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Perhaps his sons weren’t the only ones who could benefit from such a lesson. God knew he’d made a bloody mess of things this morning, but he could try again.
Hecate was only a cat. Caring for her was such a tiny, insignificant thing compared to the many ways he’d failed his sons, all he owed them. But at least it was a start, and he had to start somewhere, didn’t he?
One limb at a time…
Cats, though. He ran his fingertips over the scratches that little gray creature had carved into his neck, wincing at the sting.
Of all the animals in the world, why did it have to be cats?
6
Just as Helena had suspected, spending a night with a passel playful kittens locked inside her bedchamber was not as amusing as she’d hoped it would be.
Indeed, after the first hour or two, it ceased to be amusing at all.
She made it into the darkest hours of the early morning before she lost patience entirely, struggled out from underneath the coverlet and made her way across the cold floor to the window seat. “Come along, you wicked things.”
A parade of gray, white and black kittens chased after her, their claws catching in the hems of her nightdress. “Here, Hestia. You too, Poseidon.” She scooped up the gray kitten in one hand and her brother in the other, and plopped them down into her lap. They were the two worst offenders, forever on the prowl, and riling the others up with their antics. “Now hush.”
She and Abby had conducted a diligent search of the castle, poking into every nook and cranny where a naughty kitten might hide, but they’d only managed to find four out of the six of them—Hestia and three of her brothers—but six kittens were morethan enough to keep one exhausted governess awake for most of the night.
She tucked herself into the window seat, a pillow behind her back, the view outside the window catching her eye. It was only the stable yard, but the bright winter moon above cast its ethereal rays over the frosty ground, gilding everything with a silvery glow.
She let out a sigh as her gaze wandered to the closed stable door.
Ryan and Etienne had been quiet for a time after Lord Hawke left the stables yesterday morning, but they’d settled soon enough, their attention diverted by Hecate who, for all that she was semi-feral quite enjoyed all the attention she was getting, and had set up a contented purring.
But she hadn’t settled down. Lord Hawke’s wounded expression had stayed with her long after they’d concluded their animal husbandry lesson and returned to the castle, and it had continued to trouble her throughout the rest of the day, so much so if she’d managed to get even a wink of sleep tonight, he likely would have haunted her dreams.
There was no reason in the world she should take Lord Hawke’s troubles so to heart—she didn’t evenlikethe man—but it seemed a robust aversion to him wasn’t enough to chase the memory of his anguished expression from her mind.
It didn’t make any sense. She’d never come across a more intolerable man in her life, with his arrogant questions and that superior smirk, and that was to say nothing of his loathing of cats. She didn’t trust anyone who didn’t like cats. It wasn’tnormal, for pity’s sake.
As for that woebegone expression of his, well…did he really deserve her sympathy? Goodness knew he’d brought all his troubles down on his own head. She was a great believer in suffering the consequences of one’s own bad behavior, yet forsome maddening reason, it didn’t seem to matter that Lord Hawke was reaping precisely what he’d sown.
She scratched her nails gently over Poseidon’s silky black belly, his drowsy purr vibrating against her fingers.
One thing was certain. She didn’t feel the least bit guilty about what had happened with Lord Hawke in the stables. No, of course not. Why should she? It wasn’therfault things had taken such an unpleasant turn, even if she had been hoping that very morning that Lord Hawke wouldn’t inflict his troublesome presence on them while he remained at Hawke’s Run.
But it wasn’t as if she’d chased him off when he did appear.
Not at all.
Only…well, she hadn’t helped matters much, either, not until the end, and even then, her efforts had been half-hearted. And of course, by the time she exerted herself, it had already been too late. Lord Hawke had slunk out the stable doors like the worst sort of criminal, and she hadn’t seen him for the rest of the day.
Not that she’d been looking for him. And it was quite a large castle.
She glanced out into the moonlit stable yard, her fingers still moving absently over the warm bundles of gray and black fur now curled in her lap. The trouble was, she’d made a rather worrying mistake. Despite her lecture about the foolishness of making assumptions, she’d gone ahead and made her own assumptions about him, hadn’t she?
She’d assumed it wouldn’t matter at all to Lord Hawke if his sons rebuffed him.
He was the one who’d gone off to London to debauch courtesans and wager away his fortune instead of spending time with his motherless sons. Months gone by without a single visit, for pity’s sake! Surely, she was justified in thinking he didn’t care at all about Ryan and Etienne?
But, justified or not, she’d been wrong. Dead wrong.
Their rebuffhadmattered to him. Quite a lot, judging by his miserable expression. He’d seemed baffled, too, as if he couldn’t quite figure out how it had all gone so dreadfully wrong.
In his way, he’d been trying to connect with the boys. He’d gone about it clumsily enough, but he’d been there, hadn’t he? He’d held their hands in his as they’d crossed from the castle to the stable yard, and though he’d been a trifle bemused by their bright chatter, he’d listened eagerly enough, a tolerant half-smile on his lips.