need was throbbing through every vein of his body. The iron control he’d held himself under for all these years had slipped away at her touch. One touch…
One woman…
His!
The knocking took a while to penetrate.
For a moment Marc thought it was nothing but his own heartbeat, but there was another sharp rapping at the door and then a wail. Somehow it registered. Somehow.
Someone was knocking on the other side of the great doors.
Marc pulled away, but afterwards he never knew how. It was a sheer physical wrench, like losing part of himself, and he stood back and looked at the girl before him, saw his own confusion mirrored in her eyes.
‘I…’ He was staring as if he’d never seen her before. ‘Hell, Tammy…’
‘I know.’ Somehow she managed a whisper. She put her hand up to her lips as if she couldn’t believe what had just occurred. ‘You…you didn’t mean to do that.’
‘No, I…’
The knocking sounded again. Marc pulled himself together-a little-and turned to face the door.
‘Yes?’ When no one answered, he forced himself to take a step away and haul it open.
Out in the hall Mrs Burchett was carrying a wide-awake Henry. As the doors swung wide she looked from Tammy to Marc, obviously aching to know what she’d interrupted.
Obviously guessing…
‘I’m so sorry, but…’
Henry had been crying-or maybe that was an understatement. His little face was crumpled and sodden, and as soon as he saw Tammy he reached out as if he was desperate.
‘He woke and he won’t stop crying,’ Mrs Burchett told them. ‘Nothing I do is right. He slept all afternoon while you were out with your trees, and now…he’s wide awake and frantic.’
‘Give him to me.’
Despite her confusion, despite the fact that her world had been tilted so far on its axis that she was in danger of falling off, Tammy’s heart turned over. This was the first sign that Henry even recognised her. At ten months old a baby should be bonding with his people. He’d never bonded with anyone. She cast Marc a confused and desperate glance, but she forced herself to focus on her little nephew. ‘Come here, sweetheart,’ she whispered, lifting him from Mrs Burchett’s arms and hugging him close. ‘I…I was just coming.’
‘Stay,’ Marc managed. ‘We need to talk.’
‘I need to see to Henry.’
‘You can cuddle him here.’
‘We’ll talk in the morning.’
‘I’ll be gone in the morning,’ he told her, and that stopped her in her tracks.
‘Gone?’
‘I told you. I’m leaving.’
‘But…’ Mrs Burchett was looking from one to another, her curiosity a tangible thing, but it couldn’t matter. Tammy was so confused she didn’t care who heard the distress and confusion in her voice.
‘You haven’t told us that, sir,’ Mrs Burchett said, and Tammy was suddenly grateful. Grateful that she could bury her face in Henry’s hair and hide her surging colour while Marc had to concentrate on someone other than her.
‘I’ve only just decided,’ Marc snapped. Like Tammy, he was thoroughly confused. Hell, he needed to get away from here. He was losing his mind. He’d overstepped some boundary he hadn’t known was there, and beyond the boundary was a chasm he was fearful of facing.
The chasm was so deep he might fall for ever.
Maybe staying and talking to Tammy was a bad idea. Maybe staying within fifty yards of Tammy was a nightmare.
‘I’ll see you at breakfast,’ he said a trifle unsteadily, and made to pass by Tammy and the child.
But Henry was resting on Tammy’s hip, and as he passed he brushed the little boy. Henry leaned back and held out his arms.
To him.
Marc stopped dead.
None of them could believe it. Tammy was holding Henry close, but the tiny boy was leaning back now, his face brushing Marc’s dinner jacket and his tear-drenched eyes gazing up at his big cousin.
He’d bonded to the two of them, Tammy thought incredulously. Somehow over the long journey, when Marc had held him close and let him sleep in his arms, the baby had decided that here was a person he could trust.
‘I need to…’ Marc was trying to leave, but his feet wouldn’t move. His eyes were on Henry, and they mirrored Tammy’s disbelief.
And Tammy came to a decision faster than she’d come to a decision in her life.
‘No,’ she said, and before Marc knew what she was about she’d handed over her nephew. Marc’s arms came involuntarily out to grasp the baby-to stop him falling-but Tammy was sure he wouldn’t fall. She knew that this big man would hold his baby cousin and care for him.
She knew.
‘No,’ she said again, and took a deep breath. ‘If you’re leaving in the morning then tonight’s your turn. You look after Henry. He wants you and I want my bed. Mrs Burchett, could I see you outside for a moment, please?’ She grasped the housekeeper’s hand and tugged her to the door. ‘Goodnight, Your Highnesses.’
And without another word she slipped out of the room and fled, towing the housekeeper behind her.
Nobody was around.
At first bemused, and then occupied by Henry’s need for reassurance, Marc took a few minutes before he left the dining room. Finally, with Henry snuggled against his chest and clearly contented, he tugged the servants’ bell.
No one appeared.
‘Let’s find Mrs Burchett,’ he told Henry, but Madge was nowhere to be found. The kitchen was empty. Coffee cups lay unwashed, but everything else was cleared, ready for breakfast next morning.
There were always servants around, he thought, puzzled. Marc pressed the nearest bell and waited.
Nothing.
‘They can’t all be in bed.’ In the times he’d stayed in this palace he wouldn’t have noticed if there was one footman or a dozen, but that there were now none was clearly unusual. ‘Maybe they all go to bed at ten. Maybe I just haven’t noticed before.’
Henry was gurgling happily in his arms now, enjoying this tour of the servants’ quarters with one of his two favourite people. More and more bemused, Marc carried Henry out into the hall. On the table was a note, formally addressed to His Highness, Marc, Prince Regent of Broitenburg.
It was Tammy’s handwriting. Of course.
And underneath was a postscript.
Marc stood and stared at the note for far longer than he needed. Finally Henry grabbed it and started determinedly chewing.
Caring for Henry every second day? What was she thinking of?
Back in Australia he’d promised to care for him, he thought, dazed by where these arrangements were heading. He’d told her that if she allowed him to bring Henry to Broitenburg then he’d be responsible for him. But he’d intended handing the little boy to Mrs Burchett and a hired nanny while he kept his distance. Madge would ensure Henry had everything he needed.
