Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,18

a single candle in his hand. Yes, it was important to retrieve what the baby needed for his hygiene, but it had also become important to get off of that floor and away from the woman lying on her back before the fire.

She cried for stray babies and probably for the stray mother too. If Vim did not mind the dictates of common sense, he’d be tucking himself close to her sweetness and heat, and when he left, she might be crying for the occasional stray baron as well.

***

“I’ve learned something.” Sophie addressed herself to the baby, who was giving off a certain scent, suggesting a clean nappy was an urgent need.

She told herself it was just a healthy baby smell. The equivalent of the scent of a stall that needed mucking, nothing more.

Kit made a swipe for her nose, which pleased her inordinately.

“I’ve learned something about why my parents are still so enthralled with each other after more than thirty years of marriage. It’s little fellows like you who are partly responsible.”

She let him catch her nose this time. It was lovely, to be caught by the nose. She kept talking, talking right into his tiny palm. “Their Graces raised ten such as you. Can you imagine how many nights they spent sprawled on the floor like this with My Lord Baby or My Lady Baby? Both of them watching the child, both of them feeling these sentiments of wonder and terror? It’s all your fault, yours and those of your ilk.”

Kit held on to her nose and smacked her cheek with his free hand.

“It is too. You coo and babble and smile at the world, more helpless than you even know, and you make us helpless too, helpless not to love you. Mr. Charpentier—Vim—has fallen under your spell.”

She rose with the child in her arms, which freed her nose from the pirate baby’s imprisoning grasp. “Mr. Charpentier is very charming too, isn’t he?”

Kit emitted another noise, a surprisingly loud noise for such a little person.

“That was not charming, Kit.”

Though to her, even that was a little endearing. The child didn’t care what sounds or smells came from his body. He cared that he was safe and warm, his tummy full, and people around him who would see to his well-being.

And thank God for Wilhelm Charpentier. Thank God the man was willing to breach propriety for the sake of the child. Thank God for snowstorms that allowed Sophie to ask for such a thing.

Because as much help as Mr. Charpentier was with the baby, there was a part of Sophie that was enjoying the man’s company just for herself. In the privacy of her thoughts, when Sophie beheld Vim Charpentier, she let herself dream a few naughty dreams and wish a few silly wishes. There was no harm in it—she was a lady and he was a gentleman and wishes were ever a waste of time.

She heard footsteps in the hallway and took a seat on the sofa, laying the child in her lap.

“There was warm water on the hob,” Mr. Charpentier said. It was difficult to say his first name—Vim—but not so hard to think it. Unusual, Teutonic, and consistent with a sense of energy and purpose. Vim.

“I want to try to do it myself this time.”

“And I’ll let you. Kit seems to enjoy healthy digestion.” Vim pushed aside the coffee table to lay a receiving blanket on the sofa, took the baby from Sophie’s lap, and laid the child on his back on the blanket. “Have at it, madam. I wish you every success.”

He remained kneeling beside the sofa, resting on his heels. Sophie was at once glad for his proximity… and mortified.

She untied the tapes holding the nappy onto the child and lifted it away.

“Careful.” Vim’s big hand folded the cloth back up over the child loosely. “He’ll make a mess all over you half the time if you don’t take evasive maneuvers.”

Sophie’s face heated as she realized the child was… wetting the already soiled nappy.

“Something about fresh air seems to inspire them. Probably saves you a change in the long run. I think it’s safe now.”

So matter of fact! Sophie unfolded the now damp and odoriferous cloth.

“My… goodness.”

“Quite a mess.”

She glanced over to see the blasted man grinning at her. “You put him up to this, Mr. Charpentier. Corrupted the morals of a mere baby.”

“Quit stalling. It isn’t good for him to be messy. He’ll get the nastiest rash and have to sport about in