Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,57

There were answers needed as to why Chance had helped sneak a child inside Dare’s household.

“But what of me? This is my household.” Lady Kinsley’s cries echoed behind them, growing distant and then fading altogether.

Side by side, with Temperance accompanying them, they made their way back to Dare’s office. While they walked, Dare peeked at Temperance. She offered her index finger to the child, who tugged and played with the digit. Periodically, she lowered her thumb, concealing the digit . . . and then let it pop up, startling a little laugh from the girl. And the sight of the two together sent something moving and shifting in Dare’s chest. As for a second time that night, he allowed a thought he’d previously forbidden himself from entertaining: a family. One made up of him and Temperance and . . . some nameless, imagined babe. One with Temperance’s dark curls and large round eyes and temper and . . .

And it was everything he’d not allowed himself so much as a thought of. People reliant upon him, a thief from the Rookeries, who’d invariably hang for his crimes one day.

Perhaps it was the unexpectedness of one of those small babes about. Or mayhap it was the return of memories of his own childhood. But the yearning for that dream of folly washed over him.

“Why ya lookin’ loike that?” Lionel asked on an outrageously loud whisper that brought Temperance’s gaze flying over. “Ya look queer. Ya don’t ’ave a problem with babes, do ya?” The boy didn’t give Dare a chance to answer, but looked quickly over at Chance, who, hand in hand with Gwynn, followed close behind. “Ya didn’t say ’e ’as a problem with babes, Mr. Chance.”

That managed to break the spell over the smitten couple.

Chance frowned. “Of course Dare doesn’t have a problem with children.” The lines at the corners of his mouth stretched lower. “At least . . . he didn’t.” He looked to Dare. “You don’t of a sudden have a dislike for—”

“Of course not,” Dare said gruffly.

The group reached Dare’s office, and he motioned a babe-carrying Temperance on ahead, then Lionel. And lastly, Chance and Gwynn. “Why don’t we sit?” Dare said when he’d closed the door behind the eclectic little gathering of people.

As Temperance settled onto the chair, Gwynn went wide-eyed. “Never been invited to sit by a marquess before,” she whispered.

Chance clasped her hands in his, then one at a time brought them to his lips for a kiss. “You are more worthy than any woman. Never doubt your place because of your birthright.”

The depth of emotion that moved between the couple—love freely passing, and love freely shared—was so foreign to what Dare had ever known. No, that wasn’t completely true. They’d once been like Chance and Gwynn . . .

I’m going to marry you if it’s the last thing I do, Temperance Swift . . .

His eighteen-year-old voice echoed in the chambers of his mind, paired with her joyous, unrestrained laugh.

His stare strayed over to Temperance, and their gazes locked. They shared a private smile, an intimate one that came from the place of knowing one another.

“Oi’m gonna dirty up yar foine stuff,” Lionel blurted.

And the moment was shattered as Dare looked over to the little boy Chance had sent. The child who now eyed the remaining leather button wing chair warily.

Dropping to a knee beside the boy, Dare flashed a gentle smile. “You don’t know me, aside from what Mr. Swift has shared.”

“’e said yar a good man. That ya loike to ’elp people loike me.”

“I like to help people,” Dare confirmed. “It was a mistake you were sent away when you did come. I promise that shall not happen again.” He flashed a gentle smile. “And I certainly don’t care about the furniture and whether or not you or anyone else ruins it, Lionel.”

The boy hesitated another moment and then pulled himself up onto the chair, wafting a soft cloud of dirt.

Over the years, Temperance had observed Dare’s interaction with all number of people. Where some had ruled in the Rookeries through putting up an armor of coldness, he’d met the people there with kindness. It had been just one of the first reasons she’d fallen in love with him.

And then she’d witnessed him . . . with her brother. When Chance had been just five, Dare had been patient and teasing and kind, and everything Temperance had never seen any man in the Rookeries be toward any child. She’d not