Daughter on his Doorstep (HC #2)

17: Believe Forsythe Follow

It was dawn when he flinched awake again, instinctively clutching at Isabela as he felt her weight shift in his arms. He startled further as he noticed the presence looming over him, relaxing only when he recognised the dark mop of curls and distinctive quirk of the eyebrow.

"She looked like she might fuss," Thomas murmured quietly, scooping the little girl up and settling her in his arms. He bounced softly on the balls of his feet, turning slightly away from Vincent to pace a short path around the room.

For his part, Vincent bridged the divide between sleep and wakefulness, watching the pair move slowly around the room from a slight gap in his lids. He didn't even realise he was smiling.

"You do like to cause trouble, don't you darling," Thomas said, addressing the babe in his arms with mock seriousness. "Perhaps a family trait. But even if we do share blood, I promise to do you the courtesy of never calling you sister. There is little joy to be had in being a Thorne." It was an odd thing to croon, but the soft tones of his voice were lulling – even to Vincent – and Isabela's eyelids fell to half-mast.

It was another half-hour before he felt safe enough to settle on the settee beside Vincent, disturbing the man who was drifting in and out of sleep. The man pushed himself up to sitting, running a firm hand across his eyes.

"How is Lupe?" he asked eventually, his gaze settling on the crown of Isabela's head which just protruded from her nest in Thomas' arms.

"Better, I believe. I poked my head into her room on my way here and she seemed to be sleeping peacefully." He shook his head slowly, his eyes closing tightly as if to block out a memory. "The poor girl... you should have seen her, Vincent; she was terrified."

After the previous night, there was little doubt in Vincent's mind how some of the Spanish women had protected themselves over their years indentured. His last hope was that Lupe had been imitating and not repeating behaviour. He stretched out a hand, resting it gently on Thomas' shoulder. After a moment's rearrangement, his hand was sandwiched beneath the other man's.

"Thank you," he said softly, holding Vincent's gaze. "For believing me last night."

Vincent acknowledged that with a dip of his chin. "You have already told me of your attraction to men."

There was a sudden tension in Thomas' muscles, a stillness despite the fact he had not been moving. Vincent glanced at him in concern, and watched him swallow.

"What do you mean?" The tone was foreign to Thomas – hesitant, cautious, muted – and Vincent's frown instantly deepened as he tried to figure out how he'd misspoken.

"You told me you are attracted to men," he said slowly, watching Thomas' face carefully. "As Lupe is not a man, she would hold no interest for you."

Thomas winced.

Vincent's heart immediately began to pound in his chest. He had said something wrong, or made an assumption, he was sure.

Beside him, Thomas turned on the settee, folding one leg up so that he could more comfortably face Vincent. In the process, he dislodged Vincent's hand from his arm, sending a sharp tingle up his limb that was stopped as he re-joined their hands and held them in his lap.

He cleared his throat. "That's not strictly true."

That part Vincent had guessed, but he scanned Thomas' face carefully for further hints. He did not seem angry – his brow was smooth, his lips straight – but there was a cautiousness in his eyes still that was foreign.

"I am attracted to women – not Lupe," he tripped over himself to clarify, "she's a child in our protection – but there are grown, adult women I've had dalliances with."