Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,6
assistance—she was perfectly fine—then stomp away with the dratted child before she started yelling herself.
Except the gravity of his voice, coupled with blue eyes so full of kindness and concern, had her passing him the baby without further question.
She’d never realized babies were so heavy. It wasn’t that they were large; it was that one could never put them down for a moment—or if one did put them down, one assumed a burden of anxiety of greater weight than the actual child, which had one picking the little person up again, no matter how tired one’s arms were.
“Watch carefully, Miss Windham. This is an arcane and closely guarded Portmaine family secret.”
He picked up both the tapes on one side, but the child thwarted the adult’s attempt to secure the nappy by dodging south with one small hand and grabbing stoutly onto his own…
“My goodness!”
The baby grinned, the man smiled as well, and Sophie wished the floor would swallow her up immediately and permanently.
“He’s just a baby, Miss Windham. He knows only what feels good, and there’s no harm in it, really.” Gently, the man disentangled the child’s hand from that portion of the male anatomy for which Sophie’s brothers had endless names.
And Sophie herself had not a one she’d speak aloud.
Mr. Charpentier leaned in close over the baby, so close his wheat-blond hair fell forward over his shoulders. “You are scandalizing the lady, young Kit. Desist, I say.” He shook his head from side to side, making his hair swing. The baby cooed his delight, barely missing Mr. Charpentier’s chin with a small heel.
And all the while, the man had been deftly tying the nappy closed at the sides with two neat bows that would be easy to untie when the need arose.
“How often is this necessary?” Sophie asked.
“Very often.” The man leaned forward, crouching on all fours over the child. “Because we are a very healthy, busy baby, aren’t we, Master Kit?” He shook his hair for the infant again, provoking more squealing and kicking and grinning.
It wasn’t dignified in the least, the way the grown man crouching on the floor played with the child—made a fool of himself to entertain a stranger’s abandoned baby.
Not dignified, but it was… oddly endearing.
Sophie felt an urge to get up and put some distance between herself and this tomfoolery on the floor, and yet she had to wonder too: if she brushed a lock of her hair over the child’s nose, would the baby take as much delight in it?
She sat back. “How is it you know so much about babies?”
“My half sisters are a great deal younger than my brother and I. We more or less raised them, and this is part of the drill. He’ll likely nap next, as outings tend to tire them when they’re this young.”
He crouched low over the child and used his mouth to make a rude noise on the baby’s belly. The child exploded with glee, grabbing wildly for Mr. Charpentier’s hair and managing to catch his nose.
It was quite a handsome nose in the middle of quite a handsome face. She’d noticed this at the coaching inn, in that first instant when he’d offered to help. She’d turned to find the source of the lovely, calm voice and found herself looking up into a face that put elegant masculine bones to the best possible use.
His eyes were just the start of it—a true pale blue that suggested Norse ancestry, set under arching blond brows. It was a lean face, with a strong jaw and well-defined chin—Sophie could not abide a weak chin nor the artifices of facial hair men sported to cover one up.
But none of that, not even the nose and chin and eyes combined, prepared Sophie for the visceral impact of more than six feet of Wilhelm Charpentier crouched on the floor, entertaining a baby.
He smiled at the child as if one small package of humanity merited all the grace and benevolence a human heart could express. He beamed at the child, looked straight into the baby’s eyes, and communicated bottomless approval and affection without saying a word.
It was… daunting. It was undignified, and yet Sophie sensed there was a kind of wisdom in the man’s handling of the baby she herself would lack.
“He’ll get drowsy soon.” Mr. Charpentier shifted back onto his heels. “That’s the best part, when they’re all sweet and snuggly. Little buggers wrap us around their fingers without even trying.”