Page 12

“P at-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man. Bake me a cake as fast as you can.”

Clap, clap.

“Pat it and prick it and—”

As Alice’s daughter clapped her hands quickly in time, Laurence followed suit.

Then, all of a sudden, he reached over, plucked Laurel up for the twelfth time since they had played the pat-a-cake game, scooped her up, and tickled her.

Laurel erupted into giggles, laughing uncontrollably until she struggled to breathe.

Laurence let up. He set her back, and they resumed their child’s rhyming game.

“Mark it with an L for Laurel…” Laurence intoned.

“And me,” Laurel piped in.

They exclaimed in unison as the partners in play erupted into laughter. Laurence’s bigger mightier and deeper laughter mingling with Laurel’s higher, lilting child’s cadence. Alice only fell even more deeply in love with the Earl of Denbigh.

She’d loved him forever. Despite his insistence all those years ago that she was like a sister, and his assumption that she’d seen him as a brother.

She’d viewed him as a hero. He’d been a confidante.

She’d wanted him to be a lover and even more.

She’d wanted to be his wife. It had been he, however, who’d seen her as a sister.

But she’d loved him with all the force of her woman’s heart, and she’d always secretly hated whomever the lucky woman would be who’d become his countess.

Now, seeing the manner of father he would one day be to his own children only added an unholy, unforgivable envy within her.

Alice continued to stare while Laurel and Laurence began yet another round of pat-a-cake.

Some other woman would be his wife, and she’d give him a child.

Other children would become his babes, and Alice would be left alone, unmarried, with the mistakes of her past and the knowledge that there was a man who was all things good—loving, loyal, respectable, and honorable. He just wasn’t hers.

And yet a voice needled in her head. He’d insisted that she was only a sister to him.

But when he’d taken her in his arms, there’d been nothing fraternal about the power of his desire.

The only time she’d ever made love with a man had been with the dastard who’d taken her virtue.

It had been quick, sloppy, and painful. His kiss had stirred her some, but that had been all.

There had been no tender caresses. There had been no passionate embrace.

He’d given her some slobbery kisses, yanked her skirts up, parted her legs, and inserted his member inside her.

She’d been all too glad when it was over.

But when Laurence touched her, when he’d kissed her, there had been Vauxhall fireworks and explosions of warmth and hungering.

She’d never known she could hunger for a kiss.

In his arms, she—a woman who hadn’t been a virgin for a long time and who had a child—at last discovered passion.

It had ended too quickly. And it appeared it wouldn’t be repeated.

But he had wanted her. She’d felt his desire for her.

That organ, long, thick, and hard, had pulsed against her belly, an indication of his want for her.

From across the room, as if he felt her eyes upon him, Laurence looked up from whatever questions Laurel was currently peppering him with. His eyes held Alice’s.

God help her, he saw her, and there was no doubt he saw that which she couldn’t conceal—her hungering, her regret, her longing for more—with him. She knew by the way his tall, muscular body tensed and the spark of passion in his eyes.

The moment was shattered by Laurel’s loud, noisy sigh.

It was time for the little girl’s nap. There came a clearing throat sound from over where Addien stood in the doorway.

The young maid glared darkly at Alice and Laurence.

Alice’s cheeks instantly went warm at having been caught observing her daughter and Laurence like a dazed, daft romantic who was about to get herself into significant trouble.

But then isn’t that exactly what you are?

“Oy, come along, Laurel, the angels are looking for you.”

The angels being none other than those women who’d been hired as nursemaids and caregivers for the prostitutes, servants, and serving girls who found themselves in the family way, or who’d arrived here with children.

None were turned away. None who wanted work and were good, honest, and loyal to Dynevor and the Devil’s Den.

Instead of rushing over to greet the gruff Adeline, as she usually did, or whichever girl had been sent to retrieve her from whatever assignment her mother was working on, this time, Laurel lingered. She put out her lower lip that trembled and made a grab for Laurence’s hand.

“I don’t want to sleep,” she said miserably. “I want to stay with Laurence.”

And the aggrieved look in Laurence’s eyes indicated he wanted that very much too. The evidence of his desire and interest to remain conversing with her child left Alice filled with an actual physical aching for something that could not and would not be.

Even worse, when she wrenched her gaze from Laurence’s, she discovered a shocked and furious Addien staring back. Dumbfounded, when she was never anything but largely expressionless, Addien made no attempt to conceal her emotions.

“You need to get going too, Miss Killoran,” Addien snapped testily. “You’re going to earn the earl’s wrath.”

From the corner of her eye, she noted the way Laurence’s body arched forward, as if he’d had a visceral reaction to the idea of Alice answering to anyone, even her own employer, especially her own employer. Addien took a step towards him.

Anticipating that this was headed nowhere good, Alice hastily stepped in between Addien and a charged Laurence.

“Thank you so much. I’ll be along.”

Addien, defiant as the day was long, stood in wait, clearly intending to wait Alice out.

Fortunately, Laurel saved the day for Alice. Laurel gave several tugs on Addien’s hand, and with that and not another word or look back, Addien squired the child abovestairs. Her friend also very intentionally left the doors open.

Alice and Laurence rushed to speak and did so at the same time.

“She is—”

“She is—”

They stopped and shared a smile.

“You first,” Alice demurred.

“I was going to say she seems friendly.”

“She is protective of those she cares about.” Alice paused. “And I can identify only three who earn that devotion.”

Laurence inclined his head. “I take it two of those people being you and Laurel?”

Alice nodded.

“And the third?” he asked curiously.

Alice shook her head. She’d never betray the other woman’s confidence, even if it hadn’t been a spoken one and only one Alice herself had deduced.

Laurence glided over, and with every languid step that brought him closer, her heart tripled its beat until it threatened to pound from her chest. Then he stopped before her.

He brought his hand up and, with a whispery soft touch, he caressed the backs of his knuckles along her cheek.

“I would never begrudge or resent anyone who has looked after you, Alice,” he murmured melodically. “I am grateful to her.”

His eyes flashed dangerously.

“Hell, I’m even grateful to Dynevor,” he said between gritted teeth that rattled, indicating what that admission had cost him.

The knuckles he lightly stroked over her face stilled, and she wanted to plead with him to continue that tenderest of caresses.

“It should have been your brother,” he said with a voice of steel.

Alice swiftly opened her mouth to dismiss mention of Winchester. Her brother wasn’t to blame for anything. He’d allowed her freedom, even as it had cost him so much to do so. He’d cried when she left, and that had been the hardest thing of all.

Laurence stopped her. “But more, Alice,” his eyes took on a fiery passionate glimmer, “more than anything, I wish it was me,” he said.

Alice went absolutely still more than half thinking and fearing. She merely imagined and dreamed the words he now spoke. And then he said it.

“I want it to be me, Alice,” he said thickly. “Let it be me.”

Before her mind could process whether that vow was in fact real, and that beautiful, glorious dream in her heart had in fact been uttered into existence, Laurence lowered his mouth to hers.