“I should say,” the lad agreed sagely. “Any lady with shoulders as broad as yours would do no credit to a dress.”
Again, he had to fight the urge to chuckle. “Just so, lad. Now then, suppose you might tell me what you are doing, slipping about the halls in the midst of the night. I don’t imagine your mama would be happy to find you here.”
The lad hung his head. “Please do not tell her, sir. She will be ever so vexed with me if she discovers I am not asleep, and she promised me honey cakes for breakfast if I was well-behaved today.”
Wolf could not contain his smile. “Honey cakes for breakfast? I well understand the conundrum, lad. You have my promise I’ll not tell her as long as you return to bed as you ought. It ain’t done for a young shaver such as yourself to be wandering the halls at night. Christ, you’re likely to set the curtains on fire.”
“Mama says a gentleman never blasphemes,” the lad informed him, frowning.
“Shite,” he muttered.
“What does shite mean, sir?” inquired his inquisitive companion.
Fucking hell.He was certainly giving Portia’s son an education, was he not? He ought to be more accustomed to watching his wayward tongue thanks to his older brother Jasper’s twin daughters. Anne and Elizabeth were nearly of an age with the serious youth before him, he would guess, and whilst their upbringing with their mother had been less than genteel, Jasper’s wife, Lady Octavia had threatened them all with a sound tongue lashing whenever any of them misspoke before the girls. He supposed her displeasure had something to do with the girls referring to one of Jasper’s dogs as Arsehole…
But never mind that.
He cleared his throat. “That is not what I said at all, lad, and don’t be repeating it again, to your mama or otherwise. What I said was I am shy.”
And bloody stupid. How else to explain the fact that he had followed a woman who had run from him earlier that day, found his way into her house by nefarious means, and now was teaching her innocent son to swear?
The lad blinked. “I do not understand what being shy has to do with blaspheming.”
Absolutely nothing.
He patted the boy on the shoulder. “You needn’t fret over it. All you do need to do is return to your bed, where you belong.”
“I am not tired. I thought to fetch a book.”
Well, damn his eyes. None of this was proceeding as he’d hoped.
“But you just said you shan’t be having your honey cakes in the morning if you don’t obey your mama,” he pointed out.
Admittedly, bargaining with small children was not one of his talents.
“She will not know if you do not tell her,” the lad argued.
He could see Portia in the lad’s stubborn intelligence. And there it was again, that odd warmth in his chest, sliding about. Making him feel things. Strange things.
She has a son, he reminded himself. Perhaps you ought to go off and leave her alone as she wishes. Leave the lad to gallivant about the library as he would like. They ain’t your concern.
But then, thoughts of that bruise on her cheek returned. It was that, and the fear in her eyes as she had fled him earlier, which had brought him here. He could not lie; he wanted to know more about her because he was drawn to her. Drawn to her in a way he had not experienced in years. Mayhap never. But his desire for Portia was not what had ultimately brought Wolf to her home.
Had not brought him to break through her door using his old cracksman tools.
“I am duty and honor bound to tell your mother,” he informed the lad sternly. “It would not be right to keep secrets from her.”
She had secrets aplenty of her own.
“To do so would be a lie,” he added for good measure. “And lying is a sin.”
The lad hung his head once more before sending Wolf a sly look. “As is blaspheming.”
Apparently, he had not fooled the cunning kiddy. A lad after his own heart, this one was.
Before Wolf could answer, the door to the library swung open once more, and a distinctly feminine figure stepped over the threshold, holding a blazing brace of candles high. The lovely, familiar planes of Portia’s high cheekbones were illumed. Even in shadows and the low glow of simple candlelight, she made his heart pound and heat unfurl in his belly. Caught as he was, he allowed himself to devour the sight of her, clad in a prim dressing gown buttoned up to the throat, her hair unbound around her shoulders in dark, exquisite waves, and the tease of her bare feet beneath the hem of her gown. There was a strange intimacy to the moment, to his presence here, that made the breath freeze in Wolf’s lungs.
“Edwin, how many times have I told you that it is forbidden to sneak into the library at night when—” Her words ended on a gasp as she pressed a hand to her heart, eyes wide. “Wolf!”
* * *
Portia willedher rapidly thudding heart to slow, holding a hand there to stave off the abject fear which had initially sliced through her when she had realized her son was not alone in the library. That the shadowy figure of a very large man was hunched down before him. When she had lifted the brace of candles and his gaze had jerked to hers, the immediate terror fled, recognition taking its place. Along with a warm, reassuring wave of familiarity.
Relief.
But then she recalled just as swiftly that there was only one manner in which the man who had kissed her breathless on more occasions than she would prefer to admit could have found himself standing in her library at midnight. Speaking to Edwin as if he infiltrated the libraries of people he scarcely knew as a common event.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
He rose slowly to his full, impressive height, and she inwardly admonished herself not to admire the breadth of his shoulders. She failed miserably, however. It had been mere hours since she had seen him last, and yet her gaze drank in every part of him as if she had been starved for the sight of that tall form, his finely molded lips, and that hazel stare that made her feel as if she were ablaze.
“I am your guest, my lady.” He nodded his head toward her son, as if she required reminding they had an audience, and then he swept into the most elegant bow she had ever witnessed a housebreaker perform.
Not that she had ever seen a housebreaker before.
But she imagined most of them did not bow to the occupants of their home with such flawless masculine grace. Or kiss with such seductive tenderness. Her heart was pounding anew, but not with fear this time. Rather, with the effect of his nearness.
He was here.
In her home.
Her library.
With her son.