and linked his fingers over his middle. Silence had settled over the house and he drew a deep breath of relief, allowing his voice to sigh out into empty space. “This has been a hell of a day.”
Over and over, vivid flashes of the coach rolling onto its side haunted him. He could picture the widow and his ward tumbling about inside. Would this nightmarish day never end? Although the coachman had assured Adron the accident wasn’t his fault, his stomach roiled with guilt. His fury and careless behavior placed the blame squarely on his shoulders. He examined his emotional involvement in his dealings with the widow. Her determination to remain with her son had won his grudging respect and he smothered a curse. He didn’t want to admire her. For his peace of mind, the sooner she gave up and departed the better for all concerned.
His lips tightened and he vowed to his cousin’s memory that he would protect Jamie, even from his own mother. One corner of his mouth curved up in a self-mocking smile. Because he was attracted to her, his method of dealing with her would, out of necessity, be harsh. He brushed his fingers through his hair and thought, Too hell with this, and stood to his feet. It was time to abandon his broodings and seek his bed.
Grabbing one candle with which to light his way, he blew out the others and took the steps two at a time. Compelled, he nudged the nursery door open and stared at the sight before him; Laurel slumped in the rocker next to the crib with her hand on her son’s back. Both mother and child were sound asleep. Disconcerted, he edged back as quietly as he had come. A frown pleated his brows. This scene failed to coincide with his image of a disinterested mother.
“Impossible,” he whispered but all the same, he hardened his heart against the tender picture she presented. He clenched his teeth and hurried away.
Laurel woke with a start. All seemed well with Jamie so she climbed the stairs, finally crawling into her sagging bed, but try as she would, sleep eluded her. Questions plagued her. Why had her room been searched and why had Rhonda really been in the nursery? Drat Lord Gladrey for placing her on the floor above her son. Being next door to him would have proved more convenient to check on him during the night. Unease nagged at her until she eased out of bed. She must know that Jamie slept, that he continued to breathe and that his heart was still beating. Laurel crept back into the nursery.
Morning light peeked into the nursery waking Laurel and she quickly rubbed a crick from her neck. She glanced around. All appeared quiet and peaceful. She took advantage of the moment to return to her room and dress for the day.
Mid-morning, she plopped onto the floor, grabbed a ball to roll to Jamie and sighed with pleasure. All of her immediate chores were complete and now was her opportunity to play with her son. Watching him laugh and to kiss his face was a treat to her. She never tired of being with him.
The nursery door opened and Lord Gladrey stepped into the room. As her glance met his, a sizzling arch of awareness seemed to draw her to him, not in anger or disdain, but with pure physical attraction.
“Morning,” he said with a smile. He squatted down beside Jamie, but his gaze remained on her.
Mesmerized by his continued stare she lowered her lids to break the contact. “Good morning.”
Jamie giggled, calling attention to himself and his eyes rounded with a stare. Kicking his feet with excitement, he rolled the ball. Lord Gladrey’s expression gentled as he returned the ball. With his face softened in tenderness, Laurel was surprised by his display of a soft, caring side. Wearing his dark hair tied at his neck exposed his high cheekbones and strong jaw—a truly masculine face. She’d been so caught up in her battle with him she’d somehow failed to fully appreciate the ruggedly handsome face behind the ruthless expression he wore. The harshness had faded, replaced by a
Learning to Kill: Stories