“You remember the gentleman who helped me home last night?” she said putting a hand on Leo’s arm. The affectionate gesture was given purely to placate Herr Bruhn’s fears, but her touch sparked the usual warm feeling of familiarity.
“Yes, yes,” Herr Bruhn nodded as he turned his attention to Leo. “I am pleased to see you have left that sword of yours at home. I fear it would frighten the children.”
Ivana smiled. “Leo is often over-cautious. But perhaps the children might like to see a genuine knight going about his duties.”
She had introduced him in a tone and manner befitting a servant. He suppressed the need to correct her, to offer a bow and boast of his ancestral roots. When possessed with their deviant affliction, it would not be wise to draw undue attention.
“Welcome, welcome.” Herr Bruhn gestured for them to enter the parlour. The tempting smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the house. “Have you both eaten?”
Ivana nodded. “Yes, we dined before we left. I am ashamed to admit we were rather ravenous and couldn’t possibly eat another thing.”
“Ah, never mind,” Herr Bruhn said with a hint of disappointment. “The children have made bread, and I know how they like to please you.”
Leo pulled Ivana’s cape from her shoulders, pleased to hear her sharp intake of breath when his fingers brushed against the soft skin at her nape. “Frau Lockwood has eaten far too much this evening, but I will happily try the bread if you think the children will not object.”
With its dry, clumpy texture, he found bread hard to swallow, but Elliot had taught him to tolerate small quantities of food and drink.
A brief look of panic flashed in Ivana’s blue eyes. “Are you sure you can manage to eat anything more?”
Leo gave an arrogant smirk. “A piece of bread won’t make much difference.”
“Excellent.” Herr Bruhn clapped his hands but then his expression grew solemn as he turned to Ivana. “I thought you did not look well when you left here last night. Your face held an almost deathly pallor, and the damp air will only make matters worse. You should not have ventured out this evening.”
Leo felt a tinge of guilt. She had sensed his presence, had expected to meet her demise. Despite everything she’d said about being prepared to die, the ashen complexion Herr Bruhn noted would surely have been attributed to fear.
“I am fine now I have eaten,” she reassured. “And you know there is nothing that would prevent me from visiting the children.”
Herr Bruhn turned to him. “She is an angel sent from the Lord.”
Ivana’s cheeks flushed berry red, and she looked to the floor.
“Do not be modest,” the old man continued. “Without you, where would these poor children be?”
For once in his miserable existence, Leo was left dumbstruck. During all of his licentious encounters, the thought of fathering offspring had never really concerned him. Yes, at times he had sheathed his manhood as a means of warding off infection. He had mastered the art of withdrawal, knew some women soaked sponges with anything a
cidic enough to act as a deadly barrier.
What had once seemed like the irresponsible pursuits of an aristocratic gentleman, now felt like the vulgar actions of a scoundrel.
“Come, come through to the fire,” Herr Bruhn continued.
Ivana glanced at him as they followed the old man into the parlour. “You see. Not everyone believes I am a cold-hearted devil,” she whispered.
“Evidently, you’re loved and well-respected here.”
“Please sit.” Herr Bruhn gestured to the two chairs hugging the hearth. “I shall go and find the children.”
Leo watched him scuttle out. “How many children live here?” He glanced around the room smaller than the cupboard he reserved for his boots.
“Five,” Ivana replied from the seat opposite. “Matilda is the eldest and will be ten next month. Christoph is three and the youngest here.”
A sudden wave of panic passed over him. It had been three years since he’d visited the village.
“Christoph is not your son, if that is what’s worrying you,” she said reading his thoughts. “He will be four next week.”
She gave a weak smile upon hearing his audible sigh of relief. While some men were preoccupied with furthering their bloodline, Leo had never wanted to be a father. Indeed, Elliot would probably argue that he couldn’t even look after himself. But it had more to do with seeing his father die at such a young age. The responsibility of a marquessate proved too much for him, his heart too weak to withstand the burden.
“You can’t blame me for thinking the worst,” he said.