“DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU’RE ASKING OF ME?”
Rupert Curran gripped the side of the wooden pew on which he sat, raising his eyes to the church ceiling— whether to beseech God or warn him, Eric wasn’t sure.
“I believe I made myself quite clear, Vicar,” Eric responded. “You needn’t quake nor beg for mercy from some alleged Higher Being. I haven’t come to slay you or your parishioners. As I explained, I’ve come to seek a suitable governess for my niece—a service for which the right candidate will be handsomely compensated. Further, to show my gratitude, I shall donate the sum of five thousand pounds to your church, which”—Eric cast a quick glance about the deteriorating sanctuary walls—“is obviously needed.”
“Perhaps some people can be bought, my lord.” Curran came to his feet, indignation etched in his every aged feature. “I cannot. Material gain means nothing if the price is sacrificing a young woman’s life.”
One dark brow rose. “Sacrificing her life? And who is it you fear will destroy her, Noelle or me?”
“Such a question deserves no answer.”
“Nevertheless, I’d like one. Having severed all ties with the rest of the world, I’m curious as to whose reputation is blacker, mine or my niece’s?”
“Your niece is a child, my lord,” the vicar responded distastefully. “I’m convinced that, had she been offered four years of proper love and guidance, she’d be a happy, well-adjusted little girl and this entire conversation would be unnecessary.”
“Really? Then tell me this, Vicar: If Noelle requires no more than proper guidance in order to thrive, why has every virtuous family in your parish returned her within a period of … let’s see—” Eric tapped his fingertips together thoughtfully. “The longest duration was just shy of six months. That was with the Willetts. I’m sure, if there truly is a heaven, those gentle souls have ensured themselves a shining place within its gates. On the other hand, there were the Fields, who endured Noelle for a mere day and a half, until she set fire to the kitchen—and the cook. Overall, I’d estimate my niece’s average stay at one residence to be three months.”
“There are reasons for a child to behave as Noelle does,” Curran said quietly. “But a man like you would have no knowledge of those reasons, nor understand their cause. Therefore, I shan’t attempt to explain.”
“Fine. Then, if it isn’t Noelle’s reputation that strikes terror in the hearts of your parishioners and prevents you from fulfilling my request, I assume it is mine.”
For a moment, the vicar stared silently at the altar. Then, he replied, “You haven’t emerged from your estate in five years, Lord Farrington. And before that—well, I needn’t tell you how shocked the parishioners were at Liza’s death, nor how horrified they were by the part you played in driving her toward her untimely end. Most of your former servants still pale when they speak of those final weeks. It was a heinous tragedy, unparalleled in our small, quiet parish. To be blunt, the entire village is terrified of you. No one, regardless of how poverty-stricken they might be, would agree to relinquish their daughter into your hands.”
Eric’s features had hardened to stone at the mention of his sister’s name. “I disagree, Vicar. For the right sum, people will do anything. Even negotiate with the Devil himself.”
Curran shook his head. “You’re wrong, my lord. Nevertheless, there’s another, equally daunting, obstacle we have yet to discuss. Farrington is deserted, save, of course, you—and now Noelle. You dismissed your servants directly after Liza’s death and have never replaced them, I presume?”
“Correct. And I have no intention of altering that arrangement.”
“That decision is yours to make. However, I assume you expect Noelle’s governess to reside at Farrington?”
“Governesses customarily reside at the home of their charges.”
“Indeed they do. But this is not a customary situation. You are an unmarried man suggesting that a respectable woman share your home, unchaperoned and unaccompanied by anyone save a four-year-old child. Even if your past were untainted and your reputation flawless, no proper young woman would accept such unorthodox living arrangements.”
A black scowl. “I hadn’t considered that. I suppose I should have.” Swiftly, Eric reassessed his options. “Fine. I shall amend my offer.” Determination glittered in his eyes, laced his tone. “I’ll double my donation to the church from five thousand pounds to ten, and, rather than a governess, consider my offer to be for a wife.”
“A wife?” Curran’s head shot up, and he raked both hands through his silver hair. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” Eric rose. “I’m sure you know that I’m an exceedingly wealthy man. My circumstances have more than reversed themselves over the past five years. I’ve not only recouped my fortune, I’ve doubled it. As my wife, the woman in question will have access to all my funds. She needn’t limit her spending, nor answer to me on her purchases, since I myself have no use for extravagances. She can send for whatever she wants: jewelry, clothing—a whole bloody wardrobe if she chooses—and whatever other insipid vanities women require. I don’t give a damn what she buys—nor what she does, for that matter. So long as she does it within the bounds of my estate and solely during those scant hours when Noelle sleeps. It goes without saying that her conduct must be above reproach, given that she will be Noelle’s only role model—and her only contact. The right candidate must understand that Noelle will be exclusively hers. Not only to oversee, but—to be blunt—to keep as far away from me as possible. And one thing more. Make certain the young lady you select is not the restless type. There will be no excursions to London, no balls or soirees, no outings in the country. In short, I remain at Farrington, and as my wife, so will she.”
“To translate, she’ll be your prisoner.”
Eric’s eyes flashed. “No, Vicar, she will not be my prisoner. She’ll be Noelle’s guardian. Which, whether you believe it or not, is a full-time job.”
“What about the young lady’s family ties?”
“They’ll have to be severed. No one is permitted to visit Farrington.”
“Why can’t she visit them? With Noelle, of course. Certainly, you agree it would be good for the child to have a change of scene now and again.”
“No!” Eric’s fist slammed against the pew, the wood vibrating from the intensity of his blow. “I want no link with the world, no matter how indirect. Farrington—and all its occupants—remain where they are. As for diversion, Noelle will have hundreds of acres to destroy. That should be enough, even for her.”
Dragging his hand through his hair, Eric brought himself under control. “Now, given those unnegotiable terms, who would you recommend I interview?”
Curran blinked in astonishment. “I cannot provide you with a candidate instantly—if ever. You’ll have to give me some time.”
“And during that time, do you trust a blackhearted sinner like me alone with Noelle?” Eric asked in an icy, mocking tone. “Because, quite frankly, I don’t.”
The vicar had just opened his mouth to reply when an unladylike shout permeated the church.
“Damn her.” Eric’s head snapped around.
“Lord Farrington,” the vicar denounced with righteous indignation. “Need I remind you that you’re in a house of God?”
“With a demon outside, threatening to break down its hallowed walls.” Eric was already heading for the door. “I instructed the little hoyden to remain on the lawn and amuse herself during my meeting. By now, she’s doubtless annihilated your gardens and every living creature within it.”
“She’s scarcely four years old.” Curran urged his aged body into motion, walking stiffly in Eric’s wake. “She shouldn’t be left unattended.”
“Fulfill my request and she won’t be.”
He was reaching for the door when a terrified shriek rang out, followed by shouts of “Whoa!” and the sound of scrambling hooves.
Eric exploded from the church in time to see Noelle crouched in the road, paralyzed with terror as an oncoming carriage swerved from side to side, its driver trying desperately to avoid running her down.
“Christ.” Eric took the church steps in two long strides, knowing even as he did that he could never reach her in time.
Out of nowhere, a flash of color darted from the opposite side of the road, snatching Noelle and rolling away as the horses reared—once, twice—tossing their heads in protest.
The carriage stopped.
Silence ensued, broken only by the disoriented snorts of the horses and Eric’s harsh, uneven breaths as he battled a wild, immobilizing surge of emotion.
From somewhere behind, he vaguely heard the vicar approach, heard his murmured, “Thank God.”
Oblivious to their presence, Noelle lifted her head and stared, white-faced, at the young woman in whose arms she was now clasped—a woman who had just saved her life.
With a howl of outrage, she began to struggle and beat at her rescuer’s shoulders. “Let go of me! Fuzzy is under there. I’ve got to find him.”
Unflinching, the young woman warded off the blows. “Stop it,” she commanded quietly, catching Noelle’s small, trembling fists. “You can’t rescue—Fuzzy, did you say?—if you’re flattened beneath a carriage wheel.” She squeezed Noelle’s hands—a tender gesture that belied the severity of her tone—then raised her head and calmly regarded the sweating carriage driver, who looked as if he’d seen a ghost. “It’s all right,” she soothed him. “The child is unharmed. But I’d appreciate your keeping the carriage stationary a moment longer. Would that be possible?”
Mutely, he nodded.
“Thank you.” The woman stood, still clutching Noelle as she brushed the road dust off her simple, mauve-colored frock. “Now,” she addressed the child, “suppose you tell me what kind of animal Fuzzy is. Then we shall find him.”
“He’s a cat.” A mutinous spark ignited in Noelle’s eyes, and her chin jutted out belligerently as she clarified her statement. “A stuffed cat.”
“Excellent. Now I know what I’m searching for.” Disregarding Noelle’s stunned expression, the woman nodded matter-of-factly. Then, shifting Noelle’s weight onto one arm, she marched closer to the carriage, squatting to peer beneath. “Is Fuzzy fawn-colored?”
“Yes.” Noelle strained to see. “Have you spotted him? Is he there?”
“Indeed he is. There and intact. A most fortunate cat.” Noelle’s rescuer turned to face her wriggling bundle. “I’ll offer you a deal. If you promise to return to that pile of leaves you were playing in, I promise to rescue Fuzzy. However, if you venture back into the street before I reach your side, I can’t be responsible for Fuzzy’s fate. Is it a deal?”
Noelle stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Did you hear what I said? Fuzzy’s not a real cat.”
“I heard you. I repeat, do we have a deal?”
A slow, astonished nod. “Yes.”
“Good.” The young woman set Noelle on the ground and gave her a gentle push. “Go ahead.”
Noelle sprinted to the grass.
Her rescuer smiled her approval. Then, shoving unruly chestnut curls behind her ears, she dropped unceremoniously to her knees. With calculated caution, she crawled alongside the carriage, keeping a healthy distance from the wheels, lest the horses bolt. At last, she stopped and groped beneath the vehicle.
Scant seconds later, Fuzzy emerged, gripped tightly in her hand. “Success,” she called out, grinning. Her grin faded as Noelle lunged forward. “Stop.” One palm rose to ward off Noelle’s advance. “Our deal was for you to remain on the grass. One more step and Fuzzy will resume his precarious position beneath the carriage.”
Noelle halted in her tracks.
The dazzling smile returned. “Wonderful. I appreciate a person who keeps her word.” She glanced back at the driver. “Thank you, sir. You can be on your way.”
The befuddled man was wiping his brow with a dirty handkerchief. “Thank you,” he croaked.
“Thank you, sir.” She waved, then headed toward Noelle.
The clattering of the departing carriage shattered Eric’s paralyzed state.
Rage, vast as a storm-tossed wave, erupted inside him. He charged toward the roadside, where, at that moment, Noelle’s rescuer was placing Fuzzy in the child’s arms.
“Here you are,” she said brightly. “Fuzzy survived his adventure and is none the worse for it.”
Noelle snatched her beloved toy, her eyes still wide with disbelief.
“My name is Brigitte,” the woman offered, patting Fuzzy’s tattered head. “What’s yours?”
A heartbeat of silence. Then: “Noelle.”
“Well, Noelle, being that you’re obviously quick on your feet, I’m sure you would have escaped that carriage unharmed. But I’m not nearly as sure about Fuzzy. For his sake, perhaps you could be a bit more cautious in the future.”
“I suppose.” Noelle glanced up to see her uncle bearing down on her. “I’m about to be chest-ized.”
Brigitte stifled a grin. “And who is going to chastise …” Her mouth snapped shut as Eric loomed over them.
“Noelle, I ordered you to remain on the church grounds,” he thundered. “What the hell were you doing in the middle of the street?”
Chewing her lip, Noelle regarded him solemnly. “That’s twice in one morning,” she pronounced. “I think you’d best not say hell again, Uncle. Even God has His limits.”
A choked sound emerged from Noelle’s rescuer—an obviously unsuccessful attempt to smother laughter.
“You find recklessness and impudence to be amusing traits, young woman?” he roared, unleashing his outrage on her full force.
To his astonishment, she raised her chin, meeting his ferocity head-on. “Recklessness, no, Lord Farrington. Nor impudence—at least not in its mean-spirited form. However, in this case, I must admit to finding Noelle’s observation—albeit outspoken—to be amusingly valid.”
Anger was eclipsed by surprise, and Eric’s brows drew together. “You know who I am.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“I have a remarkable memory, my lord. And five years is not so very long a time. While your appearance has altered somewhat”—she indicated his unshaven face and unruly hair—“on the whole, you look much the same.”
“I don’t remember you.”
An ever-so-faint smile. “No, I don’t suppose you do.”
Pensively, he scrutinized her. “Since you know who I am, I assume you’re also familiar with my shrouded past, and my ultimate—and permanent—seclusion.”
“I’m aware of your reputation, yes.”
“Yet you’re not afraid of me?”
“No, my lord, I’m not.”
“Why is that?”
A peppery spark lit her eyes, warming them to a radiant golden brown. “Stupidity, probably. But, you see, I’ve spent the past year and a half teaching children—two dozen of them, in fact, ranging in age from four to fourteen. As a result, it seems I have become impervious to both shock and fear. Even in the case of a notorious man like yourself.”
“Brigitte!” The vicar’s anxious voice interrupted, as he finally made his way to the roadside. “Are you all right?” He reached for her hands, clasping them in his.
“I’m fine, Grandfather,” she assured him gently. “Dusty and disheveled, but fine.” She rubbed one smudged cheek. “We all are—Noelle, Fuzzy, and me.”
Grandfather? Eric’s eyes narrowed on her face as a wisp of memory materialized at last.
A tiny child with a cloud of dark hair, trailing behind the vicar at every church function. A skinny girl in a secondhand frock giving out coins and sweets to the parish children as they exited after Christmas services. A gawky adolescent smiling shyly at him as he passed through the streets, gazing at Liza as if she were some sort of exalted angel.
The vicar’s granddaughter.
How old had she been when last he’d seen her? No more than twelve or thirteen at the most.
Well, it was five years later. And the skinny girl, the gawky adolescent, were no more. To be sure, the forthright young woman who stood before him, her nose streaked with dirt, bore traces of the child she’d once been. Slender and petite, the crown of her chestnut head scarcely reached his chest. Her features, too, had remained dainty, from the delicate line of her jaw to the fine bridge of her nose to her high, sculpted cheekbones. Her manner of dress, a result of financial hardship, he suspected, was also unchanged; her gown, beneath its newly acquired layer of dirt, was as plain and well-worn as ever.
And yet—Eric’s probing gaze continued its downward scrutiny—despite the gown’s faded, rumpled state, it could not detract from the feminine curves it defined; curves that had not existed five years past and which completely belied the hoydenlike behavior he’d just witnessed.
This unexpected whirlwind was a far cry from the person in his dim recollections.
“My lord?”
With a start, Eric realized she was speaking to him—and he looked up swiftly, seeing the uncertain expression on her face. “What?”
“I merely noted you seem a bit unnerved, which is understandable given Noelle’s narrow escape. May I offer you something? A cup of tea?”
His decision burst upon him like gunfire.
“Yes, you may offer me something,” he pronounced. “But not tea.” He caught her elbow, staying her initial steps toward the church, curtly dismissing her objective in lieu of his more pressing one. “Miss Curran—it is Miss Curran, is it not? I see no wedding ring on your finger.”
She glanced bewilderedly at his viselike grip on her arm.
Instantly, he released her. “I’m not going to harm you,” he affirmed, sarcasm lacing his tone. “In fact, my intentions are uncharacteristically honorable. Now, is it or is it not Miss Curran?”
“It is, my lord,” she confirmed, brows drawn in puzzlement.
“Excellent. You’re unmarried. Next, are you betrothed? Bound to one suitor? Promised to … ?”
“Lord Farrington, this has gone far enough,” the vicar broke in. “I’ll save you time and trouble. The answer is no.”
Eric cocked a brow. “No? Meaning your granddaughter is not spoken for?”
“No. Meaning she is not going to become your wife.”
Brigitte gasped. “Wife? May I know what you two are talking about?”
“Indeed you may.” Eric silenced the vicar’s protests with an authoritative sweep of his arm. “Enough. Your granddaughter is a woman grown. Let her speak for herself.” With that, he returned his attention to Brigitte. “Miss Curran, I’ll be blunt. I’ve just made your grandfather a business proposition, one that would benefit both the church and the entire parish—and one he seems reluctant to accept.”
“What was this proposition, my lord?”
“I offered him ten thousand pounds in exchange for finding me a suitable governess for my niece, Noelle. Further, since the chosen candidate would be expected to reside at Farrington—which is deserted save Noelle and myself—I agreed, for propriety’s sake, to make the appropriate young woman my wife. This would render her the Countess of Farrington, complete with mansion, title—albeit a tarnished one—and more wealth than she ever dreamed possible.
“In return, she would be expected to shoulder the difficult and distasteful job of overseeing Noelle, who, as you’ve just witnessed firsthand, is an uncontrollable demon. Since gossip travels quickly, I’m sure you know that Noelle’s been taken in by every respectable family in the parish and, just as quickly, turned out. As of today, the supply of decent families has been exhausted. Hence, my need for a drastic and immediate solution. Frankly, I’ve never seen anyone manage Noelle as well as you just did. You mentioned having experience teaching children. Being the vicar’s granddaughter, I’m certain your character is above reproach. Tallying all those factors together, I’m prepared to offer you the position I’ve just described. Would you be interested?”
Brigitte’s eyes had grown wider and wider with each passing word. “You’d give ten thousand pounds to the parish and take on a wife you don’t know or want just to provide care for Noelle?”
“Exactly.”
“Why not care for her yourself?”
Eric’s jaw clenched. “That, Miss Curran, is my concern, not yours.”
“What about your own life, then? What if, in the years to come, you find someone you truly love? You’d never be able to give her your name, having already bestowed it upon your governess.”
A crack of mocking laughter. “You need not worry on that score. With the exception of today, I never intend to leave Farrington or to rejoin society. Therefore, I shan’t have the opportunity to meet this alleged keeper of my heart. Your answer, please?”
She blanched. “My answer—now?”
“Certainly, now. I don’t see a need to procrastinate, nor to explore absurd, farfetched ramifications.” A sudden possibility made him scowl. “You don’t harbor any romantic illusions of marrying for love, do you? Is that why you posed that ludicrous question about my awaiting the perfect bride?”
Brigitte’s lashes drifted to her cheeks. “I harbor no such illusions, my lord. In truth, I thought never to marry.”
“Why is that?”
Her lashes lifted, but shutters descended in their wake. “To echo your sentiments, that is my concern, not yours.”
He felt a spark of admiration at her audacious response. “As you wish. Very well, then, let’s circumvent your reasons and get to your decision. Are you or are you not willing to forgo your expectations to remain unwed, and to accept my terms? Simply answer yes or no.”
“Lord Farrington, we’re discussing marriage, not a business venture.”
A shrug. “In this case, they are one and the same. I’ve made you an offer, defined the conditions that accompany it. Assuming both of us are amenable, we’ll finalize our agreement.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” Eric ignored her baffled incredulity. “After which there will be no further need for us to interact. You’ll keep Noelle occupied and out of my sight. I’ll sustain my solitary life. As a result, Miss Curran, you’ll have no reason to fear for your own.”
An odd light flickered in Brigitte’s eyes. “You’re determined to further this illusion, aren’t you?” she asked softly. Eric went rigid. “What in the hell does that mean?”
“Three times,” Noelle piped up. “Now you said that bad word three times.”
Eric tore his stunned gaze from Brigitte to glare unsteadily at his niece.
“Noelle.” Brigitte interceded, squatting down and stunning Eric yet again—this time with her direct and effective manner of handling Noelle’s insolent tongue. “Your uncle is an adult, and adults cannot be ordered about nor reprimanded by children.”
“Why? He said a wicked oath.”
“I agree. Nevertheless, the rule I just gave you holds true even if the adult in question happens to be wrong. I know it seems very unfair, but that doesn’t change the fact that a rule is a rule and must be followed.”
Sullenly, Noelle kicked the dirt.
“You’re angry. I don’t blame you. I get angry when I have to follow rules I disagree with, too.”
That made Noelle’s chin come up. “What rules do you have to follow? You’re a grown-up. You can do what you want.”
“Oh, if that were only true.” Brigitte sighed, shaking her head. “But it’s not. Let me tell you something. Not only do adults have rules to abide by, just like children, but ofttimes our rules are far harder to obey—and the consequences far more dire if we don’t.”
A spark of interest. “Really?”
“Really. For example, if your uncle continues to utter profanities, ’tis true that you and I can do nothing to stop him. But I know someone who can.” Solemnly, Brigitte raised her eyes to the heavens, then rolled them pointedly at Eric. “Thus, were I Lord Farrington, I’d guard my tongue. After all, you never know when He might be watching … and listening.”
Noelle looked thoroughly pleased with that prospect.
“Brigitte,” the vicar interceded, “before you foolishly entertain the notion of accepting Lord Farrington’s offer, you should be aware of one detail he has yet to mention. The young woman he weds will be forbidden to leave his estate, with or without Noelle. She’ll be a veritable prisoner in a mansion that is no home but a mausoleum. I, better than anyone, understand your tender heart and its selfless intentions. But I also understand that the same tender heart would suffocate within so barren a life. Thus, my answer is still no.”
“We’ve heard your answer and your sentiments several times, Vicar,” Eric snapped with icy derision. “But, as you are not the one I’ve asked to wed, I’d like to hear from your granddaughter. Miss Curran?” He lowered his expectant stare to Brigitte, who still crouched next to Noelle. And waited.
Brigitte met his gaze, looking from him to her grandfather and, finally, to Noelle, who abruptly bowed her head and began whispering to Fuzzy.
The last seemed to trigger Brigitte’s decision.
She came to her feet.
“I accept your offer, Lord Farrington.” As she spoke, she squeezed her grandfather’s forearm—whether to reassure him or silence him, Eric wasn’t certain. “—with a few stipulations.”
Caution eclipsed relief. “Name them.”
“I shall gladly take charge of Noelle and fulfill my part of the arrangement. I’ll even comply with your less-than-appealing mandate that, once wed, I’ll remain permanently at Farrington. However, I refuse to sever ties with my grandfather.”
Eric’s jaw clenched. “And I refuse to have my privacy invaded. I also refuse to allow you and Noelle to go traipsing to the village to be ogled and grilled about the savage with whom you reside.”
Another profound flicker in those damned golden eyes, followed by—of all things—an impish smile. “Are visits by delivery men excluded from your definition of privacy invasion?”
“Pardon me?”
“Delivery men. They’ll be arriving at Farrington in droves. Otherwise, how will I receive all the extensive purchases due a countess?”
Taken aback by her obvious teasing, Eric cleared his throat. “I see your point.” A pause. “Very well, Miss Curran,” he conceded, frowning as he sought a solution he could live with. “Your grandfather may visit you—once a month, and alone. Further, as no one is permitted to enter my mausoleum”—he cast a derisive look at the vicar— “your visits must take place on the grounds, not in the manor. Unless of course you elect to emulate the delivery men. In which case, you have my consent to meet at the mansion’s rear entrance.”
Her lips curved again. “Fair enough.”
“Also, I expect, during these visits, that you will not neglect your responsibility to Noelle. She is to be in your company—and in your sight—at all times.” His mouth twisted into a mocking grin. “Think of it this way: You can see to Noelle’s well-being, while the vicar is assuring himself of yours.”
Brigitte’s smile vanished. “You have my word that I’ll never neglect Noelle. Will that be sufficient?”
“It will.”
“Thank you,” she replied solemnly. “To continue: Before we wed and leave for Farrington, I shall require several hours in the village, both to visit the homes of my students—who deserve an explanation for my sudden departure—and to speak with a friend of mine who currently instructs in her home, but who would be elated to take over my job at the schoolhouse. Frankly, she is the only person I’d entrust with my students.”
“You care that much for them?”
“I do.”
“Very well. Consider your first two stipulations granted.”
Brigitte gripped the folds of her gown, raising her chin a notch—and alerting Eric to the magnitude of her next condition. “You said I could spend your money freely, at my discretion. To be frank, I require nothing. But the parish does, more over the course of time than even your ten thousand pounds can supply. So, I’d like your word that I can provide for the church, the children, the village—any aspect of our parish I might deem worthy—not only now, but for all the years to come.”
“My word,” he repeated woodenly.
“Yes. Just as I gave you mine.”
“What makes you think my word can be trusted?”
“Instinct.”
A heartbeat of silence.
“My word, then. You may provide for the parish in any way and at any time you choose. Continue with your stipulations.”
“I have but two more. First, I want my grandfather’s future ensured, his appointment to our church guaranteed for the rest of his life. Is that acceptable?”
Eric nodded. “It is.”
“And last, I’d like Noelle’s blessing on our arrangement.”
“Nothing more?”
“Nothing more.” Brigitte glanced down, tucking a strand of sable hair behind the child’s ear. “Noelle?”
“What?” Noelle muttered into Fuzzy’s fur.
“How do you feel about my coming to live with you and your uncle?”
A shrug.
“I could help keep Fuzzy out of trouble.”
Noelle unburied her face, assessing Brigitte with probing sapphire eyes. “I s’pose.”
“Then it’s all right with you?”
“I s’pose.”
“Excellent.”
Eric cleared his throat. “Does this mean your decision is final?”
“It does.”
“Good.” He veered toward the church, sidestepping both Brigitte and the disconcerted vicar. “I’ll await your return. After which, your grandfather can perform the ceremony.” He paused, his back to her. “Miss Curran?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for saving Noelle’s life.”