Lord of Scoundrels - Loretta Chase [122]
Vawtry ran to the window, unlatched it, and climbed out. Not ten seconds later, as he was edging cautiously along the ledge, he heard the door to the room crash open. He heard the bellowed oath as well. Forgetting caution, he scuttled hastily to the spot above the hay wagon and leapt.
* * *
Roaring into the room like the juggernaut, intent upon mowing Charity Graves down, Lord Dain very nearly crushed his son under his boots. Fortunately, one angry stride away, he noted the obstacle in his path and paused. In that pause, his glance took in the chamber, strewn with various items of female attire, the remains of a meal on a tray, an empty wine bottle, an overturned cot, and some unidentifiable odds and ends, including the disgusting heap of dirt and rags at his feet.
Which appeared to be alive, for it was moving.
Dain hastily looked away and took three deep breaths to quell the bile rising within him. That was a mistake, because the air was rancid.
He heard a whimper from the animate pile of filth.
He made himself look down.
"Mama," the thing gasped. "Mama."
Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum, benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus.
Dain remembered a child lost, alone and despairing, seeking comfort from the Virgin Mother, when his own was gone.
Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae.
That child had prayed, not knowing what he prayed for. He had not known what his sin was, or what his mother's was. He had known, though, that he was alone.
Dain knew what it was to be alone, unwanted, frightened, confused, as Jessica had said of his son.
He knew what this hideous child felt. He, too, had been hideous and unwanted.
"Mama's gone," he said tightly. "I'm Papa."
The thing raised its head. Its black eyes were swollen and red-rimmed, the great beak dripping snot.
"Plague take you, you're filthy," Dain said. "When was the last time you had a bath?"
The brat's narrow face twisted into a scowl that would have sent Lucifer running for cover. "Sod off," he croaked.
Dain grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up. "I am your father, you little wretch, and when I say you're filthy and need a bath, you say, 'Yes, sir.' You do not tell me— "
"Bugger yourself." The boy choked out a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. "Bugger you. Bugger, bugger, bugger. Sod, sod, sod."
"This is not puzzling behavior," Dain said. "I am not in the least puzzled. I know exactly what to do. I shall order a bath— and have one of the stablemen up to scrub you. And if you happen to take in a mouthful of soap in the process, that will be all to the good."
At this, the wretch let out a hoarse stream of invective and began writhing like a fresh-caught fish on a hook.
Dain's grip remained firm, but the boy's thread-bare shirt did not. The ragged collar tore off and its wearer broke free— for exactly two seconds, before Dain caught him and swung him up off the floor and under his arm.
Almost in the same heartbeat Dain heard an ominous rattling sound.
Then the boy threw up…all over His Lordship's boots.
Then the squirming bundle under Dain's arm turned into a dead weight.
Alarm swept through him and surged into blind panic.
He'd killed the child. He shouldn't have held him so tightly. He'd broken something, crushed something…murdered his own son.
Dain heard approaching footsteps. His panicked gaze went to the door.
Phelps appeared.
"Phelps, look what I've done," Dain said hollowly.
"Got them fancy boots mucked up, I see," Phelps said, approaching. He peered down at the lifeless form still wedged against Dain's hip.
"What'd you do, skeer his dinner out o' him?"
"Phelps, I think I've killed him." Dain could scarcely move his lips. His entire body was paralyzed. He could not make himself look down…at the corpse.
"Then why's he breathin'?" Phelps looked up from the boy's face into his master's. "He be'nt dead. Only sick, I reckon. Mebbe took a chill comin' here in the bad weather. Whyn't you put