Page 53

Maisie was still missing, and now, so was Yvette.

The pit of worry in his chest deepened, tightening like a vice. His mind reeled with possibilities—each one darker than the last.

Turning sharply, he barked at the governess. “Keep searching! And this time, look thoroughly! If either of them comes to harm…”

The governess curtsied hastily, her face pale, and scurried away just as Mrs. Calloway appeared from the servants’ corridor, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Your Grace,” she called out, her tone steady but concerned. “I thought ye should know… Her Grace and Lady Maisie are in the library.”

Killian froze, blinking. “The library?”

Mrs. Calloway nodded firmly. “Yes, Your Grace. I found them there myself not five minutes ago. Safe and sound.”

Without another word, Killian strode toward the library, frustration bubbling beneath his skin.

The double doors were slightly ajar, and he pushed them open with more force than necessary—only to halt abruptly at the sight before him.

Yvette sat on the cushioned window seat, her back resting against the wall, her knees tucked up slightly to cradle Maisie, who was curled against her like a content kitten.

A thick, leather-bound storybook rested in Yvette’s lap, her soft voice weaving through the room like a lullaby as she read aloud.

Maisie was fast asleep, her tear-stained face peaceful at last, her small fingers still clutching a corner of Yvette’s gown.

Killian’s frustration dissolved in an instant. He stood frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene.

His daughter, cradled so lovingly… safe, comforted, and cherished.

His throat tightened, an unfamiliar ache settling deep within him.

Yvette glanced up, her gaze locking with his. There was no reproach in her eyes, only understanding—a quiet acceptance that tugged at something buried within him.

With a nod of silent gratitude, he moved forward.

Carefully, he bent and scooped Maisie into his arms, holding her as though she were made of glass. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her head resting against his chest as she sighed softly in her sleep.

Yvette rose gracefully and followed him as he carried Maisie down the dimly lit corridor toward her room. His steps were slow, almost reverent, his hold on his daughter protective yet gentle.

When they reached Maisie’s room, Killian lowered her onto the soft mattress with practiced ease. He adjusted the blankets around her, his touch lingering as he gently tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

Quietly, they left the room, closing the door behind them. They walked side by side down the darkened hallway, their footsteps soft against the polished wooden floors.

Killian exhaled slowly, breaking the silence. “How did you get her to calm down?”

Yvette turned toward him, her expression gentle. “I listened to her.”

He frowned, as though the concept were foreign. “Listened?”

“She was upset,” Yvette explained. “I didn’t scold her. I didn’t raise my voice. I let her cry and told her she was safe.”

Killian’s mouth tightened. “She needs more than soft words. Life isn’t kind.”

Yvette’s brow furrowed. “Is that what you believe? That being harsh will make her stronger?”

His voice hardened. “It worked for me.”

She stopped abruptly, forcing him to face her. “Did it?”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond.