the point where Vim had left the country with a sense of relief to be going back to England. Long faces everywhere, sad tales, sad songs, sad prayers, and vodka.
“Nearly drove me to Bedlam, I tell you.”
Africa hadn’t been any better though, nor Tasmania. The Americas were reasonably cheerful places, provided a man didn’t venture too far north or south, nor too far inland.
Kit whimpered and swung his fist toward Vim’s nose again.
“You want your supper or your tea or whatever. Don’t worry, Miss Sophie will be stepping and fetching for you directly. You’re going to be a typical male, relying on the women for all the important things—though you’re a little small yet for that discussion.”
“Mr. Charpentier, are you having a conversation with that child?”
Sophie stood in the doorway, a tray in her hands and her head cocked at a curious angle.
“He won’t learn to speak if all he hears is silence.” Though Vim had to wonder how much Miss Sophie had heard. “Do you want that cat in here?”
An enormous, long-haired black animal was stropping itself against her skirts.
“That’s Elizabeth. He’s earned a little nap by the fire.” The cat continued to bob around her hems, its gait a far cry from a feline’s usual sinuous movement.
“What’s wrong with him?”
She nudged the door closed with her hip and set the tray down on a coffee table. “Nothing is wrong with him; he’s simply missing a front leg. How do we feed that child?”
Indeed, upon closer inspection, under all the hair, the cat was managing on only three legs, and that in addition to the burden of being a tom named Elizabeth. “Let’s use the sofa. I’ll demonstrate, and then you can take over.”
He settled with the baby then waited while Sophie took a seat just a few inches away. The cat—lucky beast—curled himself up against her other hip.
“This is a messy proposition, but it’s all in good fun,” Vim explained. “You can’t load up the spoon with too much—his mouth is quite small, and he’ll manage to get the excess all over creation. You also have to prop him up a bit to help him get the food down rather than up. When he starts batting at the spoon or using the spoon like a catapult, you know he’s through for the time being.”
“How does a new mother learn all of this?”
“The baby teaches her, and I expect a mama’s sisters and cousins and grandmothers lend a hand. In my experience, the younger a man is, the more the ladies admire him. Isn’t that right, Kit?”
His use of the baby’s name had the child turning to regard him, which opportunity Vim used to slip a spoonful of porridge into the infant’s mouth.
“Success. There, you see? He was hungry.”
The baby kicked in agreement and opened his little maw again, fists waving while Vim navigated another spoonful of porridge down the hatch.
“We’re off to a great start. Would you like to try the next one?” He passed her the spoon and saw her expression shift to one of determination.
“It’s as you said earlier, isn’t it?” She dipped the spoon into the porridge. “One should be quick and calm, like with the animals.”
“Precisely.” She had the knack of it immediately, slipping the child his food without little fists or little feet interfering.
And she was so absorbed in her task, leaning over the child and talking to him of his great appetite and wonderful manners, that she was apparently oblivious to her full, warm breast pressing continuously against Vim’s arm.
She wasn’t his usual type—a bored wife looking for a casual diversion or a professional willing to spend an evening with a foreign lord. But then, it had been a long time since he’d indulged his sexual appetites.
Sophie would call them his base urges, if she referred to them in any manner. Except her breast against his arm didn’t feel base. It felt soft and lovely and almost as comforting as it was arousing.
He didn’t examine the problem in any detail because he was a man who’d long since learned to govern his lust. Neglecting his sexual recreation had simply taken a toll, catching him unaware before a warm fire with an attractive woman.
Not pretty, precisely, but attractive.
Sophie sat back, regarding the baby. “Is he finished?”
Vim glanced at Kit, who was wearing some porridge around his rosy cheeks. “Give it one more try.”
She got the spoon into the baby’s mouth, but Kit spit his porridge right back out again.
“My goodness. Rude but effective.”