by Em Taylor
A crumpled heap almost wholly covered in snow. When he got to it, he was confused. A man’s greatcoat covered the form of the person. Then he heard a sound like a kitten. What could the noise be?
Turning over the person, his gaze fell on a pretty blonde-haired woman, her face deathly white, her lips blue, her arms wrapped protectively around her chest where the squalling, which was now louder was coming from.
Jason now had a horrible feeling he knew what he was going to find. He unbuttoned the woman’s coat and underneath an elaborate scarf, nestled against her bare breast, was a baby, its little red face angry as it cried for whatever it felt its poor mother was not providing.
“Christ alive,” Jason cursed as he lifted the infant. He didn’t know much about babies but he knew this was not a new born. It was a few months old, but he knew not how many. He arranged the woman’s dress back over her breast, feeling rather like a brute for the moment’s lapse in gentlemanly thought, which caused him to appreciate the roundness of the flesh and the rosy colour of her nipple. Good God, the woman could die and he was thinking with his cock.
Now, how was he to get them and the horse home? He decided in the end to tie the horse to a tree and worry about it later. He would lift the woman and her babe and carry them back to the house, then send a servant out to bring back the horse and bag.
With the babe in one arm, it was a difficult manoeuvre to get the woman over his shoulder. It was not the best way to carry her, but it was necessary. He might not be the most gentlemanly of gentlemen in this moment, but he might save her life and that was more important.
He trudged through the snow, following the tracks he had just made with the horse, unsure if there was a quicker way to the dower house but deciding this was a better plan than getting lost himself.
When he rapped on the door, the butler answered and his mouth fell open. Jason gave him clipped instructions to send someone to fetch the horse, following his trail and to bring the woman’s bag into the house after stabling the horse in the stables.
He then took the woman and baby upstairs and laid them on his bed.
He picked a blanket up off the chair and wrapped the crying baby in it. He then placed the babe on a pillow on the centre of the bed, praying the little mite would not crawl off. He did not think a baby of that age could crawl, but he honestly had no idea. Taking the woman’s great coat and half-boots off, he then manoeuvred her under the bedclothes and moved to add more wood to the fire.
She muttered something and moved her head. The infant was still crying.
He walked over to it and grimaced. There was a rather noxious smell coming from it. He opened the blanket and lifted the infant’s gown, realising immediately where the smell was coming from. Damn, it needed changed. He pulled the pins out of the covering over the infant’s bottom and recoiled when he saw the brown sticky mess on the fabric and the infant’s skin. So, it was a boy.
“Well young man, I suppose I shall have to clean you, until the butler sees fit to send up a maid?” As he said that, the leg that Jason was not holding bent and landed neatly in the infant’s excrement. “Good Lord, you are a messy pup,” he said lifting the infant up and draping him over one arm before folding the fabric that had previously been covering the infants bottom and giving it a swipe to get the worst of the mess off. Jason turned his face to the side and took a deep breath. He moved over to the basin and ewer and lifted a couple of linens from the table to wipe the baby’s bottom and foot. The baby seemed to be settling and crying less ferociously. He was more snuffling and grizzling than anything else.
Jason wondered if he should put anything on the baby’s backside. He was not even sure if it was properly clean. He lifted the infant up towards his nose and sniffed. There was still a faint aroma of the mess the child had created earlier but then the soiled linen was still in the room. He had no clue if it was the babe or the general smell in the room.
With one hand he pulled the stopper off his cologne bottle and upended it, after stopping it with his finger. This left a wet drop on his finger tip when he laid the bottle back down. He then surveyed the tiny human. How to make the creature smell nice. He put the cologne on his own pulse points but he wanted the thing’s arse to smell nice. He knew there were pulse points behind the knees. That would have to do. He dabbed the cologne behind the child’s knees and then swiped it dry on the small of his back. There. That would hopefully do it.
No one was yet back with the woman’s bag. He could not leave the babe with nothing on his bottom half. After laying the infant back on the pillow, he opened a drawer and raked about. Picking up a nightshirt—something he never wore but that his valet had insisted on packing for him, Jason took a knife that he kept handy in his belongings and used it to rent the garment in two. satisfied, he took the lower half of the nightshirt and approached the now gurgling baby. Realising the soiled linen was still on the bed, he grabbed it and not being able to think what else to do with it, he opened the window and tossed it out into the snow. At least that may take care of some of the smell, he mused.
The baby’s hands were out as if he wanted something. Jason reached his finger down and the baby grabbed it, trying to pull it to his mouth. Jason chuckled.
“I am not your mama’s breast, I am afraid, old boy. You shall have to wait until she rouses.” He glanced at the woman and frowned. That could be hours.
He placed part of the nightshirt under the babe’s bottom then folded it a few times over the front. In all honesty, he had no clue what he was doing, but he reckoned he needed more padding at the front than the back. He had never seen how they stopped babies from messing themselves. He had seen a few babies and gingerly held one or two but they had always smelled clean and pampered and when they had cried, they had been passed back to their mama or nurse with a clucking sound from the women and mutterings about how useless men were with children.
Once the covering was folded and pinned in place, he lifted the infant, but could see that the pins were not going to hold. He laid the child back down immediately, lest there be a wet accident.
“What to do?” he muttered. Going back to his drawers, he found a cravat. It would do the trick.
He took it back to the bed and weaved it around the baby’s legs and waist until he knew the nightshirt remnant must be secure. Lifting the baby again, all seemed to be well and the covering secure. The baby gurgled and then frowned and snuffled before letting out a terrible wail and starting to cry.
“Devil take it,” Jason muttered. Where were the servants?
He hurried downstairs only to find Lang, the butler stoking the fire in the drawing room.
“Lang, why have you not sent a maid up to me? I am alone with a woman in my bedchamber. It is not proper.”
Lang stood and lowered his head.
“Well, my lord, His Lordship has taken all the servants except for cook and myself to the manor house. They are making sure all is well, and he is allowing the servants to bring any more of their things to the dower house. He is also bringing some more of his belongings here. They left just before you arrived with the woman. I was, however, able to send the stable lad to fetch the horse and the woman’s bag. I was going to dry the bag by the fire before sending it up.”
“What am I to do with her?”
“What have you done with her?”
“I put her in my bed to warm her up and the babe is on a pillow near her. Damn, I left him alone. He could crawl away.”
“I only caught a glance of the babe when you brought him in, my lord. He is too young to crawl, but he could roll. We should fashion a box into a makeshift crib, or perhaps a drawer. It is what the lower classes do with babies.”
“Fine. What of her?”
“Keeping her warm is probably the best thing for her. I shall heat up some bricks to lay around her.”
“Thank you.”
“The baby is crying, what do I do?”
“It either needs fed or it needs changed.”
&n
bsp; “I changed its… err… undergarment. It was soiled.”
“You did?”
“Aye.”
“The woman had a spare one with her?”
“No, I ripped up my nightshirt and fashioned a covering for him over his arse.”
“I see.”
“It did not hold so I kept it on with a cravat.”
The butler raised an eyebrow but otherwise remained his usual stoic self.
“I am sure you did a wonderful job my lord.”
“What about feeding him?”
“I would suggest putting the babe to the mother’s breast, my lord. But that may be inappropriate. We can try bread dipped in milk for him.”
“Damn appropriate, the child needs to be fed, and she is not awake. I doubt she will thank me if her child dies.”
“No I am sure she will not.”
“Besides, if she has a child, she is hardly an innocent.”
“I assume not, my lord.”
Jason scowled at the man. Was he just appeasing him? It was the trouble with servants. You never knew if they agreed with you out of duty, or because they genuinely thought you were correct.
“Do I have the right of it, Lang?”
“I believe you do, my lord.” Jason gave the butler a long hard look but still could not tell. Devil take it.
“I shall be in my room. Find a box and fill it with whatever it needs to be filled with to make it a crib.”
“Aye, my lord.”
As Jason mounted the stairs, he was aware that the baby was now screeching. Damn! What if he had fallen off the bed and hurt himself? He hurried along the hall to his bedchamber and burst through the door to find that the infant had indeed rolled off the pillow, but was in fact nearer his mother in the centre of the bed and was attempting to lift his head.
“Come, lad, there is no need for all this hullabaloo.” He lifted the child and tried to remember how he had seen the nurses and mothers holding their charges and replicated it. The baby seemed to cry in a less angry fashion then. He remembered seeing a nurse bouncing with a baby and shushing it. He tried that and after a minute or two the baby began to grizzle instead of cry. His mouth opened and he seemed to be trying to find something on Jason’s waistcoat to capture with his lips.
It reminded him of being in the throes of passion and rooting for a woman’s nipple. That was when Jason stilled and gazed at the baby. Was he looking for food? Was he unable to tell the difference between his mother and a man in a waistcoat? He placed the tip of his finger in the tiny creature’s mouth and the little fellow sucked on it anxiously. After a minute, when he obviously got no milk from the finger, his little brow furrowed, and Jason could see the gathering storm about to erupt.
“Now, now. I was just testing, young man. Give me a chance. I know not what I am doing here. I am not your mama and all the servants who might know have gone off with bloody Whitsnow. The man’s an arse. Why the hell did he decide to go marching off to the manor house with all the servants in tow. Everyone seems to be out in the snow for no apparent reason today.”
He took the child over to its mother and pulled back the covers. Then he tugged down the top of the woman’s gown. Her chemise had a wet mark just over her nipple. It must be milk. He recalled learning during the anatomy classes at university that milk would sometimes leak when the baby was not suckling.
He undid the ribbon bow of her chemise and pulled the damp fabric off her pale bosom. Having never unclothed a woman for any purpose other than bedding her before, this seemed wrong and he was uncomfortable. But the baby in his arm was upset and no doubt hungry. He would not see the thing starve. He glanced out the window and wondered how in the name of all that was holy he had managed to end up in this situation. Where the hell was Whitsnow? He had been holed up with the fellow and his servants for three weeks and now, all of a sudden, the man had decided to go off and check on the manor.
Jason leaned over the woman, the baby facing downwards and plopped it atop her. Surely it would find its way, would it not? It would be natural instinct. The thing had been rooting around at his chest for something to suck. But a wail from the tiny boy told Jason that had been the wrong thing to do.
“Hush, hush,” he crooned, lifting the babe up. “I am doing the best I can here. When you are grown up, you shall look back on this day and marvel at how well I did.” He grimaced then. He remembered very little from before the age of perhaps five. A few memories from before he was breeched but they were hazy at best. “Well, perhaps if your mama and I stay in touch, I shall write to you and tell you of this day.”
He looked down at the women. Her gown looked expensive and relatively fashionable. He did not pay a great deal of attention to the twittering of women about bonnets, trimmings, hems and necklines but he knew a well-dressed lady. This beauty who lay in his bed fit that description. He vaguely recognised her and had a feeling he had met her at ton entertainments.
But why was she alone, with a babe, without a nurse or servants? More squalling from the infant brought him back to the task at hand. Yes, he really needed to work out how to feed the child.
Perhaps she needed to be more upright.
Jason grabbed the spare pillows and placed them under her head and shoulders after placing the infant back on the bed. This was becoming a bigger production than changing the undergarment of the tiny creature. He wished he knew the thing’s name. And he should stop referring to it as a thing in his own head, he supposed. It was a human, a male human. It, or rather he, might have a title if Jason was correct about recognising his mama. The babe could be a duke for all Jason knew.
He manoeuvred the woman over on the bed a little so he could perch on the side of it, then he picked the babe up. Holding its head in one hand and its backside in the other, he gingerly pressed the baby’s mouth to the woman’s nipple. The baby nuzzled and looked initially as if he was going to refuse. He made a few snuffling noises and Jason had just let out an exasperated huff when the babe’s lips wrapped around the tip of the mother’s breast and started to suckle.
Jason let out a sigh of relief.
The baby started to make loud sucking noises. Jason did his best to keep his hand steady. The little ones hand came up and plastered themselves to his mama’s body, as if to steady himself, and as if worried that his sustenance may be removed from him at any moment. If the squalling stopped, Jason was happy to stay like this forever.
However after five minutes, Jason was sure his arms were on fire. His muscles ached. How could one so tiny weigh so much? When he tried to lay the infant atop his mam, the child seemed to lose purchase on the breast and started to snuffle as though he was going to start crying again. This was intolerable.
Jason had seen pictures of women breastfeeding in his anatomy classes at university and in bawdy paintings in disreputable homes. Usually the poor woman had her breasts out feeding an infant, while some gentleman was licking at her up her skirts or something. Not that he was against that endeavour, but he would never do it while a woman fed her child. If he was doing that to a woman, he wanted her full attention on what he was doing.
It must be in the posture and the way the babe was held against the woman, he mused. Perhaps if he was behind her and holding the infant the way she would hold him, it would work better. He kicked off his shoes and accepting that the baby would start crying again, he placed it on the bed. He then inched the woman forward, sliding his leg behind her and down the side of her thigh. When he was seated properly behind her as if atop a horse, he picked up the babe. With a few curses and a lot of awkward manoeuvring, he managed to settle both mother and child against his body.
It was rather comfortable actually. With one arm under the baby’s torso and one on its head, he was able to guide it back to its food source. The loud suckling noises told Jason he had achieved his end and he leaned back against the pillows, the woman coming back with him.
She murmured something then and her hand reached up to stroke the baby’s head.
Jason held his breath. What he was doing was wholly inappropriate, even if he thought it was necessary. The babe needed fed but imagine if someone saw them.
“No,” the woman murmured. “You cannot have Oscar.”
Oscar? Was that the baby or her husband? The idea of the woman having a husband annoyed him for some reason. He did not know why. She was beautiful, of course. From what he could see, she was curved in all the right places. Her features were delicate and her lips plump and kissable. He had a semi-erect cock to prove what an effect she was having on him. It was only not fully erect because he was working hard to tamp down the aforementioned reactions. She was unconscious and under his protection. He would never have had her half-stripped but for the babe.
“Shh,” he crooned, hoping she would not wake to find herself inflagrante delicto with him. But luck was not to be his mistress today.
“Where am I?” she asked.
Damn, it seemed she was awake.
“You are safe,” he said.
“Oscar,” she said.
Did she think he was Oscar—the husband?
“Who is Oscar?”
“My baby. The one you are holding at my breast, sir, while I appear to be half naked in a strange bed.” Her voice was slightly groggy but there was a note of panic in it. “Who are you?”
“Lord Jason Rose-Reid. And you are?”
“You are the Earl of Ashgate’s son.”
“I am. How do you know that?”
“I am a lady. I know Debrett’s from cover to cover. You think I do not know all the marriageable gentlemen of the ton and how deep their pockets are? Either you are a fool or you are terribly naïve, my lord.”
“I believe the first since I am currently in this situation and do not even know your name, my lady.”
“I know not yet if you are friend or foe. Therefore, I retain the right not to say.”
“Why were you out in the snow with a babe in arms?” he asked. She looked down at her child, then shrugged out of his hold. He dropped his hands to the side and allowed her to shuffle forward in the bed. He extracted himself from the bed and stood, turning his back to her so that he could don his coat and shoes and get his traitorous body back under control.