Page 25 of Her Wicked Highwayman
Isla rubbed a fist against her eyes. “Not ever!”
“I can’t promise that,” he said sadly. “But when I come back, I will bring you wonderful toys.”
“I dinna want toys. I want ye to stay here,” she whimpered. He leaned over, pressing another kiss to her brow.
“My my, how fierce you are, my little tiger. I shall not leave ever again unless you allow it?” He would have to find a way to convince her to let him leave when the time came. She may have him wrapped around her little finger, but he could still charm her when he needed to. Satisfied with his promise, she snuggled deep into her blankets and fell right asleep.
“Oh, to be that young and to sleep that soundly,” Mrs. Chesterfield mused from her rocking chair nearby.
“Only the truly innocent can sleep like that,” Rafe said sadly. His thoughts suddenly stilled. That wasn’t true. Isla’s life was not untouched by tragedy. Far from it. She had seen both of herparents die, yet somehow she’d found a way to peace, to trust and love again.
Why couldn’t he do the same? Was he incapable of healing? Was he broken?
The grim thought slithered into his chest, coiling like a black viper around his heart, warning away all those who would try to seek access. Only Isla had been able to slip beneath the viper’s scales.
He stroked an index finger down his daughter’s nose and stood.
“I must retire,” he said to the nanny. “It is quite late.”
She nodded and resumed her knitting. “Good night, sir.” The soft clicking of needles in the quiet nursery was oddly comforting.
Rafe stepped into the hall, only to have that sense of peace he’d had shattered. Ashton leaned against the wall just outside the door. Rafe’s heart jolted from the sheer shock of this surprise.
“Ready for that talk, brother?” Ashton asked.
“Bloody hell, Ash, you mustn’t lurk like that. If you are trying to kill me, at least have the decency to use a pistol or a sword. Frightening someone to death seems hardly sportsmanlike. It’s unbecoming for a baron,” Rafe replied.
“I didn’t wish to miss you before you retired. I can see that you are weary, but weary from what, I wonder? Did you spend several weeks carousing in London so much that you look dead on your feet? I thought those days were behind you?”
The accusation, although one that would have been correctly applied to the Rafe of years past, still stung.
“They are behind me.” Rafe gently closed the door to the nursery and headed for his chambers. Ashton kept pace with him, shoulder to shoulder.
“Oh? Then what business were you settling in London? Mother was there, and she wrote to me saying she did not see you.”
Damnation, he hadn’t thought of their mother. “I did not stay at your townhouse. I stayed with Caspian.” He should have remembered that Mother liked to spend the fall in London at the primary Lennox residence, but he’d been so intent on his work with Will and Caspian that the matter had slipped his mind.
“Falworth? How is he?” Ashton asked.
“He’s been better. His father’s death has made for some financial complications,” Rafe replied. “He and I were out seeking investment opportunities. That’s what has made me weary.”
“Investment opportunities?” Ashton’s eyes sharpened and he stroked his short golden beard.
“Christ, you really do get aroused by talking business, don’t you?” Rafe teased.
“What arouses me is none of your concern, little brother.”
“On that, we agree,” said Rafe. “That’s poor Rosalind’s duty, not mine.”
Ashton’s growl was more playful than threatening. “Hush, pup.”
Who knew marriage could tame his lion of a brother? When Rafe had tricked Rosalind into playing and then losing a game of chess against Ashton, which had resulted in her having to marry Ashton, Rafe’s only desire had been to punish the Scottish minx for shooting him. He certainly hadn’t planned for the pair to fall in love and make each other happy rather than miserable. But did Ashton ever give him credit for playing Cupid? Of course not!
“Tell me, Rafe, what do you want to invest in? And why didn’t you come to me first?”
They were at Rafe’s bedchamber now. Rafe gestured for his brother to join him inside and walked over to the drink cart in one corner of the room. He poured them both a glass of scotch, and they settled into a pair of chairs by the fireplace. Some thoughtful servant had come by and lit the fire, and he was damned glad for the warmth of the flames. Ashton leaned back in his chair, waiting for a response to his earlier question.
“Because you’ve made it clear in the past that you did not wish for me to come to you for help.”
