How to Steal a Thief's Heart - Bree Wolf Page 0,69

the night air. Her eyes narrowing, she peered through the fence more closely and could make out the outline of a little girl running toward her.

Caroline’s jaw dropped, and her mind raced at all the implications that suddenly flooded it. Had there not been rumors? Lots of rumors! Far from complimenting rumors about…about…

The girl reached the pavement, then tripped and fell forward.

Caroline was striding toward her barely a second later, the little one’s soft cries filling her mind before she knelt down beside her. “Are you all right?”

Clutching her knee, the girl shrank back, large tears rolling down her cheeks as she stared up at Caroline, naked fear only too visible in her dark eyes.

“Everything’s all right,” Caroline whispered, holding up her hands to show that she meant the girl no harm. “Did you skin your knee? Is it bleeding?”

Momentarily distracted, the girl glanced down at the small red stain on her white nightgown. Her eyes grew bigger and Caroline could see deep sobs working their way up her throat.

“Here, let me help you,” she said quickly, pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket and wrapping it around the girl’s knee. “Who is that?” she asked, gesturing to the oddly hairless doll clutched in the girl’s arm. “Does she have a name?” Caroline sincerely hoped that it was a she, but it was hard to tell considering the doll’s baldness. However, with little girls, it was reasonable to assume that the doll was a she.

“Mary,” the girl whispered, confirming Caroline’s suspicion.

“Hello, Mary,” Caroline greeted the hairless doll. “Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?” Then she leaned in to listen intently. “Oh, I’m glad you’re fine. But you’ll let me know if anything starts hurting, do you promise?” She paused for effect. “Good. Thank you.”

Then she turned to look at the little girl.

“You’re nice,” the girl remarked.

“Thank you,” Caroline replied, carefully brushing a hand down the girl’s arm. “I’m Caroline. Do you have a name as well?” Belatedly, it occurred to her that it perhaps wasn’t all that wise to give the child her real name. However, what was done was done.

“Daphne,” the little one whispered, her wide eyes returning to Lord Markham’s townhouse.

“Why are you out here by yourself, Daphne?” Caroline asked carefully, hoping her question would not spook the child. “Where are your parents?”

A quiver ran along the girl’s jaw, and she pulled the doll into her arms with lightning speed, a desperate need for comfort in her eyes.

“Hush, little one,” Caroline cooed, trying to ignore the rising hairs on the back of her neck. Something was very wrong! “Do you live here? Is…is your father inside?”

Glancing up at the darkened house, Daphne nodded.

Caroline swallowed the lump that had lodged in her throat. Was the girl Markham’s daughter? “And…and your mother? Where is she? Is she inside as well?”

Again, the girl’s jaw quivered, but she refused to answer, terror in her wide eyes as though she were trapped in a nightmare and couldn’t wake.

That forlorn look in Daphne’s eyes broke Caroline’s heart, and she reached out to brush a hand down the girl’s cheek. “Did something frighten you?”

Swallowing, Daphne nodded and she clutched Mary tighter into her arms.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“At first, I thought it was a dream,” Daphne whispered and her little jaw began to tremble, her teeth chattering together loudly. “But I couldn’t scream. In my dreams, I always scream…and then I wake up.” She shook her head in denial, fresh tears forming in her eyes. “It wasn’t a dream. Papa promised he wouldn’t find me, but he did.” She looked up at Caroline, then suddenly surged forward and into her arms. “But now he’s here. He’ll hurt me like he hurt my mama.”

Overwhelmed, Caroline clutched the child to her chest, her own heart aching with the pain and fear the little one experienced. Had the girl’s nightmare truly come true? Was there someone after her? Did it have something to do with Lord Markham? Was he not the man she’d thought—?

Caroline froze when the front door to Lord Markham’s residence was flung open and a man stormed out, angry footsteps carrying him down the few steps toward the pavement.

Instinctively, Caroline retreated farther into the shadows, flinging her dark cloak over the child in her arms to keep the moonlight from reflecting off her white nightgown. Fortunately, Daphne had gone all but limp in her arms, exhaustion closing her eyes once more.

Caroline held her breath as she peered at the man’s silhouette. Instantly,