been known to be ruthless where Anna’s welfare is concerned. You can’t trust them.”
“They trust you, Sophie.” Vim put his finger on the tape Sophie was tying into a bow. “They trust I’m not suicidal enough to make advances to you in their very company.”
She wanted to ask him if that was why he’d kept his distance, but Valentine came sauntering up.
“Our meal will be served in the private dining room. The Imp of Satan smells a good deal better.”
“You were just such an imp not so very long ago,” Sophie reminded him. “Did you check on the horses?”
“Your precious friends are knee-deep in straw and munching contentedly on fresh hay. I watched with my own eyes while St. Just fed them their oats, which oats did not hit the bottom of the bucket but were consumed by a process of inhalation I’ve never seen before. I intend to emulate it if they ever serve dinner here.”
Something passed between the men—a glance, a look, a particular way of breathing at each other.
“I’ll take Kit.” Vim lifted the child from the settle where Sophie had been changing the baby’s nappy. “Does this place have a cradle?”
He addressed the question to Val, who shrugged. “I understand how to bed down a horse; I understand how to keep my wife safe and content. These creatures”—he gestured at Kit—“confound me entirely.”
“But the King’s English does not,” Sophie said before the breathing got out of hand. “Go ask if they have a cradle, and if they do, have it placed in my chamber.” She spun him by his prodigiously broad shoulders and gave the middle of his back a shove.
“St. Just or Westhaven will be along momentarily,” Vim said, rubbing noses with the baby. “They aren’t complete fools.”
“Do they think I’m going to have my wicked way with you right here in the common?” Sophie hated the exasperated note in her voice, hated the way Vim slowly turned his head to assess her, as if he wasn’t quite sure he recognized the shrew standing there, hands on her hips, hems soaked, hair a fright.
“Is it your courses?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“My sisters grow… sensitive when their courses approach.” He went back to having his nose-duel with the baby, while Sophie fisted both hands and prayed for patience.
“I am traveling in the company of my three older brothers and the man with whom I violated every rule of polite society, as well as a baby whom I will have to give up when we reach Morelands, and all you can think is that my—”
He did not kiss her, though she hoped he might be considering it, even here, even with her brothers stomping around nearby. He regarded her gravely then passed her the baby.
“Because if it’s not your courses, then perhaps it’s all that rule violating we did that has you so overset. Or maybe it’s that we got caught violating those rules. I am willing to answer for my part of it, Sophie, duke’s daughter or not. I think your brothers know that.”
He glanced around then leaned in and brushed his nose against hers.
Leaving Sophie not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
***
“Lady Sophia sends her regrets. She’ll be taking a tray in her room.” Westhaven settled into a chair as he spoke, then reached across the table and appropriated a drink from his brother’s ale while Vim watched.
Lord Valentine slapped his brother’s wrist. “Which means we don’t have to take turns passing Beelzebub around while we pretend we’re having a civil meal. Is Sophie truly fatigued, or is she being female?”
“Can’t tell,” Westhaven said. “She’s probably worn out, worrying about the child. Valentine, if you value your fingers, you will put that roll back until we’ve said the blessing.”
Lord Valentine took a bite of the roll then set it back in the basket.
“Think of it as playing house,” Devlin St. Just—also the Earl of Rosecroft, though he apparently eschewed use of the title—suggested. “Westhaven gets to be the papa, Val is the baby, and I am the one who refuses to indulge in such inanity. For what we are about to receive, as well as for infants and sisters who travel fairly well, and snowstorms that hold off for one more freezing damned day, we’re grateful. Amen.”
Before the last syllable was out of St. Just’s mouth, Lord Val had retrieved his roll.
They ate in silence for a few moments, food disappearing as if it were indeed being inhaled. Vim figured it was some kind test too,