Sleeping Engagement

XXV. Sleeping Child

Since he could not sleep, and he did not want to disturb Margaret's slumber, he decided to work in his study. Before sunrise, he gave up and returned to the third landing. When he poked his head inside, the three-year-old little girl was already awake looking at a picture book he brought from Wickhurst.

"How was your sleep?" he asked, sitting at the foot of her bed.

She did not answer. Instead, she asked, "Will you tell the lady about me?"

"Was that why you were wandering around last night? You were curious?"

She shrugged, giving him an innocent look. "I was dreaming." She placed her book on her lap and asked again, "Will she be my friend?"

"Would you like her to be your friend?"

"Only if you want to."

She had always been perceptive, he thought with amusement. Always acted older than her age. He stood with a loud sigh. "Do be quiet today, please."

She pouted, shoulders sagging with disappointment. "It's lonely here."

He gave her a reassuring smile. "I know, darling, but we have to be very careful. Remember what I told you about the bad men?"

Her round eyes flew to him and she nodded. "Bad men."

"They'll be gone soon."

"Then I can play? Outside?"

"Yes."

***

She stirred at the feel of arms wrapping around her. At the sound of her sleepy moan and the turn of her head, he moved over her and nipped at the corners of her mouth. She sighed softly as his hands wormed their way under her night dress, peeling it off her and throwing it to the side.

Margaret bit her lip and smiled while his hands found hers and slid them over her head, interlacing their fingers. Her mind slowly woke up as Cole's mouth trailed down her neck, and when it finally dawned on her that this was not a dream, she stiffened.

He felt it and he against her neck. "Good morning," he whispered, hands running down her arms and sides.

And suddenly, last night fell upon her.

"Meg," he whispered in her ear, hands digging in her hips. "You're thinking."

"I'm just..." She closed her eyes, swallowed, sensations clouding her thoughts.

She whimpered when his hips settled between her thighs in so natural a manner, but by some miracle, she managed to stop him, cupping his face, saying, "I'm hungry."

He stilled and blinked down at her. "For food?"

"Yes."

He sighed and rolled away from her. "Food."

Within minutes, breakfast was delivered to her room. He was dressed, and so was she, as the servants laid out hot meal and tea. Once they were gone, they ate, expertly averting topics they could not yet discuss, and chose to talk about those they could. But as they finished, Cole stilled and frowned at her from across the small round table. "Where, pray tell, does your family think you really are?"

Margaret nearly sputtered in her teacup. "Standbury."

"And do the people in Standbury know where you actually are?" he carefully asked.

She bit her lip. "Not really, no."

"Meg," he said with a sigh of frustration.

"They will not find out," she promised. "If that's what you fear."

He closed his eyes to summon control, and at that moment, Margaret realized he might be thinking it was the best time to talk about them. Where this was leading, or where it had to end. She was not yet ready to talk about that. In fact, she would rather they forget about everything for now.

What he had in mind might not be what she wanted. And after everything, she could not blame him if this was all he could offer.

She was not in the perfect state to wake up and realize she was being stupid. And sooner or later, if she grew to believe that she could live with this sort of life—of having him only in stolen moments like this—she would grow to hate herself and eventually despise him as well.

Margaret could not have that. She knew she deserved more. But she could not demand for more if the very man who could give her that may be guilty of a crime. Or if he wasn't, was living a secret life.

There were things far more important than her heart here. There was a child upstairs in his manor.

And she, Margaret, was a spy for the Town. She used their connection to get close to him and to dig into his secrets. If there was anything to discuss at all, it would not be about the two of them.

But whatever he had to say was momentarily forgotten when he looked at her again. "You are looking at me as if I'm one of the dandies who tried to dance with you in the past," he said with a reluctant smile. "Which reminds me, you have me to thank for."

"Why?" she asked.

"I saved you from them."

"No, you did not. You were furiously jealous and purposely tripped one of them, accidentally poured wine on one, spread rumor about at least three of them, and let's see... Was it you who stole the shoe of that poor gentleman?"

He chuckled, his eyes glittering with mirth. "I believe I had help from one of your brothers."

When she simply stared at him with a weak smile, his expression straightened and he frowned. "Something bothers you."

"Who is the little girl on the third landing?" she burst out without warning.

He froze in his seat, and his jaw set tightly.

"Is she your daughter? A ward?" She reached for her cup and sipped while he sat quietly across from her. "I..." She stole him a look and guiltily looked away. "I woke up last night and you were gone. I heard footsteps and followed it. And I saw her in one of the rooms." Pausing, she took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Who is the girl, Cole?" She frowned when a smile formed on his face. "What's funny?"

His brown eyes searched hers. "She is not my daughter."

Then perhaps her second theory was correct. The child was a slave. "Then who is she? What is she doing here? Are you hiding her here? If you weren't, I'm quite certain you would have at least made introductions—"

"I'm hiding her, yes," he said, his face serious. "For her safety."

Margaret mentally counted to calm herself, to stop the questions from spilling all at once. "Then who is she?"

He stared at her for a long time and she saw the apprehension in his gaze, the uncertainty and doubt. Well, he should have a reason to feel that way. She was spying on him, she thought with a bitter taste of guilt. Whatever his secret was, if it was relevant to her mission, she could not keep it to herself. A small part of her wanted him to be angry and throw her out for being too nosy.

"Fiona," he replied. "Her name is Fiona."