Page 49 of Her Wicked Highwayman
“She’ll soon be better than me at whist, but the child has a knack for reading faces. She can always call a bluff.”
“We were just about to have tea on the terrace, if you wish to join us.”
“I most certainly would.” Rafe gestured for the ladies to precede him. Partly because he was a gentleman and partly because he wanted to watch Diana’s backside sway in that lovely rose-colored gown.
At the terrace they were met by the nanny, who was introduced to her as Mrs. Chesterfield. The nanny held little Malcolm in her arms, and Isla, who clung to her skirts with one hand.
“Oh, you simply must meet my son, Diana.” Rosalind pulled Diana toward the nanny, and she took the baby from Mrs. Chesterfield and showed his little face to Diana.
“Oh, he’s adarling,” Diana answered with honest admiration.
Isla ran to Rafe, and he scooped her up in his arms.
“See? ’Tis the pretty lady, Papa,” Isla whispered in his ear.
“Yes, I see,” Rafe replied. “What do you think of her?”
“She’s verra nice.”
“Is she?” He’d only seen passion and fire from Diana before. Now he had a chance to see her softer side. Could she love anorphan he had adopted? If she could not, then he would have to end his obsession with her. He fought to keep the frown off his face at that thought but failed. Isla traced that frown, which made him smile. She giggled in delight and he squeezed her, kissing her forehead, then set her down.
“Go on and have some biscuits,” he said, giving her a little push. Isla rushed straight to Diana and tugged on the woman’s skirts. Rafe waited to see if she would ignore the child and continue cooing over the baby. But she immediately knelt down and gave Isla her full attention. Isla soon led her by the hand to the table and put her in one of the chairs, along with her doll, Mrs. Crumpet. Perhaps his little dragon had a tender heart after all?
Diana focusedon helping Isla with her glass of milk and biscuits and kept her gaze away from Mr. Lennox...Rafe.
Good heavens, the man was bewitchingly handsome. When he’d grabbed her in the gardens she’d been utterly lost in his eyes. She’d seen what she’d yearned to see.Tyburn. Her mysterious lover. But she had to remind herself it was another trick of her mind, just as Lord Lennox had been. This English gentleman was no Scottish rogue. He lived in a fine house. He had no need to rob anyone.
And he had a daughter. A man with a darling child would never risk his life on something foolhardy, like being a highwayman. And a man with Isla in his life could never be lonely the way her wicked highwayman was.
Still, when she looked at Rafe Lennox, something in her became very quiet, very still, except for the wild flutter of excitement in her belly. What the devil was the matter with her?She’d never been fixated on men before, and now she had two men she couldn’t stop thinking about.
She accepted the cup of tea a footman had poured for her and glanced surreptitiously at Rafe, who had chosen the seat closest to her. The bottle-green coat he wore made his blue eyes somehow even brighter than the sun, and his pale-gold hair was bronze beneath the sun’s late-afternoon rays.
“Isla, kitten, why don’t you come and sit on the other side of me?” Rafe patted the seat of the open chair on his other side. “I’m sure Miss Fox doesn’t wish to be bothered?—”
“She’s quite fine, Mr. Lennox, I assure you. I would be delighted to sit with her and Mrs. Crumpet.”
Rafe’s blue eyes were warm and gentle, full of concern for his daughter. This man wasn’t Tyburn. Tyburn had no children, or else she would not have heard that hint of hope when he’d asked if she had become pregnant from their first night together. Rafe Lennox had his child. He had a legacy. He was the farthest thing from lonely.
“See, Papa?” Isla whispered to her father, and she giggled. He made a little grunt that sent the girl into another fit of giggles, and Rafe cleared his throat. Rosalind carried Malcom across the terrace, cooing softly as she rocked him, which gave Diana and Rafe a few minutes alone.
“So, Foxglove...” He seemed to be struggling for small talk, and for some reason that set Diana at ease.
This man was rather too perfect in his looks, and his smooth voice could have seduced a woman out of her clothes in seconds. He wielded far too much sinful power for her not to be affected by him. Diana neededsomethingabout him that failed to reach perfection so she wouldn’t feel so disadvantaged. She prayed he wouldn’t notice how old her gown was or wonder at the odd placement of the embroidery that was designed to be patches over the torn and frayed areas of the fabric. But even if he did,she knew he would be a gentleman and not mention it. Still, the idea of him wondering about her circumstances filled her with fresh embarrassment.
“Yes, that’s my home. I run the estate now that my father is gone. It keeps me quite busy.”
“I offer my condolences about your father.” He lifted the little blue-and-white porcelain bowl of sugar cubes and offered them to her. She shook her head. She’d gotten accustomed to denying herself such small pleasures if it helped the cook save money. When they did use sugar, it was for the necessary recipes and not for tea.
“He passed a little less than a year ago. My mother died when I was fifteen. I’ve become accustomed to being...”
“Accustomed to being what?”
“Being on my own,” she added, avoiding the wordlonely. “And you?”
“Me?” He raised a dark-gold brow.
“Er...” She blushed and sipped her tea, having realized what she’d just asked, but then she decided to go ahead and ask the difficult question. “Isla’s mother, is she...”
