Niles had reached them, and Paige held out her arms for Melinda. At first, the baby was shy, ducking her head into her father’s neck, but when the adults laughed, she couldn’t resist looking around. Within half an hour, she was seated on Paige’s lap, eating crackers.
“Where is Augustus?” Niles asked, trying to pretend an intense discussion of breast-feeding was not going on around him.
“He rode into Cork to meet the mail coach from ... here he comes now.”
Rose stood up to greet her uncle-by-marriage civilly. Instead, she gave a shriek of joy and ran up the slope to throw her arms around a tall handsome soldier walking at Augustus’s side. “I declare I’m jealous,” Niles said.
“As well you should be,” Paige said knowingly. “My friends in Dublin write that he is quite the lover. Mothers are starting to look at him askance, since he is never serious.”
“Does he do well in the service?” Niles asked, reaching for a macaroon and watching his wife and brother-in-law come toward them, arm-in-arm, chattering like magpies.
“Augustus’s cronies say he’s taken to it like an eagle to the sky. The colonel of his regiment is an old comrade and has quite taken Rupert under his wing.”
“Look what Uncle Augustus has brought you, Melinda. Your very own uncle.”
“B’Jove, is this Melinda? She doesn’t take after her father, thank heaven.”
“Watch your tone, my lad,” Niles said. “I still have your vowels and might make demands.”
“I thought Rose had persuaded you to throw those in the fire long since,” Rupert said uncaringly. “Let me have her. I charm all the women these days.”
Melinda was fascinated by the gold embroidery on his collar but soon grew sleepy from the long trip and the unaccustomed stimulation of five adult voices all talking at once. Rose carried her upstairs, directed by Paige’s pretty Irish maid. The cool nursery was full of shadows from the tall trees filtering the westering sunlight. Best of all, there was no sign of Mrs. Jarricks. Rose gave a limp Melinda to Nancy, who was tidying away the mountains of essentials a baby needed to travel.
In her own room, a pleasantly white chamber one floor below, Rose looked in the mirror and shook her head. It was a measure of the love her family bore her, she supposed, that no one had mentioned how completely haggard she looked. After the application of soap and water and a thorough brushing of her hair, Rose lay down beneath the white coverlet on the dark four-poster bed. She promised herself she’d sleep for only a few minutes.
When she awoke, it was full dark and someone was coming in. “Lucy?” Rose asked.
“No, it’s me.” Niles closed the door behind him with his foot and crossed the floor, balancing a tray and a candle. “You’ve slept through dinner,” he said, “so I brought you some.”
“Thank you, darling,” she said. “But you should have wakened me.”
“I did try. However, I didn’t have a brass band ready and I wouldn’t let Rupert try, He had some clever notions ...”
“He always does.”
Niles put the tray across her knees and sat down to talk to her while she ate. The soft candlelight brought out the gleams in her cascading hair and made her pupils huge and dark. He knew the texture of her velvet skin so well that he could remember the softness without touching her. Niles marveled they’d been two years married and he still desired her as passionately as on that first night.
When she finished, she stretched luxuriously, her arms above her head. Niles took the tray from her lap and put it outside the door. When the lock clicked, Rose smiled invitingly. “I should check on the nursery,” she said.
“I did. All’s well.”
“All’s well,” she repeated as Niles came into her arms.
To my family
Especially dedicated to
Miss Beth DiSciullo
Who has everything she needs to be a writer:
Imagination, determination, and love of books.
Copyright © 2003 by Cynthia Pratt
Originally published by Zebra (ISBN 0821774883)
Electronically published in 2014 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.RegencyReads.com
Electronic sales: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
The Black Mask Page 19