Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5)(84)

“Trust us,” she said quietly. “Trust me and my sons to love you.”

West was silent for so long that she thought he didn’t intend to respond. But then he spoke without looking at her, in a flat and unemotional tone. “How could I ever count on anyone to do that?”



To Phoebe’s relief, West’s dark mood seemed to have been dispelled by that evening. He romped with the boys after dinner, tossing and wrestling and flipping them, eliciting squeals, grunts, shrieks, and endless giggling. At one point, he was crawling on his hands and knees through the parlor like a tiger with both of them riding on his back. When they were all happily exhausted, they piled onto the settee.

Justin crawled into Phoebe’s lap and leaned his head back against her shoulder as they sat in the light of a standing lamp with a yellow silk shade, while a small fire crackled in the hearth. Reading aloud from a copy of Stephen Armstrong: Treasure Hunter, she enjoyed Justin’s spellbound interest as they neared the end of the chapter.

“‘Stephen Armstrong watched as the sun’s burning rays slanted over the temple ruins. According to the ancient scroll, at precisely three hours after midday, a telltale animal shadow would reveal the entrance to the treasure cave. As the minutes passed but slowly, the shape of a crocodile gradually appeared on one of the embedded stone slabs. Directly beneath Stephen Armstrong’s feet, the treasure he had been seeking half his life lay in a deep, dark cavern.’” Phoebe closed the book, smiling at Justin’s groan of protest. “Next chapter tomorrow,” she said.

“More now?” Justin asked hopefully. “Please?

“I’m afraid it’s too late.” Phoebe glanced at West, who was half reclining in the corner of the settee with Stephen against his chest. The two of them appeared to be slumbering soundly, with one of the toddler’s chubby arms loosely clasped around West’s neck.

Justin followed her gaze. “I think you should marry Uncle West,” he commented, startling her.

Her voice came out breathless. “Why do you say that, darling?”

“Then you would always have someone to dance with. A lady can’t dance by herself or she would fall over.”

Out of the periphery of her vision, she saw West stretching and stirring. Holding Justin closely, she smoothed his dark hair and kissed his head. “Some gentlemen prefer not to marry.”

“You should use some of Granny’s perfume,” Justin said.

Phoebe suppressed a laugh as she looked into his earnest face. “Justin, don’t you like the way I smell?”

“Oh, I do, Mama, but Granny always smells like cake. If you smelled like cake, Uncle West would want to marry you.”

Torn between amusement and dismay, Phoebe didn’t dare look at West. “I’ll consider your advice, dear.” She gently eased Justin from her lap and stood.

West yawned audibly and sat up. Stephen was limp and heavy on his shoulder, still sleeping soundly.

Phoebe smiled and reached for the baby. “I’ll take him.” Carefully she gathered the toddler close and safe against her. “Come, Justin, let’s go upstairs to bed.”

The boy climbed off the settee and went to West, who was still sitting. “Good night,” Justin said cheerfully, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. It was the first time he’d ever made such a gesture toward West, who held very still and didn’t seem to know how to respond.

Phoebe carried Stephen to the doorway but paused as West stood and reached her at the threshold in a few long strides.

He spoke in her ear, too softly to be overheard. “It would be better if we stayed in our own beds tonight. We both need rest.”

She absorbed that with a quick double blink, a chill running down her spine. Something was wrong. She had to find out what it was.





Chapter 30




Long after the children had been tucked into bed, Phoebe sat in her room with her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped around them. She argued silently with herself. Perhaps she should do as West had asked, and not go to the cottage. He was right, they both needed rest. But she wouldn’t be able to sleep, nor did she think he would.

How quiet it was, this late at night. No movement anywhere, except for the anxious staccato of her own heart.

That odd, blank look on his face . . . What emotions had it concealed? What was he struggling with?

Abruptly she came to a decision. She would go to him but make no demands. She only wanted to know if he was all right.

She tied a heavy dressing robe over her nightgown, and nudged her feet into leather slippers.

Soon she was hurrying across the stretch of damp lawn between the winter garden and the guest cottage. The night air was cool, the ground alive with shadows and quiet blue shocks of moonlight. By the time she reached the cottage, she was breathing fast from anxiety and haste, and her slippers were sodden. Don’t let him be angry that I’m here, she thought, her fingers trembling as she tapped softly on the door and let herself in.

It was dark in the cottage, except for thin silver gleams of moonlight stealing between curtains. Was West already sleeping? She would not wake him. Turning back to the door, she reached for the handle.

A gasp was torn from her throat as she became aware of movement behind her in the shadows. The door was firmly closed by a pair of large masculine hands. She froze in place with West’s arms braced on either side of her. Warm breath fanned against the nape of her neck, rustling tiny wisps of hair. She dampened her dry lips. “I’m sorry if I—”