Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,49
million. I can only count to ten.”
“Hmm.” West pondered how to explain it. “Do you know how long a second is?”
“No.”
“One. Two. Three. Four. Five.” With each count, West snapped his fingers. “That was five seconds. Now, if I were to keep snapping like that without stopping for ten days, that would be almost a million seconds.”
Although Justin didn’t fully grasp the explanation, he clearly liked the snapping. He tried to imitate the sound, but his fingers couldn’t quite manage it.
“Like this,” West said, shaping the small hand in his, pressing the thumb and middle finger together. “Now try.”
Frowning with concentration, Justin attempted another snap, but there was no sound.
“Keep practicing,” West advised. “In the meantime, let’s go to dry ground.”
“But I need more pebbles,” Justin protested.
West grinned. “You’ve filled your pockets with so many pebbles, you’re about to lose your trousers. Come, let’s show them to your mother.”
The black cat retreated a few feet, watching warily, as Justin emptied the contents of his pockets onto a handkerchief Phoebe had spread on the ground.
Phoebe dutifully admired the many-colored pebbles and picked up a white-banded one. Glancing up at West, she asked, “How do you know so much about chalk formation, Mr. Ravenel?”
“It’s because of the estate quarry. Before we started digging, I had to consult with mining experts, including a field geologist.”
“What’s a geologist?” Justin asked.
The question made West smile. “A scientist who studies rocks and drinks too much.”
As Phoebe set down the pebble, Stephen grabbed it and tried to put it in his mouth. “No, darling,” she said, taking it back, “that’s not good for you.” The baby whined irritably, reaching for the forbidden pebble. In a moment he began to squall, which awakened Nanny from her light nap. She rubbed her eyes and began to stand up.
“It’s all right, Nanny,” Phoebe said. “Justin, will you fetch a toy from the pram?”
Justin hurried to the vehicle, rummaged at the side of it, and brought back a little stuffed horse made of leather. Its legs had nearly worn down to nubs from the baby’s teething. Stephen took the toy, regarded it disdainfully, and dropped it to the ground as he continued to fuss.
Instantly the cat darted forward, snatched the toy and hurried off with it.
West came forward, reached down to clasp Stephen around the ribs, and lifted him from Phoebe’s lap. “What’s all this racket?” he asked, settling the baby against his chest.
Stunned into silence, Stephen looked tearfully into the man’s smiling blue eyes.
“Poor chap,” West soothed. “How dare they offer you a toy when you had a perfectly good rock to play with? It’s an outrage . . . yes it is . . . an atrocity . . .” To Phoebe’s amazement, Stephen’s temper subsided as the “stranger” continued to coddle him. He put his hand on the West’s cheek, exploring the bristly texture. In a moment, West lowered his face and blew a rude sound against the baby’s tummy, making him convulse with giggles. He lifted him in the air and began to pitch him upward repeatedly, eliciting squeals of delight.
“Mr. Ravenel,” Phoebe said, “I’d prefer you didn’t toss my child about as if he were an old valise.”
“He likes it,” West replied, although he gentled the movement.
“He also likes chewing on discarded cigar butts,” Phoebe said.
“We all have our bad habits,” West told the baby kindly, lowering him back down to his chest. “Justin, come—we have work to do.” He bent to pick up a stick the length of his forearm.
Phoebe’s eyes widened. “What is that for?”
“We’re clearing the area of crocodiles,” West informed her, and handed the stick to Justin. “If one comes close, beat him off with this.”
Justin squeaked in excitement and followed at his heels.
Although Phoebe was tempted to point out there were no crocodiles in England, she only laughed and watched as the three adventurers set off. Shaking her head, she went to sit beside Nanny.
“There’s a lot of man in that one,” the older woman remarked.
“There’s too much man in that one,” Phoebe said wryly.
They watched West stride off with the boys, still holding Stephen in one arm. Justin reached up with his free hand, and West took it without hesitation.
“They speak well of him in the servants’ hall,” Nanny ventured. “A good man, and a good master, who should have a household of his own. Well favored in looks, and the right age for fathering, too.”
“Nanny,” Phoebe said, giving her an amused, incredulous glance, “he’s only half tame.”