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He watched his valet lumber out of the bathing room then stood up, picked up a towel and dried his body. He donned a dressing robe and went into his adjoining bedroom.
This experience with Justine truly had forced him to see another side of himself. He’d never really considered marriage because of the mess that was his family. And, he would freely admit, it had been quite pleasant to flit about the continent in search of the next party.
That was until he met Justine again as an adult and watched the men parade before her. She deserved better than them. She deserved someone who saw her for who she was—a funny, smart, arresting woman who, as it happened, would one day be queen. He enjoyed her company. He felt he was at his best when he was with her, challenged to be a different sort of man than he normally was in the company of women.
He liked seeing her every day. They were shocked by the same things, liked the same things. They laughed together. When had they become friends? What day, what place, what moment, had they turned to friendship? When had it become even more?
He groaned, rubbed his face with his hands. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone touching her. He wanted that woman all to himself.
God in heaven...he really had gone and fallen in love. That was what this was, right down to the pit in his stomach. He was inlove.He must be—because he knew without the slightest hesitation, he’d go with her to Wesloria. He would revel in her taking the throne. He would enjoy watching her from the sidelines, being there to help her in any way that he could.
But that would never happen. How could it possibly when the news from Scotland was so grim? He had to tell her the truth.
He had to tell her everything, no matter the consequence. Because that was what she deserved.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
WILLIAMWASTHEfirst to arrive at the Iddesleigh house on Upper Brook Street. He was clearly early, as the drawing room had not been cleared of the four devilettes and their keeper. Two of the girls were racing around the perimeter, screeching at each other. The next youngest one was on the floor, her face a hideous shade of red, her little mouth a gaping maw as she sobbed inconsolably. The baby was trying to eat the tail of a cat.
Donovan was on the settee with a book, one leg lazily crossed over the other. He seemed not to notice the girls at all.
“Douglas! You’re a saint for coming early,” Beck said, rising from his spot at the desk and hurrying forward. “I can’t possibly take another moment of this.” He turned around, as if he’d just remembered Donovan was there. “How long must we endure this?”
Donovan glanced at the clock. “Half hour ought to do it.” He put his book aside. “Or I could put a spot of brandy in their milk before bed.”
“How dare you even mention it,” Beck said and glanced out of the corner of his eye at Douglas. “We employ that method only in the most dire of circumstances.”
“The most dire of circumstances being every weekend,” added Donovan. He yawned, stretched his arms overhead and stood. “Here’s what, milord. I’ll take them around to the Tricklebank house for the night. The cat has given birth to kittens.”
The oldest girl, Mathilda, stopped running so suddenly that her younger sister plowed into her. “Kiki had kittens?”
“Five of them,” Donovan said as he studied the back of his hand. “I wanted to tell you, but you wouldn’t stop screaming.”
“Papa! May we spend the night at the Tricklebank house?”
“Yes, yes, all of you, but the baby. That one needs her mother’s milk. Perhaps a spot of brandy will return her to good humor.”
The youngest one had already crawled away and had pulled a book off a footstool.
“All right, then, come along, you little heathens. You’ll need your nightgowns, your sleeping caps and a cross to keep away the ghosts.”
That didn’t seem like the sort of thing one wanted to say to a young child, but the girls shrieked with delight and raced across the room for the door.
Donovan stooped down and swept up the baby with one arm and followed the other three out of the room. “I’ll have them back to you at the crack of dawn.”
“No need to rush. Take all the time you need,” Beck said and kissed each one of them on the top of their head before sending them from the room.
The silence that descended after their departure was quite heavy. William looked at Beck. “You said half past seven.”
“Did I? Ah, my fault. I told the rest of them half past eight.” He smiled. “Shall we repair to my study for a bit of brandy to calm our nerves?”
“Please.”
In Beck’s study William moved aside a doll missing its head, a rag puppy and a single shoe to take a seat in a chair near the hearth. Beck handed him a brandy and sat in the other chair after discarding a tiny petticoat, a bonnet and the head of the doll.
William couldn’t help but smile. “How your life has changed, my old friend.”
“Hasn’t it indeed?” Beck said with a weary sigh. “I never thought this sort of life was for me, and I was very firm with Blythe. One child, no more. But I find I enjoy the babies almost as much as I enjoy making them. And it helps to have a wife like mine. She is the rock in this family.” He glanced around at the detritus his daughters had left behind. “What about you, Douglas? Do you ever think of domesticity? I should think it well past time.” Beck looked at him directly. “Isn’t there anyone who has caught your eye?”
