The Wild Baron (Baron 1)

Rohan didn’t hesitate. “Yes, she does.”

“Mayhap she will have her grandmother’s glorious character,” Tinker said. “Oh, dear,” he quickly added, his brows beetling, “her exquisite ladyship is now a grandmother. What an appalling notion. It’s quite unthinkable, preposterous really. She must be prostrate. Oh, dear.”

“Don’t worry. My mother is quite pleased with Marianne and with my wife. Also you will meet Toby, my wife’s younger brother. He’s a good lad, studying with Mr. Byam until he’s off to Eton. Now, once more, what do you want?”

Marianne pulled away. “Mama,” she said, and pulled some more.

It wasn’t to be. All his tender visions about waking Susannah, watching her beautiful eyes all vague from sleep go wild when he came deep inside her, faded into the wainscoting. “Go,” he said, and set Marianne on her feet. He watched her run to the bed and set about climbing up. She managed to pull most the covers off Susannah as hand over hand she shimmied to the top of the bed.

He heard a groan from Susannah, then a laugh. “Lovey, good morning to you. How pretty you look this morning. Come and hug me.”

Soon Rohan heard the sucking of fingers and smiled. He looked back at Tinker and Pulver. They were staring at him as if he’d grown fangs and would soon froth at the mouth.

The smile disappeared. “Now, what is it? Surely it’s still morning, surely there’s no fire in the west wing? Mrs. Beete didn’t put either of you in the attic?”

“Well, my lord,” Pulver said, “the fact is, Miss Lily came to your house in London because she was very worried about you. We didn’t know what had happened, since you had not communicated with us until the letter requesting our presence here. We could tell Miss Lily nothing. She is upset, my lord. Not distraught, because she isn’t that way, but definitely upset.”

“Well, damn,” Rohan said. He’d forgotten Lily existed, which wasn’t well done of him.

“We thought you would like to know immediately,” Tinker said, sounding portentous. He lowered his voice, saying behind his hand, “Your father, my lord, never forgot to keep all the ladies informed of his whereabouts.”

Rohan rolled his eyes. “Thank you for informing me. Pulver, since you are here, I will put you to work. No, wait—you’ll rest in bed until after luncheon. Then you will wade into those piles of accounts for the estate farms. I will join you later, maybe, if I decide to flagellate myself. But to be honest, it’s unlikely.”

He shut the bedchamber door in their faces.

21

ROHAN TURNED TO SEE SUSANNAH SITTING UP IN BED, THE covers pulled to her throat because she was quite without a stitch on beneath. Marianne was

on her lap, singing a song that sounded suspiciously like one of Jamie’s limericks.

He walked to the bed and eased under the covers. “Well, pumpkin, will you sing to me now?”

“I must speak to Jamie,” Susannah said, sighing.

“I thought I recognized that tune.” He leaned over and kissed his wife’s cheek. He splayed his fingers and began to smooth the tangles from her hair. She just stared at him.

“You feeling like an animal again?” He rubbed her scalp, then resumed easing the tangles out.

“Marianne is here.”

“Why are you playing with Mama’s hair, Rohan?”

He told her the truth without thinking. “She has the most beautiful hair in the world, soft as a mink’s fur, and I love to touch it. But she slept restlessly last night. I’m just brushing out the tangles with my fingers.”

Susannah snorted.

“What’s a mink?”

“It’s a kind of fur. I will get you a mink muff for your birthday.” Marianne stared at him, tilting her head to one side, just the same way George did. She lifted her hand to touch her mother’s hair. “Soft,” she said, then her fingers went back into her mouth. She settled sprawled out on her mother’s chest. The sucking eventually became quieter. Ro-han said, very low, “I have worried about erasing George, you know, rearranging the past so that he never existed. I will even take his daughter. Will we tell her the truth someday? I don’t know. But this bothers me, Susannah.”

She was lying naked in his bed, her daughter asleep on top of her. All of it felt so very strange. But not as strange as last night had felt. Beneath the seriousness in his voice she heard pain. She cleared her throat. “George doesn’t deserve to be erased. Nor, on the other hand, does he deserve to have Marianne as his daughter.”

“He was very young.”

“So was I. Even younger. Does that excuse him?”

“No, certainly not, but ladies appear to be more aware of the needs of life than do men. He was still a boy.”