A Dangerous Liaison - L.R. Olson Page 0,97

to Ginny, and I couldn’t fault her for it.

“I shouldn’t,” I said half-heartedly. “I have things to do.”

“Oh posh.” She stepped in front of me, blocking my escape with her trim body. “Will be a passing shower. In no time at all, it will be over, and you’ll be on your way to whichever ball or gaming hall is calling your name.”

Neither, actually.

I’d been by to see Miranda but she hadn’t been home, and I hadn’t any desire to hunt her down and tell her at the Master’s Ball that things were over between us. It was a long time in coming, really, and I’d never truly been eager to marry her. Let her marry Chris if she was so desperate to be part of our family.

Miss Lamier shut the door before I could leave. As she ushered me toward the settee, I had to remind myself that I was a man, not some untrained pup. I could leave if I wished. So why didn’t I make some excuse and escape? Because I didn’t want to be anywhere but here. Here, in this little shop full of satins and ribbons and lace, that I swore smelled of Ginny.

“Come. Sit on the settee.”

Ginny was here. Ginny. And I was drawn to her like an injured soldier to opium. I hesitated at the settee. But Ginny had made it clear she was no longer drawn to me. Had McKinnon gained her favor?

I lost control when she was near. I was no longer a rational being in charge of his own destiny. I’d had clear goals when I’d met her a year ago, but all those plans and determination had fallen to the wayside under her touch, her kiss. I became a bumbling fool of a lad.

“She’s not here, Lord Chambers,” Miss Lamier said, watching me closely. “Unfortunately, she left for an errand some time ago.”

So, the seamstress knew. Had Ginny told her? No, most likely the woman had figured things out on her own. She was a smart lady, an experienced woman. And according to Chris, I wasn’t exactly secretive about my infatuation. “I see.”

The curtain in the back swept aside and Mrs. Lamier strolled forward, the baby in her arms. “Claudette, the child is getting fussy. Hungry thing. She…” The older woman’s gaze fell on me. Her eyes were as astute & wary as her daughter’s. “Oh, I didn’t realize we had a guest.”

The baby whimpered, a bundled loaf that squirmed against the older woman. My baby. How strange to think that my child rested in the arms of a French seamstress I knew nothing about. But did I care? I should, shouldn’t I? When was the last time I’d truly cared about anyone? I felt a duty to Christopher, and even to this child. But affection? Love? Was I even capable?

“Do give her to me.” Miss Lamier cuddled the babe to her modest chest, while watching me curiously. “Would you like to leave a message, Lord Chambers?”

I couldn’t tear my gaze from the baby. Just a tuff of her downy black hair was visible, and a chubby side of her little face. She was so damn small. I was intrigued and slightly terrified all at once. “No, no message.”

“Fille,” the older woman said. “Aidez-moi.”

“Oui, Mama.” Miss Lamier turned her smile toward me as her mother headed into the back once more. “Do you mind staying with the baby for a moment?”

It took a second for me to comprehend her words. Hold the child again? I stepped back, horrified. “I’m afraid I have no experience with babies, and I really should be—”

“It’s nothing at all.” She shoved the whimpering child into my hands and turned. Before I could refuse, she was gone, only the curtain fluttering in reminder, and I was stuck with the baby…again. A squirming bundle that was growing more annoyed with each tick of the clock. The room went still. Where was that quiet child I’d held last time?

The baby whimpered.

“Shite.”

She was mine. Mine. Shouldn’t I feel something other than guilt? Shouldn’t I have some sort of magical connection, some sort of fatherly charm that would immediately ease her worries? She squirmed and whimpered again.

“Dear God,” I muttered, cradling her to my chest. Holding her close only seemed to make things worse. Her lower lip quivered; her eyes welled with tears. “It’s alright, isn’t it? You know I’m your father?”

That lower lip parted and an ungodly wail burst from her lips.

“Perfect. Bloody perfect.” I glanced at the curtain.

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