by Tessa Bowen
A powerful wave of emotion surged through him, causing his chest to tighten. Instead of investigating the source of this emotion, he cracked a joke.
“I bet she gave birth without getting a single hair out of place, right?”
“That bun is truly amazing.”
They shared a laugh together. “Do you think it’s real? It might be fake.”
“It’s real—it’s all real.”
“Sometimes I wonder…”
He knew very well she was real. He’d felt her inside and out. She looked like a fine piece of art, but she was a woman beneath the careful facade—a woman who had given birth to his child.
Isabel gave a long sigh. “What I would give for those boobs…”
“You’re put together real nice, Duchess. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Thanks,” she smiled and pushed him toward the door. “Now go back in there and be nice to her.”
“Got it, boss.”
Jack found the Baroness in somewhat the same position as before except she had her knees raised under the covers and her face lowered into her hands. Her legendary bun was a little askew—sort of smashed sideways. Probably a sign she was truly wrecked.
Great, he’d been such a dick that he’d made the mother of his child cry on her first day home from the hospital. He really hated it when she cried. She was such an elegant woman and when she cried she looked like a lost little girl. It made him feel like a complete and utter shit heel.
“Please don’t come back in here and tell me I have a pinched face,” she sniffed, looking up at him with wet eyes. “I already know.”
She didn’t look pinched, she looked lovely in fact. How a woman could look pretty crying he’d never know—or this good after giving birth. It really was remarkable. Weren’t women supposed to be swollen and misshapen after labor—at least for a few days—weeks even? He couldn’t make out much of her body under the blanket, but he sensed it was unmarred. One thing was certain, her glorious breasts only appeared more glorious.
“I think I’ve gotten my asshole behavior out of the way for today—want to try feeding her again?” he asked softly.
She wiped her face free of tears. “Oh, I do—but I’m not sure I can bare it if she scowls at me again.”
“I think she gets that scowl from me.”
The Baroness perked up at this, arching a dark brow. “I would have to agree with you.”
“But she’s got your pout.”
“I’m not pouting,” she pouted. “I just don’t want to wake her, what if she makes that ungodly howl again?”
“She won’t howl.”
“It is time to feed her…”
“How about this, I’ll lay her next to you and we’ll see what happens. No pressure, but I meant what I said before about your hair. How about taking it down?”
Somehow he knew her pale hands would flutter to her scalp. He guessed he was getting familiar with this woman’s feminine habits.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly. I haven’t had it done.”
“Jesus, give it a rest. You just had a baby.”
“That’s no excuse to look like a harridan.”
“Your hair holds your scent, right?” he started carefully. “I just know with horses, that’s how a mother bonds with her foal. It’s all in the mane. When the foal is first born it nestles into its mother’s tresses. Once they smell each other, they are connected forever. ”
The Baroness sighed impatiently. “Oh, Mr. Johnson—you and your silly horse analogies drive me batty. You want me to nurse in the Western style as well, I see.”
It appeared she wasn’t going to call him Jack again anytime soon.
Probably just as well…
“Let’s try it, ok? We’ll see if she picks up your scent. I’ll give you a foot rub while we wait.”
“A foot rub?”
“Yeah, don’t your feet hurt?”
“Yes, everything hurts. Even my hair.”
“Well, let’s release the beast then.”
Jack held his breath as he came toward the side of the bed. The Baroness was a lot like a nervous horse. He had to approach this fussy filly with extreme caution. Holding the sleeping bundle that was his daughter, he took a seat on the edge of the mattress. She didn’t stiffen so he very carefully handed her the baby. Now he had her trapped. If she bridled she’d wake the slumbering doll. He raised one hand first and touched the side of her head. When he raised the other hand to cradle her skull, her gaze fluttered upward to focus on him instead of their child, but she did not flinch. He dragged his hands through her scalp until his fingers met with her notorious chignon.
“How do you work this thing?”
“It’s just a knot with a few pins—”
He’d found the clips and released them before she could finish her sentence. The knot unfurled as her hair came down in one long coil over her shoulder. The glistening spiral reached all the way past her breasts and Jack’s mouth went a little dry at the thought of unravelling the silken skein.
“You’re quite good at that,” she teased.
“Didn’t you know—I’m a hair whisperer too.”
She laughed softly. The sound made his spine turn to butter and she hadn’t even called him Jack.
“I had a teacher when I was a kid who wore a bun,” he told her. “I had the hots for her. I always wondered what her hair looked like down.”
“Oh, I see…”
Her lashes swept downward in a demure gesture. If she taught their daughter how to do that, every dude was bound to be a goner. He noticed the color rose in her cheeks too. Hell, he was probably blushing. Somehow the act of taking her hair down seemed more intimate than undressing her, especially now that he’d confessed his boyhood obsession for ladies who wore buns.
Jack started at her hairline, raking his fingers through the neat side part until her mane was released in all of its natural glory. It sprang to life in his hands, bouncing and unfolding in long rippling waves. He tugged on the rich stuff in fascination. It flowed through his hands like liquid white-gold, trapping his fingers in shimmering spirals.
Mesmerized, he picked up one fat curl. “It’s wavy…I didn’t know.”
“I usually beat it into submission with a hot iron.”
She looked younger with the pale cloud of hair framing her face and so achingly beautiful that it sort of disturbed him. The idea of her singeing her gorgeous locks disturbed him even more.
“Why the hell would you do a thing like that?” he asked.
“English ladies don’t have wavy hair, Mr. Johnson. Or so my mother always told me when I was a small girl. A woman would come every month to the house and put harsh chemicals on it. It used to burn my scalp and leave welts. Anyway, I guess I got used to it being straight. I don’t have it treated anymore. It never really worked anyway. My hair would always revert. I just wear it back now. It’s the only style that disguises its true nature. If I want to wear it down, I have someone come and do it properly so it doesn’t look so terribly unruly. It very easily turns into a tangled fright. As you can see…”
She wrinkled her nose and blew the thick golden forelock out of her eye. She was talking about her hair like it was some kind of hideous appendage or an embarrassing feature to be concealed at all cost, when truly it was her best feature.
“You’re an idiot.”
She looked so hurt he wanted to laugh out loud.
“Why, because I have awful hair?”
Bemused, Jack shook his head. “You have amazing hair, but you’re still an idiot.”
She blinked in astonishment and he found himself stifling laughter again. This ridiculous woman actually had no clue that she looked like a perfect print ad for a shampoo company.
“Do you really think she’ll pick up my scent this way?” she asked.
“We’ll see,” he said, helping her to arrange the infant in the proper position, before his fingers went to the straps at her shoulders.
“And wha
t if she doesn’t like my scent?”
Lilies of the Valley….her goddamn hair smells like Lilies of the Valley. Who could take offense at that?
“You’re her mother, she’ll like the way you smell.”
“If you say so,” she fretted.
Gently, he wrapped his fingers around one smooth shoulder and began to tug the strap of her nightgown down.
She did flinch then, her eyes meeting his when the top of one full breast was exposed. “Will you look away please?”
He chuckled with amusement. “Why are you being so straight-laced?”
“We don’t know each other very well,” she explained. “As strange as that sounds.”
“We made her together, didn’t we?”
“Yes, but…”
He distracted her with their perfect child while he tugged the strap the rest of the way down. He nestled the baby against her bosom and retreated.
“I guess a foot massage isn’t a very good idea, is it? I’ve seen the way you react when you have your feet touched.”
“It’s a very good idea,” she argued. “I’m only ticklish if the touch is too light, but if your hands are firm…”
“You don’t have to beg. And don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on tickling your toes with a feather—that’s not really my style.”
“Well, if it’s not too much of an inconvenience…”
“We have to get you relaxed, remember?”
He repositioned himself at the bottom of her bed and flipped the duvet back until he found her pale feet and slim ankles. He pulled her legs into his lap and glanced down at her exquisitely polished toenails (a sedate nude shade of course). Her feet were good-looking too, not small and dainty but long and elegant with graceful arches. He recalled how she’d freaked when his fingers had brushed those graceful arches that night in the barn. It was so strange that he’d been deep inside this woman’s body. A masculine stirring caused him to shift her feet in his lap. He couldn’t get a hard-on now. This wasn’t supposed to be a sexual experience. This was all about her and their daughter. Getting an erection with his baby in the room hardly seemed fitting anyway.
Jack tested the waters by giving her feet a good squeeze. When she didn’t fuss, he began drawing circles in her arches, stroking upwards with the same steady pressure until he reached the balls of her feet. He started in surprise when she let out a moan.
“That’s heaven,” she exhaled.
This woman’s likes and dislikes were impossible to keep track of. She had screeched at him before about touching her feet and now…
Her head tilted back on the headboard, eyes closing as she reveled in the massage. “You’re a bloody genius at that.”
In the next moment the Baroness was fast asleep. It had taken him two minutes flat to put her down. He smiled with satisfaction and rose very carefully, tucking her feet back under the covers. Then he took a seat across the room and waited. Waited and watched—admired more than watched. These two made a real pair of sleeping beauties. He could use a nap too, but didn’t dare close his eyes. He didn’t want to miss the moment his daughter found her way to her mother. The moment was near (apparently) for the baby’s eyes popped open and she raised her little fists in the air. When she yawned and stretched, her tiny fingers came into contact with the lustrous curtain around her. No doubt the floral perfume of the Baroness’s locks had roused her from sleep. Jack could smell her scent clear across the room.
The baby curled her tiny fingers in her mother’s tresses as she wriggled closer to the offered breast. The infant’s face disappeared into soft flesh for a moment as she burrowed, nestling deep until she was able to stake claim on her food source. She went for the nipple with gusto and the Baroness’s eyes flew open in surprise.
She let out a shocked giggle. “Oh, my!”
The infant sucked, drawing in strong pulls as Abigail watched in fascination from beneath her cascading veil of hair.
“She has a good grip on you now, doesn’t she?”
“Her little mouth is like a vice on my breast.” Abigail glowed proudly with the words.
Jack winked at her from his chair. “She knows what’s good.”
She met his gaze across the room, rosy cheeks blooming anew. “I guess she likes the way I smell.”
The baby stared up at her as she fed, batting her eyelashes as she tugged locks of silvery-gold hair.
The Baroness beamed with pleasure. The woman had turned to pudding before his very eyes. He’d never thought she could go this soft. A radiant glow surrounded her as she nursed her daughter, cradling her close to her creamy bosom. Jack wasn’t a religious man, but he found himself drawing all sorts of Madonna and baby Jesus comparisons. Maybe they were more of a mother and daughter goddess combo. Whatever they were, they were the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen and the sight was one he knew he’d never forget. He realized it wasn’t entirely appropriate, but every fiber of his being was pulled toward the scene.
He rose from the chair. “May I approach?” he asked formally.
The Baroness nodded with a widening smile. “Thank you for helping me, Jack.”
Jack.
There it was. Yep, his toes were curling in his boots. Now the moment was complete.
“We don’t even have a name for her,” she said softly as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. “We never discussed it.”
“We can discuss it now.”
Jack couldn’t resist touching his daughter’s downy head, stroking a thumb across the soft feathers, being careful to avoid the perfect globe she suckled on. The baby threw him a bored glance and went back to her feeding. No doubt her milky treat was far more delicious than anything he had to offer. He watched those red lips work. She smacked them together, making a little cluck of approval. A noisy burp followed.
Jack couldn’t resist a playful pinch on her glistening upper lip. The way it puffed over the lower one was truly charming. “She looks like a little duck,” he remarked.
“That’s exactly what I thought!” Abigail exclaimed. “She’s our downy duckling.”
“We ought to call her Ducky.”
“Oh, we couldn’t do that to the poor girl. She looks rather like…a Daphne.”
“Ok, Daphne Duck.”
The Baroness stifled laughter. “You can’t call her that!”
“Too late—already done.”
Ducky let out a loud quack to accentuate her father’s point.
It was indeed already done.
Chapter Eight
The Baroness awoke the next morning to find her baby missing. She stared horror-stricken into the empty crib.
“Where is my baby?” she called out in a croaking whisper. “Who has taken my baby?”
Dread suffused her. The kidnapper could only be Jack Johnson. She flew out of the room.
“Archie!” she screeched from the top of the steps. “Gracie—where has he taken her?”
She rushed barefoot down the winding staircase, her hair and nightclothes fluttering around her. Scenes from the day before flashed before her. He’d been a prince—the moment they’d shared had been truly special.
Or had it?
Had he only returned to claim his child and whisk her away? This would be in keeping with his inconsistent attitude toward her. Sometimes he acted like her friend and other times he was spiteful. As much as he had supported her before her labor and during her problem with the nursing, he’d been harsh to her as well. Perhaps this man truly despised her and had placated her just long enough to take his child from her. It would be just like him to rescue her from her ice queen of a mother.
By the time she made it to the bottom of the stairs she was running like a madwoman on the loose.
Gracie hurried toward her. “My Lady, what is the matter?”
“My baby—he’s taken my baby!”
“Who has, My Lady?”
The Baroness clutched her by her shoulders, fingernails digging through her uniform. “Jack Johnson!” she
gasped.
“No, My Lady,” Gracie soothed. “He’s having breakfast with her in the Morning Room.”
“He…what…?”
She spotted Jack Johnson standing by the buffet, shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of jeans. When he turned and looked at her, she noticed the tiny hatchling nestled in the crook of his arm. Her baby was safe and content, as content could be. She too was only half-dressed in a neat white diaper and nothing else. Both baby and father suffered from extreme cases of bedhead.
Jack noshed on a piece of bacon. “Jesus, what happened to you? Rough night, huh?”
Abigail fussed with the tie on her robe and started to pat down her hair, realizing what a terrible fool she’d been. They might have bedhead but no doubt she had crazy lady hair.
He addressed Gracie. “Is there any chance I could get a cup of coffee?”
“Yes, sir—right away, sir.”
The girl flew out of the room, only too willing to do his bidding.
“I would have gotten it myself,” he mumbled. “But I don’t know where anything is.”
“You changed her diaper.” Abigail said in disbelief. Was there anything this man couldn’t do?
“Yep, not bad, right? I’ve had some practice.”
On whom? Abigail wondered—nieces or nephews? Or did he have other children she didn’t know about. She still knew next to nothing about this man—this effortless and talented man who looked like a male model with his beautiful bare chest and low slung jeans. Apparently, the baby was besotted by his appearance as well. She wore a heavy-lidded expression as she watched him from her snuggly seat. Gracie was certainly besotted. She handed him the cup and saucer and stood there gawking like a ninny when he grinned at her and told her she could have brought it to him in a Styrofoam cup. Now Archie was in on it too.
“Oh, splendid—you’ve found each other.”
The Baroness supposed a half-dressed American male model was quite the novelty here at Sutton Place. Trevor was a fine-looking man and had sent Gracie into a fit of titters often, but he would rather have died than stalk around the place in a state of undress. He usually wore a suit and tie to breakfast, but this man wore his naked skin with comfort and confidence.