The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,52
newspapers for relevant information about any of Con’s investments. She’d improve her odds of success if she were informed. That didn’t mean she had to tell him what she knew…especially if he seemed put out by her request.
In the previous Thursday’s edition of The Times, she found what she was looking for.
Exeter’s Grand Canal project, which of late has come to be considered a farce due to the endless series of delays and mishaps associated with it, is to have a bit of success at last. Leaks in the section of canal abutting the small village of Holcombe Rogus will soon be mitigated by the production of puddle clay, which is to be fired in lime kilns set to be constructed within the month.
The perfect excuse for a jaunt to Devon, if she did say so herself.
Hours later, despite her best effort to tire Oliver with another walk through the park, it was clear from the toothless grin on his baby face that he was in no danger of falling asleep before Constantine arrived. Elizabeth bounced her son on her hip and sent an exasperated glance toward Mrs. Dalton. “Is there nothing we can do? I’ll be asleep long before he succumbs, if his happy gurgling is anything to go by.”
Mrs. Dalton’s eyes followed Elizabeth’s promenade about the nursery. “Barring a sip of laudanum, I think not.” Her hair, normally coiffed into a respectable bun, wisped around her face in an unkempt coronet. “At least he’s unlikely to wake up in the middle of the night once he does fall to sleep.”
Oliver’s downy hair brushed Elizabeth’s chin as he swiveled his head from side to side. He took in his surroundings with inquisitive eyes. One chubby fist gripped the bodice of her dress while the other beat in a staccato at her shoulder.
She took him to the window and pulled the curtain back. He was all wide smiles and coos, and even if she dearly wished he would go to sleep, she delighted in watching him study the world around him. “See there, Oliver? The sun set an hour ago. It is time for babies and children to be tucked into their beds, and I see no reason why you should be special tonight.”
He let out an ear-splitting happy squeal in response.
A knock at the door below stairs was followed by the steady thumps of Rand navigating the narrow hallways to reach the foyer. Elizabeth had no clock in the nursery, but guessed the time to be a few minutes after nine. Mrs. Dalton approached to relieve her of the squirming, wide-awake bundle in her arms, but Elizabeth hesitated. It felt wrong to leave Oliver in order to greet a man. Even if that man was not a lover in the strictest sense, she knew better.
Just seeing Mrs. Dalton come closer caused a small whimper from Oliver. Elizabeth knew then that she couldn’t abandon her baby for Lord Constantine, not while he was alert enough to know it.
Mrs. Dalton reached out to take Oliver. He snatched onto a loose lock of Elizabeth’s hair and started crying.
“Not yet,” she told Mrs. Dalton, then yelped as he yanked the curl and drew it toward his mouth, still howling as loudly as his little lungs would let him.
Mrs. Dalton dropped her arms and looked on apologetically. “I don’t think Lord Constantine will treasure Oliver’s dribble like we do.”
Elizabeth was too focused on the hot, red face of her angry son to do anything about her ruined hair. “You’re likely right. But I don’t think we should protect the man too much, either, do you? A bit of spittle won’t cause him to melt.”
Lord Constantine’s fortuitous arrival in the doorway freed Mrs. Dalton from needing to respond. “Am I interrupting?”
“My lord!” Elizabeth jerked to look at the door and yelped as Oliver’s fist yanked on her scalp. Her lips pursed in dismay. She was going to have to warn Rand not to let the man have full run of the house!
She shifted Oliver to her left arm and began the painful process of working the curl loose from his chubby fingers. Lord Constantine watched with open amusement. Heat spread along the back of her neck and flushed across her breasts. She wasn’t embarrassed by her baby. She wasn’t. But never did she feel more like a weary mother than when her hair was coated in dribble and the bundle in her arms smelled suspiciously…ripe.