Page 58 of The Scottish Duke's Deal

“Of all the things I want him to do better.”

Eleanor grinned. “Why not? But make sure you include hugs. He’s very stingy with those.”

Penelope nodded seriously. “I’ll write it in ink.”

They painted for a while longer. The sun moved across the rug, inching slowly toward the corner. Outside, the day drifted on—calm and blue and unmarred by consequence.

Eleanor felt it again. That surprising, delicate quiet inside her.

She hadn’t known what to expect of Ramsay’s niece. Certainly not this. This strange, sweet connection that had appeared out of nowhere and made her feel like she belonged for the first time in weeks.

She looked at Penelope’s hunched shoulders, at the way her tongue peeked out when she concentrated, and she thought,I will stay. I will try. I will make this strange life something more than survival.

And maybe she could make something whole again.

The afternoon light had begun to shift, casting long gold streaks across the floor. The room had fallen unusually quiet. Eleanor blinked, the haze of her thoughts clearing slowly, and glanced down.

Penelope’s fingers had gone sticky with sleep. She’d curled against Eleanor’s side on the settee, her painted bird held tight to her chest. Eleanor gently disentangled them, lifting the girl with care. Penelope murmured something incoherent and rested her head against Eleanor’s shoulder. Her weight was slight. A bird herself, soft-boned and warm, already half in dreams.

Eleanor crossed the dim hallway with slow, measured steps. The candles flickered low in their sconces. Somewhere below, a door creaked shut. The house was quiet now, steeped in the hush that only came after twilight.

In the child’s room, Eleanor set Penelope down and pulled the covers over her. A few strands of hair clung to her damp forehead. Eleanor smoothed them back then reached for the night lamp.

Just before she turned it down, Penelope’s eyes blinked open. “Will you stay?”

Eleanor stilled. “I’ll be just down the hall.”

“But not gone?”

“No,” Eleanor said softly. “Not gone.”

The girl nodded, already drifting again. Eleanor stood a moment longer, watching the rise and fall of her small chest. Then she turned to the door, pulled it shut with the faintest click?—

And collided with a wall in the corridor.

She gasped, hand flying to her chest.

Once again… it was not a wall.

Ramsay stood there, arms crossed. Too close. Too warm. His hair was mussed, and his shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows, forearms dark and sinewed in the lamplight. He didn’t move.

“God,” Eleanor muttered, trying to catch her breath. “You could have made a sound.”

“I did.”

“Well, not a loud one.”

His gaze flicked to the nursery door then back to her. “She’s asleep?”

“Yes.”

“And content, I assume.”

Eleanor folded her arms. “Is there a reason you’re lurking outside children’s rooms?”

“I was coming to see how it ended.” He leaned one shoulder against the wall. “You’ve a talent for ignoring instruction.”

Eleanor arched a brow. “You meanyourinstruction of being a mother to Penelope?”