crying, and Rafehad held her tight, one hand cupping her gleaming russet curls and his other hand supporting her little body as he closed his eyes and whispered something to the child that only she could hear. Ashton had seen something he’d never seen on his younger brother’s face before.
Peace.
How could Ashton even consider denying his troubled little brother that peace? Lord knew that Rafe was owed it after all these years, given the demons that had haunted him. And damned if Ashton wasn’t to blame for part of it.
“You’re frowning,” Rosalind said, joining him. Ashton curled an arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her onto his lap. His Scottish wife gasped and clutched his shoulders. She was a strong woman, but Ashton took pleasure in making her feel precious and desirable. She especially liked his dominating side when it came to their intimate moments. Even though Rosalind had given birth to their son, Malcolm, earlier that year, the passion between them hadn’t ebbed at all; if anything, sharing a child together had only deepened their love and their passion. As much as he adored his son, he was glad the babe was asleep for his afternoon nap so he could enjoy this moment with his wife.
“Wicked man,” she said before she kissed his cheek. Heat flashed in her eyes and the fire in her kiss burned his skin. Christ, how had he lived more than thirty years without this woman in his life?
Ashton sighed and cradled Rosalind close. “I am wicked, and for once I am not proud of it.” He couldn’t avoid what had riddled him with guilt, but he knew he could speak with her about anything and get her advice.
She lifted her head and studied him. She was beautiful, with gray eyes and gleaming dark hair, loosely gathered at the nape of her neck and tied with a persimmon ribbon that matched her gown. But his wife’s beauty on the outside didn’t even come closeto the beauty within. He tightened his hold on her and let out a slow breath. He was a damned lucky man.
“Tell me what’s bothering you,” Rosalind said. Her Scottish accent was lighter than little Isla’s because she tried so hard to blend into English society. Perhaps that was why he wanted to protect Isla, because she reminded him of his wife. Both had experienced terrible tragedies at a young age, but Isla still had a chance for a happy childhood, and if he could give her that and see to his younger brother’s happiness at the same time, he would do whatever he had to in order to help them both.
“I suppose I’m at that age where one looks back on one’s life, and I only see my mistakes. They play before my eyes like a dreadful performance on Drury Lane.”
Rosalind stroked her fingers through his hair. Falling in love with her had made him realize how cold and aloof he’d become over the years. Slowly, little by little, her fierce love had fired cannon blasts through the walls he’d made to keep others at bay. Someday his fortress would be nothing but dust and he’d be laid bare for the world. But Rosalind would be by his side, and he could survive anything so long as she was with him. She kept touching him, her love making this moment less agonizing.
“What mistakes have you made?” she asked.
It wouldn’t be easy to tell her what he was feeling, but he had to try.
“I was just a young pup when my father died. I was dreadfully lonely, and the world was a cold and wretched place for me until I was able to leave for Cambridge. I was deuced glad that I met my friends at university.”
“You mean the League?” Rosalind asked.
He smiled. “Indeed.” If it hadn’t been for his friends, Godric, Lucian, Cedric, and Charles, he would have been lost to his rage and grief after his father died. The League of Rogues had become his brothers even as he’d lost his connection with Rafe. “But itdidn’t change the mistake I made that night my father died. I let Mother think that Rafe was to blame, that it was his fault our father died.”
“To blame how?”
“That he was the reason Father had been trampled. But I don’t believe it was Rafe’s fault. It was such a mess that night; I’d gone after Father to bring him home, but Rafe must have followed me. He was injured and across the street when Father and I came out of the gambling hell. Father had been struck in the head, and he wasn’t steady on his feet. He just stepped out and... Christ, so much of that night is still a blur. When Rafe and I returned home with the constable, I was so angry, so... hurt that I didn’t correct Rafe when he blamed himself, and Mother heard him take the blame. I should have said something to correct her impression, but I didn’t. I was furious he’d followed me when I told him to stay home. And the next day, I learned our family was in dire straits. Worse than I’d suspected. We were deeply indebted to several banks, and everything was heavily mortgaged. It was...” He struggled for words but found none.
He couldn’t describe the way panic had gripped his chest, and he’d had trouble breathing for months. He would go into shouting rages at Rafe just to find a way to clear his lungs so he could breathe again.
And his brother had taken all of that rage and absorbed it with quiet, pain-filled eyes, but Ashton hadn’t been able to stop. He couldn’t yell at his mother or his two sisters; they hadn’t been to blame for his father’s death. Rafe was the only one strong enough to bear it, but that hadn’t made it right, even if Rafe was possibly at fault for what had happened that night.
“I took out all my anger on him, as did Mother. Thomasina, bless her, she never blamed Rafe the way I did. And little Joannatoo often bore witness. She loves Rafe dearly, but she’s never been able to trust him. That is most certainly my fault.”
Rosalind kept silent, letting him puzzle through his feelings.
