Page 28 of Mr. Notorious and the Nefarious November

Unexpectedly, Beatrice felt her heart clench. She wanted a man to look at her that way. Not just any man, but Munro. She looked about the dining room but didn’t see him. Then she remembered Judith had said he’d taken the children to the drawing room and out of the way. Beatrice reached into her bodice and withdrew the handkerchief he’d given her. It smelledfaintly of citrus and bergamot, scents she always associated with him.

She made her way out of the dining room and up the stairs to the drawing room. Outside the door, she peeked in and smiled at the chaos inside. Munro was trying to manage at least nine of his nieces and nephews. He held Mary’s youngest, who was two and wailing, in his arms. The older boys were pushing and shoving in a corner, and one of the little girls was crying over a doll who seemed to have lost an arm.

He needed saving.

“What’s all this?” Beatrice said as she swept into the room. Immediately, the boys stopped pushing each other and Lizzie, Mary’s toddler, reached her arms out. Beatrice swept by Munro, took the child, and then bent to see what she could do about the broken doll.

“Thank God you are here,” Munro said. “A riot was about to break out.”

“I can sew her arm back on, Georgiana,” Beatrice said. “Do stop crying.” She looked about and spotted Lydia. “Lydia, begin a game of charades for the older children, please.”

“Yes, Aunt Beatrice.”

“Munro, help me put the blocks out for the little ones. They are in the cabinet. Yes, that one there. Where are the nannies?”

“I sent them away,” he said, giving her a sheepish look. “I thought they might want a small respite. I didn’t think everything would go wrong so quickly.” He set the blocks out and took Lizzie from her arms, setting the child on the carpet before the blocks. Then he knelt beside her and began stacking blocks that she handed him.

Beatrice’s mouth went dry. She had always loved children and enjoyed being part of the lives of Judith’s children. Clearly, Munro enjoyed children as well. He listened to Lizzie babble on and made agreeable comments as though she were reallyconversing with him. It was too precious, and she had a momentary flash of Munro holding their child and playing with their toddler.

But that was not to be.

“I’ll get the other little ones,” she managed to say around the lump in her throat.

When everyone was either engaged in charades or toppling blocks, she sat on the couch and Munro rose from the floor and joined her. “Why aren’t you enjoying the breakfast?” he asked.

She couldn’t exactly tell him that she’d wondered where he was or that she missed him. She looked down at her hands, trying to think of some excuse, and spotted his handkerchief. “I wanted to give this back to you.”

He took the handkerchief from her. “Thank you.” His eyes met hers, and she could see the longing in the golden-brown gaze. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.

She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, and he looked away.

“I think I’ll stay here with the children a little longer,” he said. “I don’t know when I’ll see them again.”

This was her chance. This was her last opportunity to tell him she would marry him. All the tests and temptations be damned. She wanted him.

But she couldn’t seem to say it, and then Guy was begging Uncle Munro to play at charades. “You know that I have never played charades,” Munro said. “I’ve seen others play, but I never have.”

“We’ll show you how,” Lydia offered. “Please!”

Munro glanced at Beatrice. She smiled. “I’ll watch the little ones. Go ahead.”

“Very well.” He stood. “I’ll try anything once.”

And he would. He was not afraid to risk his heart, to risk everything. One of the nannies returned, and Beatrice gave thesmaller children over to her care. She had to get back to the breakfast.

And she had to decide, for once and for all, if she would finally risk it all too.

Chapter Eight

Munro caught only glimpses of Beatrice the rest of the day. The last time was when Lavinia and Ramsbury waved good-bye from the ducal coach. He bid his siblings and their families good-bye then followed Arthur and Dudley inside.

“Judith and Beatrice disappeared upstairs,” Arthur said. “I imagine Judith will have a tray sent up for dinner. She won’t feel like seeing anyone.”

“Why not?” asked Dudley, who had sent his wife and children home in his coach.

Munro clapped his brother on the shoulder. “She’s sad, Dudley. I imagine it’s difficult to see your child leave home.” He glanced at Arthur, who ran a hand over his haggard face.

“Brandy?” the viscount asked.

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