Page 67 of The Dangerous Lord

Catching up to her, he clasped her arm to halt her. “Felicity, we need to talk.”

“No, you must go. You must⁠—”

Whatever protest she was about to make was cut off when a child’s high-pitched scream rent the night.

Chapter Sixteen

Lord Byron’s latest poetic endeavor is said to concern Don Juan, the legendary lover. Such a work will surely brighten Byron’s fame, since everyone knows Spanish lovers are the most fiery.

Lord X, The Evening Gazette, December 22, 1820

“Th-The monster h-had three heads,” William was sobbing into Mrs. Box’s shoulder when Felicity and Ian hurried into the room, “and a b-big red arm. It was ch-chopping like an ax and ... and ...” His face crumpled as he broke into a low wail.

The mournful sound pierced Felicity to the heart. “Oh, my sweet darling,” she cried, rushing to his bed. She waved Mrs. Box away and in seconds was cradling the boy against her breast. “It’s all right—Lissy’s here now to take care of you. The monster can’t hurt you.”

“Poor dear,” Mrs. Box clucked. “Had a nightmare, he did.”

“Yes.” Harsh, accusing words rose to Felicity’s lips as she sought Ian in the dim room, but they remained unsaid when she saw him standing woodenly inside the door, his hands shoved in his pockets. Every line of his dusky features bore the marks of guilt. He met her gaze with eyes so remorseful, she couldn’t be angry.

Besides, she was as much to blame as he, for allowing him to influence her decision. At least he hadn’t known what could happen. She had no such excuse.

“I-It was gonna ch-chop me up,” William whispered. “It was comin’ to⁠—”

“Shh, sweet boy, you must forget all about it. It was only a dream.” Felicity rocked the child in her arms as she crooned in his ear. “It’s all right. I’ll protect you.”

She felt Ian’s eyes on her, reminding her that he’d wanted to speak to her privately. Not tonight, not when her emotions were so easily affected. She cast Mrs. Box a wan smile. “I’ve got William now. I know you have much to do, so you may go on and show Lord St. Clair out.”

Mrs. Box nodded and headed for the door.

“No-o-o!” William wailed, pushing away from Felicity to waggle an arm at the door.

“You want Mrs. Box to stay?” Felicity asked.

“I-I want L-Lord St. Clair,” William stammered.

Felicity groaned. The man had captivated her fatherless brothers as easily as he’d captivated her. Yet she couldn’t send him away when William needed him. “Come here, Ian,” she said resignedly, no longer worrying if anyone heard her use his Christian name.

Looking obviously perturbed, Ian glanced over to where the other boys were settling down beneath covers tucked up to their tiny chins. Then he walked toward her. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted as he reached the bed.

“Sit down.” Felicity nodded to indicate the other side of the feather mattress. “Hold his hand or something.”

“I’ll be leavin’ now—” Mrs. Box began, and before Felicity could protest, had deserted her.

With a quiver in her belly, Felicity watched the door close behind the housekeeper. The dim lighting and confined space lent an intimacy to the nursery she’d never noticed. Having Ian help her with William was cozy and oddly satisfying.

Ian, however, seemed uncomfortable. Clasping William’s pale hand in his own dark one, he stared at it as if it were a padlock to which he’d lost the key. “I’m here, William,” he said, surprising her with the gentleness of his voice.

A shudder went through William’s small frame. He lifted his tear-streaked face to Ian. “It was a monster.”

“I know, but it’s gone now.”

“It wasn’t real,” Felicity added, annoyed that Ian spoke as if the creature existed.

“It was real!” William protested with a pout. He fixed his gaze on Ian. “And ... and it’ll come back to h-hurt me.”

Shooting her a warning glance, Ian said, “No, it won’t. We scared it off for good, me and Mrs. Box and your sister.”

“Yes, but it’ll come back,” the boy persisted. “It wants to ch-chop me up. Like it chopped up all those people in The Separate Room.”