“Come with me,” she said, leading the way through the house toward the kitchen door. “The back stoop is a bit rickety. I worry that this second step will cave in someday. Do you think you could do something about it?”
He stepped out, putting one foot on the step in question and stomping a few times. Then he nodded. “Do you have some tools and perhaps some more wood?”
She gestured toward the shed at the back of the property. “If we did, it would be in there.” They’d once had a handyman, but he’d loved his liquor more than his job and had never been that dependable so she’d had to sack him. She’d hired another housemaid instead, but now she wasn’t sure that had been a good idea. The house was not that old, but the dozens of young occupants had wreaked considerable wear and tear on the building that seemed to need constant repairs.
Mr. Strathmore reached for Felicity. “She can stay here with me.”
“She’ll just be in your way,” Fiona said with a shake of her head. “We have a lovely nursery upstairs. I’ll take her up there with the other young ones, if you don’t mind.”
“That would be fine,” he agreed, and she found herself unaccountably pleased that he’d once again trusted her with his daughter.
With one last longing look at his strong back as he walked toward the shed, she turned and went back into the house, cooing softly to little Felicity. There was no point in getting used to the idea of having him around. She was sure that after he’d spent an afternoon here, proving whatever it was he seemed to feel he needed to prove, he would leave, and she’d never see or hear from him again.
***
MORGAN COULDN’T REMEMBERthe last time he’d had such an enjoyable afternoon. Not since Anne had died and probably not for a long time before that, if he was being honest. He easily fixed the back steps, then sought out his children to make sure they were doing all right. Hannah and Samuel were having the time of their lives playing with the other children in the large garden, squealing and laughing in delight, and Felicity was napping peacefully in the nursery.
Fiona had found him in the hallway and seemed surprised that he’d actually managed to fix the stairs. He’d seen the look in her eyes when he’d suggested it and knew she probably thought him quite useless. In her eyes, he was no doubt little more than a worthless playboy whose family name and wealth kept him from ever having had to learn how to take care of himself, let alone others. But he’d always enjoyed working with his hands, building things. It was simply a different form of art.
His repair success seemed to ease some of her suspicion, and she obligingly gave him a whole list of things that needed repair. He’d completed half of them and had been working upstairs, securing the banister by some of the children’s rooms when he’d been struck with a marvelous idea. He’d done a little investigating, snooping around the children’s rooms a bit, his excitement growing as the idea took shape and form.
His steps surprisingly jaunty, he returned to Fiona’s office, once again finding her poring diligently over her ledgers.
“The children’s rooms are quite comfortable,” he said, causing her to jump a little and glare at him.
“I do my best to make them so,” she said a bit irritably.
“Do you think perhaps that they could use some... color?” he suggested cautiously.
“What do you mean?” she asked, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.
“I’d like to paint some murals,” he told her, getting more excited by the minute. “Perhaps scenes from some of their favorite books. Or I could do animals for the boys and flowers for the girls...” He trailed off in embarrassment at the look of astonishment on her face. “I’m sorry. I just thought it might bring them some happiness.”
Silence fell between them for a long moment, and he had no idea what she was thinking until those astonishing green eyes of hers suddenly welled with tears. She pushed out of her chair and crossed the distance between them, flinging her arms around him and hugging him tightly.
He stiffened for a moment, realizing how long it had been since anyone except his children had touched him. But she was so soft and warm, the faint scent of lavender emanating from her hair, that he found himself embracing her back, lowering his face to press it against her soft auburn curls and breathing in deeply.
“Thank you,” she said with a soft, breathy laugh, pulling away and staring up at him with mingled embarrassment and happiness. “I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s just been so long since I felt like anyone except me cared about these children in a real way. My staff is competent, but this is just a job for them. Not something they love. Doing something like that, making things beautiful for them, it would mean so much.”
He let her go reluctantly and forced a smile, feeling as though she was giving him more credit than he deserved. “I’d be happy to do it.”
She gave him a charming, quizzical look. “I didn’t know you were an artist.”
For an instant, he thought to deny it. Since he was a child, and Winters had tormented him for it, he’d kept his art to himself. He wasn’t sure why he’d offered to do the murals, but it felt right. He wanted to create some beauty for these children, and for some reason, he knew he could trust this woman. She would never mock him for his creativity. In fact, she seemed as though she might even appreciate him for it.
He simply shrugged one shoulder. “I love painting. Doing this for the children... It would make me very happy.” It was the truth. The thought of it gave him the first glimmer of happiness he’d felt in a very long time.
As though she suddenly realized how close they still were, she backed away, going back to lean against her desk. “Well, that would be wonderful.”
He nodded, self-conscious as well. Feeling the need to put even more distance between them, he decided it was time to bring up the question he’d been wanting to ask all day. “When can I speak to the girl who was brought here by Prometheus?”
She flinched as though he’d slapped her. “Is that what this has all been about? Was this all just a stalling technique so you could interrogate a little girl who’s already been through too much?”
He frowned, wondering why she was so against him asking the girl a few questions. “I want to help out here. I want to paint for the children. But I also want to get to the bottom of who is pretending to be Prometheus. I don’t see why you’re so dead set against it.” He shook his head. “Unless you already know who it is. Are you trying to protect him?”
She gave an exasperated huff. “I don’t know who this new Prometheus is. I already told you that. But I support anyone who is trying to help children who are sold into prostitution. I don’t understand why you’re trying so hard to stop him.”
“I’m just trying to protect my family,” he snapped. “I would think that you could understand that.”
