The Girl is Not For Christmas - Emma V Leech Page 0,82

said, holding the dog out again to King.

King inspected it critically. “Yes,” he said, smiling at George. “He’s definitely a Bob. A good strong name. Fierce enough to chase bad dreams away.”

George nodded and drew Bob under the covers with him before tucking his thumb into his mouth.

“I have a dog,” King said then, the words blurted out before he could think about it.

George sat up, his thumb leaving his mouth with a soft pop, wide-eyed with interest now. “Ing, you got gog?”

King nodded. It was too late to take it back now, though it had been a stupid thing to say. Now George would want to see it.

“Is big? Ing’s gog big?”

“Yes. He’s a Newfoundland. His fur is black and white and he’s very brave, very loyal. His name is Argos, like Odysseus’ dog.”

“Arrrgos,” George repeated, pronouncing the word perfectly.

King smiled. “Yes.”

“Want see Argos,” George said, reaching out and grasping King’s hand. “Morrow, we go? See Argos?”

King swallowed, cursing himself. Emotion surged in his chest and he wasn’t certain why. Perhaps thinking of poor Argos sitting on the steps that rose to the massive front door of the castle, waiting for him to come home again after being abandoned for so long. King had missed him horribly, but London was no place for a dog like that. Argos had boundless energy, he needed the fields and open spaces, and besides, the housekeeper and her husband, Mr and Mrs Dibben, doted on him. It wasn’t as if he’d been neglected. He was better off there, away from King and his wicked lifestyle. Everyone was better off away from him. He ought to leave, ought to go away before he could do this family any more harm. God knew they had troubles enough already.

“Ing?”

King shook his head, his throat tight. “No, George. Not… Not tomorrow. My home is a long way away.”

“’Nother day?”

King did not want to tell the boy falsehoods, but it was late, and he did not know what to say, could not think past his own misery and self-loathing.

“We’ll see,” he said, forcing a smile. “We’ll see.”

Chapter Seventeen

15th December 1818.

A rude awakening.

Once King had gone, Livvy dressed hurriedly and went to fetch a glass of milk. How stupid of her not to have checked on George first, though he hadn’t woken in the night in an age, so it hadn’t occurred to her. No doubt the whole incident would have horrified King. She could almost imagine his train of thought, something along the lines of debauching innocents and bringing immorality into the children’s lives. It was bound to be something of the sort. She knew him well enough now to know he had a very low opinion of himself and that he would instinctively take the blame. Why was that? Weren’t noblemen supposed to be arrogant and full of themselves with an unshakeable belief in their superiority? Yes, there were certainly glimpses of arrogance in King, but only when he was playing the rogue, like he was wearing the role of the Earl of Kingston in the way an actor would Hamlet or King Lear. Goodness, but he was an enigma, and she wanted so badly to unravel him and put him back together again in a way that meant he might realise just how wonderful he truly was. She paused in the doorway to the nursery as she heard King’s voice speaking low. She peered around the door to see him sitting down on George’s bed.

“He’s a very handsome fellow. Did Livvy make him for you?” he asked, inspecting the ridiculous dog she’d sewn. It was a dreadful thing, barely dog-like at all, but poor George had wanted one so badly after having seen one in the village. “What’s he called?” King asked George.

“Bob.”

Livvy smothered a grin as King made a show of inspecting the strange creature.

“Yes,” he said, smiling at George. “He’s definitely a Bob. A good strong name. Fierce enough to chase bad dreams away.”

Stop it, Livvy told her idiotic heart as it fluttered in her chest. Oh, who was she trying to fool? She was a lost cause.

“I have a dog.”

King’s words surprised her, and she bit her lip, knowing this information would have George demanding to meet the animal.

“Ing, you got gog?” George demanded, breathless with excitement. “Is big? Ing’s gog big?”

“Yes. He’s a Newfoundland. His fur is black and white and he’s very brave, very loyal. His name is Argos, like Odysseus’ dog.”

“Arrrgos,” George repeated, and Livvy felt a burst of pride