He stared at Anne, his gut churning. How was a gentleman supposed to escort a being that size?
Before he could ask, the girl stepped forward and took his hand.
Pedro breathed in sharply, his eyes meeting Anne’s above the child. His wife nodded, and her gaze leaped from him to the girl with unvarnished admiration. The afternoon would not be as harmless as he expected after all. His stubborn angel became fixated on this idea of progeny, and each minute spent with these children would hurt his cause.
Pedro’s hand was limp in the girl’s grasp as they set for the lawn behind the stables. Anne walked in front of him. He let the gentle sway of his wife’s hips distract him from the little grubby hand grabbing him.
Anne’s easy banter with Antonio attested to their shared past together. The boy came almost to her shoulders, no doubt having taken the height from his father’s side. Antonio must have inherited the father’s laziness and selfishness as well. Julia’s first husband had been a wretched drunkard, and more than once, Pedro had been tempted to send him to an early grave. Miserable times. Fighting other’s wars, avoiding Titano’s machinations and Mozambique.
The little hand tugged, pulling him away from the memories. A pitiful whine followed.
Pedro halted.
The child’s eyes widened and then teared up. She hopped from leg to leg and lifted her arms. “Up, up, uuuup.”
Stiffening the urge to step back, Pedro eyed the girl. How did one navigate a child’s tantrum? Pedro remembered how Diomedes had hoisted her up and did the same, keeping her at arm’s length.
Pouting, she kicked with her little legs. Ants swarmed her white stockings. Her gaze, a combination of helplessness and trust, twisted his guts.
Pedro brushed the insects away. “There. They are gone now. No need for distress.”
Her chin trembled, and then she flung herself at him, her arms circling his neck. Pedro’s breath caught. His hand hovered above her briefly, and then he patted her back. She was surprisingly warm, and her loose hair tickled his cheek. Pedro would admonish Maxwell to buy her sturdier boots and cashmere stockings. A child was too vulnerable to be traipsing outdoors wearing such flimsy protection.
Anne rushed to him. “Is everything all right?”
Pedro returned the child to the ground. “It was an insect. She can walk now.”
They set up the picnic. Anne had brought bread and sweetmeats and jams. He stretched his legs over the checkered cloth, watching as Anne captivated the children with her smiles and antics. A knot tightened in Pedro’s stomach. Memories of silent meals and cold hallways, where his presence was merely tolerated, whispered in his ears. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. Where did Anne learn this? Why did she even care? They were just children. They should be seen but not heard. Spoken to but never allowed to speak. To entertain them gave them an importance they would later feel entitled to, only to be sent back to their dark room.
Anne glanced at him, her head tilted as if divining his thoughts. Thank St. George, she couldn’t. A weight settled on his chest. Pedro couldn’t provide this for her. He was the Duke of Titano now. If his interactions with these children bothered her, imagine what she would think of him with their own.
“Why don’t you tell us a story?”
He stared at the horizon, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t believe—”
Anne’s smile was all light, and she touched his hand. “Please?”
Pedro exhaled. Could he deny her anything when she smiled like that? He racked his brain for some childish tale and came out empty. All he knew were battle stories. His gaze swept through the land and settled over the bridge. “Centuries ago, a knight wished to capture a fortress. But the castle, high above the mountain, was impregnable. The siege was taking a toll on both sides, and famine and sickness were culling the knight’s army. So he called the devil and struck a deal with him.”
“The devil?” Clara asked.
“Lucifer, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles.”
The girl broke out crying, the sound grating in his ears. It was high and loud, like trumpets calling a retreat.
Pedro stood. “We should leave.”
Anne jumped to her feet. “But it’s early yet. I have an idea. We can play hide and seek. You boys will search for me and Princess Clara.”
“Anne,” Pedro said, his tone low.
“Can you please try? For me?”
Pedro dropped his chin. He could try for her. Closing his eyes briefly, he straightened his posture.
While Anne meandered into the shrubs with the little girl, Pedro stood with the boy in the clearing. After Antonio finished counting, they set after them. Pedro controlled his strides so he wouldn’t outrun his sullen partner.
“Do you really lead the king by a string?” Antonio asked, and when Pedro raised his brows, the boy shrugged. “I saw the newspaper. In case you are wondering, I can read, though it seems it’s never enough.”
