Noble Scoundrel - Amy Sandas Page 0,51
a gentle, “Hello, Miss Claire.”
She’d visited with the girl several times since her arrival. Often with Frederick and sometimes on her own. It started mainly because she wanted to be sure the child and her nurse had everything they needed since it had been so long since the house had had any children—young or old—within its walls. But Katherine quickly found herself drawn in by the cherubic girl’s shy smile and tentative nature. It was easy to understand how Claire had so easily inspired her brother’s devotion and protective nature. Even after all she’d been through in her very young life, Hale’s daughter was simply too pure for this world. It was undeniably important to Katherine that Claire feel safe and happy in her temporary home, and she personally took on the task of ensuring just that. With each visit, the girl had gotten more generous with her smiles and recently had started showing real excitement whenever Katherine walked into the schoolroom.
Now, after smiling sweetly in response to Katherine’s greeting, Claire lifted her fists to rub at her eyes. And no wonder...she should have been abed hours ago.
Katherine glanced to Hale with a questioning look.
Catching her glance, he looked to his daughter and smoothed a large hand over the girl’s silken curls before looking back to Katherine to mouth the word nightmare.
She nodded. Of course.
“Claire and I decided to sneak down to the kitchen for a little midnight treat,” he explained out loud, “didn’t we, sweet pea?”
The little girl looked up with a smile and nodded enthusiastically, her sleepiness momentarily swept away, “Sweets. Pwease, papa. Sweets.”
“Only a bit because I promised you. But not too much or you won’t be able to go back to sleep.”
Claire whimpered softly and reached her hands up to her father. “No sweepy.”
Hale immediately lifted her up for a strong cuddle as he tucked his face beside hers and murmured low words of comfort. “Don’t be scared, sweet pea. No more bad men, I swear it.”
Deep and reverent, the tone of his vow went straight to Katherine’s heart.
After a moment, the girl pulled back enough to take her father’s face in her tiny hands. “Sweets. Pwease.”
He chuckled warmly and set her back on the table. “A little nibble, then it’s back to bed.”
Her smile was instant as her feet began to swing excitedly once again.
Entranced by the gentle interaction between father and daughter, Katherine was caught off guard when the man swung his attention back to her. “Care to join us?”
The savory scent of roasted meat made her mouth water and her belly rumbled in acceptance. “No, thank you. I don’t wish to intrude.”
“No intrusion,” he argued as he used his foot to push the stool across from him out from under the rough wooden table. “Have a seat, duchess.”
The irreverence in his tone and action should have been insulting, especially considering he hadn’t even risen to his feet when she’d entered. But Katherine was growing accustomed to such behavior from him, and she suspected it was mostly employed to get a rise out of her. For some reason, the man seemed to enjoy triggering her ire.
Unfortunately for him, she’d already decided not to be offended by his occasionally loutish behavior. To be honest, a great deal of society’s expected formalities had always seemed pointless to her. Though well-versed in the required deportment of their station, she and Frederick had conducted themselves far more casually while in Lincolnshire. After realizing her initial objections were triggered more by the way he set her off-balance with his boldness than any true aversion to his less refined manner, she saw little reason to enforce more formal etiquette.
Of course, that didn’t mean she didn’t respond to the hint of challenge in his voice.
Under his watchful gaze and Claire’s furtive glances, she approached the table and set her candle beside his low-burning nub of tallow. The duo of flickering flames cast the three of them in a soft, uncertain light, creating an atmosphere of gentle intimacy.
In the center of the table was a large platter heaped with cold meats, bread slathered with honey, sliced apple, and what she suspected might be an iced pastry or two from the batch cook had baked for the children that morning.
“Did you miss your evening meal in the schoolroom?” she asked, aware that he took supper with Claire every night while she and Frederick ate in the dining room.
“Never,” he replied, then grinned. “But that was hours ago and I’ve a hearty appetite. Still,