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One Year Later
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?’ Count Leander Vittori asked with a sly grin. “There’s still time to flee back to London.”
Braden didn’t even pause in his rapid pacing as he tossed a forbidding frown toward one of his oldest friends. Vittori, once a notorious rake, continued to smile back at him from where he lounged in an overstuffed armchair set before a roaring fireplace.
The fire was the only thing keeping the chill of the highland storm raging outside from permeating the dense atmosphere of Braden’s study, but at the moment, it felt too warm, too suffocating. Braden tugged at his neckcloth before shrugging free of his coat and tossing it aside as he continued his well-trod path back and forth across the room.
“You might want to leave off prodding the man just now,” the Marquess of Granville, another of Braden’s closest friends, warned Vittori in a dry tone. “Don’t forget, you’re next.”
Granville’s dark words had the desired effect as Vittori paled at the reminder and kept his mouth blessedly shut.
Lord Allerton, the fourth in their set of former rakes and scoundrels, shook his head with a chuckle. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. I made it through just fine.”
“That’s because you were sodding drunk,” Braden retorted as he glanced at the clock for the twentieth time that hour.
“Exactly,” Allerton exclaimed. “Why aren’t you?”
Braden glanced at the glass of scotch Granville had poured for him some time ago. It sat untouched on the corner of his desk. The truth was, even if the night had been torturous beyond anything he’d ever known, he didn’t want to miss a moment of it.
The sound of a familiar foot tread reached his ears and he froze in place, staring at the open doorway.
Nan appeared a moment later. Her weathered face was spread wide with a toothless grin as she approached him with an astoundingly noisy bundle in her arms. Without waiting for him to prepare himself or even take his next breath, she passed the tiny babe into his hands. “You’ve a healthy wee lass.”
With shock and fear and more love than he could fathom, Braden noted a thick thatch of feathery black hair surrounding pert and delicate features. His daughter was currently wailing her displeasure with a wide-open mouth and a scrunched-up face. The fear took over for a moment as he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do with such a tiny creature.
Then he brushed the tip of his finger over the curve of her soft red cheek and she started to calm.
Looking back to Nan, Braden swallowed past the thickness in his throat to ask, “Moira?”
Nan nodded. “She’s fine and well. After feeding the wee one, she fell asleep. I’ll fetch you when she wakes,” the old woman added as she turned to leave.
“Wait,” Braden said as panic swept through him. “You’re just going to leave the babe with me?”
“Ach, now, wot safer place than her da’s arms?” Nan replied with a dismissive wave as she continued from the room.
Stunned and uncertain, Braden glanced around the room, noting that his friends—formerly devoted to hedonism and debauchery in all forms—had all risen solemnly to their feet.
As the men crowded in to gaze down at the tiny new being, she gave a healthy yawn and opened her bright blue eyes. Almost as if she could feel the pride and love surrounding her, the baby girl’s bow-shaped lips widened in a smile that revealed a charming little dimple in her left cheek.