Page 26 of A Baby to Seal the Duke’s Fate

She shifted Cecily higher on her hip. “Whoever arranged it knew what they were doing.”

Leopold’s mouth twitched. He felt strangely proud of the praise. “I did it myself.”

That made her look up at him properly. Her eyes lifted to his, widening with surprise.

“I see,” she said at last.

“That is a rather bland response.”

Her mouth twitched, as though she wanted to smile. “It is not what I expected.”

“No?”

“No, Your Grace.”

He looked at Cecily, who had begun chewing thoughtfully on the edge of her blanket. “What did you expect?”

Miss Redmond was silent for a moment.

When she answered, her voice was neutral again. “I had not thought about it.”

That is not true, he thought, silently noting her harmless but very apparent lie. Though perhaps I do not blame her. I would not know what to expect from a duke desperately seeking help caring for a child that half of London believes is his secret, shamefully hidden child.

He had meant to ask about the night and leave before the household stirred. Instead, he remained while the light grew at the windows and Cecily shifted from thoughtful curiosity to drowsy contentment in Miss Redmond’s arms.

“What do you like to read?” he asked after a moment, surprising himself.

Miss Redmond looked up, seeming as stunned as he was. “Pardon me?”

“I am curious as to what you enjoy reading. Whenever you are not caring for children, of course.”

Her gaze sharpened. He saw her decide how much she wanted to tell him. She was not just nervous. She did not trust him. Once again, he found he could not blame her.

“History, mostly,” she said.

He waited. “What period?”

Miss Redmond looked down at Cecily for one moment. He realized that the young woman found comfort and reassurance in the child. If he did not know better, he might have thought the baby was her own. “The Tudors,” she said at last.

“That is a bold favorite,” Leopold said.

Miss Redmond looked wary. “Is it?”

“It suggests a taste for danger, ambition, and people making disastrous choices in expensive clothing.”

For one startled second, she smiled. “Then perhaps it is only honest history.”

“A troubling standard.”

“Most true things are troubling, Your Grace.”

Leopold studied her. “You do not speak like a woman who reads only when children are asleep.”

The smile vanished almost at once. “Then I shall try to sound less well-read in future.”

“That was not a criticism.”

“No,” she said softly. “But it was an observation.”