CHAPTER 7

Allowing Miss Clara Davencourt to arouse his possessive intincts was a mistake. For that matter, allowing her to arouse any instincts at all was totally unsafe.

Lady Juliana Davencourt was in the hall, which broke the rather difficult silence between them. Juliana was dressed in an old striped gown and Fleet, remembering the wayward widow of the past, would never have believed she could have anything half so frumpish in her wardrobe. She was cradling a tiny baby in each arm and looked up with a smile as they came in at the door. Fleet thought she looked young and vibrant and alive with happiness. It was most odd. He had known Juliana Davencourt since she was a debutante, had once even thought that her particular brand of cynicism might be the perfect match for his, yet here she was transformed into someone he barely recognized. And why was she carrying the babies herself? Surely Davencourt was rich enough to employ a dozen nursemaids? This modern trend toward caring for one’s children oneself made him shudder.

“Sebastian. How delightful to see you again!” Juliana did not offer him her hand, for which he could only be grateful since he was certain it was not clean. She turned to Clara, drawing them both with her into the warmth of the library, where a fire burned bright in the grate. Clara removed the enveloping cloak that she had been wearing, affording Fleet the opportunity to admire the luscious curves accentuated by her fashionable gown. It was all that he could do to keep his mind on the conversation.

“Did you enjoy your drive?” Juliana asked.

“Yes, thank you, Ju,” Clara said. “I think it will snow later, though. It is most unconscionably cold. How is little Rose’s croup this morning?” She had taken one of the babies from her sister-in-law with a competence that both beguiled and appalled Fleet. He watched as the child opened its tiny pink mouth in an enormous yawn, then gave an equally enormous burp. Its eyes flew open in an expression of extreme surprise. Clara gave a delighted laugh.

“She is taking her food well enough, it seems!”

Fleet watched as Clara raised a gentle finger to trace the curve of the baby’s cheek. She was smiling now, her face pink from the nip of the chill air outside, her hair mussed up by the hood of the cloak, escaping in soft curls about her face. Fleet stared, unable to look away. Something tightly wound within him seemed to give a little. He felt very odd, almost light-headed. It was as though he was seeing Clara in a different way and yet the revelation made her appear even more seductive. Clara with her own child in her arms...

Then he realized that Juliana was addressing him, and had been doing so for some time. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“We would be very pleased, Sebastian, although if you felt that you could not we would understand...”

“Of course,” Fleet said automatically, forcing his gaze from Clara. “It will be my pleasure.”

“You will?” Juliana sounded pleased, relieved and surprised at the same time. “But that is wonderful! Martin will be delighted!”

It was her tone that helped to focus his thoughts what had he agreed to do? Juliana sounded far too excited for this to be a simple dinner invitation. He looked up to meet Clara’s quizzical blue gaze. “You have surprised me, she said slowly, “but I, too, am delighted, your grace.”

She gave him a smile so radiant that Fleet felt shaken and aroused. The fire seemed extremely hot and he was very odd. He wondered if he had caught an ague.

Clara dropped a kiss on the baby’s forehead.

“I think it is appropriate for your new godfather to hold you now,” she murmured, moving towards him.

Understanding hit Fleet in a monstrous wave of feeling. He had just agreed to be the baby’s godfather! He cast a terrified look at the little bundle Clara was holding out to him. Juliana was approaching in a flanking maneuver, murmuring something about him taking a seat so he could hold both babies at once. Both babies? Had he agreed to be godfather to be pair of them? He opened his mouth protest, then closed it again, aware of the enormity of the situation in which he found himself. He could not in all conscience back out of the arrangement now. Juliana and Clara were both looking at him with shining eyes; it made him feel like a hero. He would have to wait until later—get Martin Davencourt alone over a glass of brandy, explain he had made a mistake, had thought he was being offered something much simpler, like a cup of tea or an invitation to a ball. He was certain he could sort the matter out, but in the meantime he would have to play along.

He sank into a big armchair before the fire and sat at still as a status while the infants were placed in his arms. If he moved he might drop them. Worse, they might vomit on his coat of blue superfine. He had heard babies were prone to do such things although he had never been near one in his life.

They smelled faintly of a milky sickness that turned his stomach, and yet at the same time they were the softest and sweetest things he had ever touched. He lowered his nose gently and sniffed the top of Rose’s head. She moved a little and made a small mewing sound. The other baby opened his eyes suddenly and stared at him. He realized he did not even know the boy’s name.

“What...” His voice had come out huskily. He cleared his throat. “What is his name?”

“Rory,” Juliana said. She was smiling. “They are called Rory and Rose.”

Fleet looked down on the tiny bodies nestling close. He felt as though they had fastened their little hands about his heart and were squeezing tightly. A whole wash of emotions threatened to drown him.

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