Page 72 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
And he hadn’t ignored it, or brushed it aside, or called itwomen’s business.
No. Instead, he’d tucked her into bed—hisbed—and pampered her with soothing drinks, lots of blankets, and simple foods.
And that wasn’t all; he actuallymadeher a concoction which had done wonders to soothe her cramps! At first she’d assumed he’d gone out in the storm to purchase something from the apothecary, but Merida—snuggling with her after supper—had been so excited to share with Ellie the details of how Fawkes had made the potion, and how he’d let Merida watch.
He’d made it for Ellie, to take away her pain.
The Duke of Death?
He’d called himself a killer, a poisoner, and other, so much worse things.
But then he went and made her something like that, something sweet and useful, without being asked.
Even after the horrible things she’d done to him.
So yes, it was safe to say that the morning after her arrival on Fawkes’s doorstep, Ellie was feeling both gratefulandembarrassed.
The embarrassment was winning, but she couldn’t hide in the man’s bedroom forever. Not when she was feeling better, and shewasgrateful. So she cleaned herself up as well as she could, and stepped out to face her destiny.
Where “destiny” equaled flaming cheeks, awkward stutters, and supreme mortification.
But laughter greeted her.
Merida was sitting on the table, the way Ellie sometimes allowed her to sit on the desk, chopping apples into small pieces with what Ellie sincerelyhopedwas a dull blade. When she saw Ellie, the little girl lit up.
“Good morning, Ellie! Does your tummy hurt, or did Fawkes’s magic potion fix you? I have another loose tooth, and we’re making pancakes!”
Before Ellie could respond, Fawkes stepped toward the table, a bowl in one hand, a spoon in the other, and—oh dear—a smudge of flour across one cheek.
“Morning,” he said in that deep burr of his, and Ellie’s knees went weak.
Shetoldherself it was because she was still feeling shaky, and not because his auburn hair was tousled, and he wore only his trousers and shirtsleeves…he was barefoot. Dear Lord in heaven, this lithe piece of gorgeousness was barefoot and smiling as he helped Merida mix the apple pieces into the dough.
He had a dimple.A dimple.
“Good morning!” she blurted, overly loud, then winced at the awkwardness.
Thank goodness they didn’t seem to notice. “How are ye feeling this morning?” Fawkes asked, his attention on the little girl’s hands. “Nay, Merida, just pick up a few at a time—och.Well, I suppose Tramp will enjoy those.”
“Can dogs eat apples?” the girl asked.
“I suppose we’ll find out. Tramp!”
At Fawkes’s whistle, the ball of fluff jumped from his place by the stove, where he appeared to have been cheerfully trying to excavate his own anus, and ran twice around the table before settling on his haunches to investigate the apple pieces.
Ellie, who’d been gripping the back of one of the chairs—because she was still weak from her flux, of course, not because her knees had gone all wobbly at the sight of that dimple—managed to keep her now-wrinkled skirt out of the way of the scampering pup.
Merida scooted to the edge of the table and accepted Fawkes’s hand in jumping down. “Why’d you name him Tramp?”
The man shrugged, crossing to the wood stove and the pan he’d placed on top to heat. “He has a lovely brown coat, aye? Nice and silky. And dark eyes. I would’ve named himLadyif he’d been a girl.”
Merida laughed, skipping over to the stove. “Because she sounds like Ellie?”
Fawkes’s green gaze darted toward Ellie, lowering herself onto a chair, then back to the pancake he was pouring. “Aye,” he said simply. “But since he’s a he, and I pulled him out of the Thames…” He shrugged, attention on the food. “Tramp seemed appropriate. I considered Poseidon, Wayfarer, and Catfish, but they were too much of a mouthful each time I wanted to yell at him.”
“Catfish!” Merida dissolved into giggles. “Cat fish!That’s two things he isn’t!” Still laughing, she pushed herself up on her toes to peer at the hot pan. “Hey Fawkes, what’s the difference between a piano and a fish?”
He made a little humming noise as he flipped the pancake with one hand and gently pulled the girl back a step with the other. “I can think of quite a few differences between a piano and a fish, starting with the fact ye dinnae die if a fish drops on ye from the second-floor balcony. But how aboutyetell me what ye think the difference is between a piano and a fish?”
