OW

When I walked into the upstairs bedroom and turned up the lamp, I discovered Lisette and Isabella were both asleep in Lisette's bed. Alex sat in a rocking chair with Domini sound asleep in his arms. Her little head rested against his chest, her tiny hands wrapped around his arm.

He smiled when I entered the room. "She likes me."

"I see."

"But she's terribly heavy. She wasn't this heavy ten minutes ago. I'm certain of it."

"Dead weight," I commented quietly.

With a grimace he managed to remove his arm from beneath her tiny body. "Oh, she's not dead, Father. She's asleep. I rocked her."

"It's merely an expression." I watched him place her into bed beside Lisette and Isabella. Like a litter of kittens they curled up together.

His brow knit. "Such as when Monsieur Leach said he felt like a newborn calf, which is impossible because he's not a cow. A cow is a girl. He'd have to be a bull. Or a steer if he's been castrated."

"True enough."

"I saw a bull castrated. The man tied up its back legs, made an incision, and popped out the—"

"Aren't you tired?"

He frowned. "No."

"Well, you should be exhausted. Since the girls are asleep, why don't you return home?"

His chest puffed out. "Grand-mere…" he whispered.

At once he became quite protective of Madeline, most likely remembering she had a guest for the evening and an empty house at her disposal.

"Knock before you enter," I reminded him.

"But it's my house. I never have to knock."

"Alex."

He groaned, which was becoming his infamous sound for everything that disagreed with him. One sharp glance silenced him. He gazed at his half-sisters and the child who would soon enough be his step-sister. I couldn't tell for certain, but he looked remorseful.

"You are tired, just as I suspected. Wash your face and let the dog outside. And don't give Madeline trouble." I'd never hear the end of it if Alex walked in on a private moment.

"Do you think Aunt Meg and Uncle Charles will allow me to hold their baby?" he asked.

"I suspect they will."

"Do you think I could ask Meg if she would have a daughter?"

"You could ask, but I'm certain they will choose as they desire."

Questions passed through his gaze, inquiries I was not prepared to answer about the origins of little boys and girls. A belly full of dirt would be disproved soon enough. But, not tonight, I decided.

"You should consider yourself fortunate, whether you find yourself with a niece or a nephew."

His lips parted and eyes widened. "No matter what, I'll be an uncle!" He was terribly thrilled with the thought, and with his usual exuberance he raced across the room and flung his arms around me. "Good night, Father. I must hurry home and practice." His voice lowered and he looked me in the eye. "My music."

"Yes." I nodded.

"You must compose a lullaby for my niece or nephew."

"I had no idea my creativity was at your mercy, Alexandre."

He chuckled to himself, the little imp. "Then I'll write it."

"Indeed." Inside I struggled with both pride and jealousy. If he pursued music as a vocation I had no doubt he would best me in ten years.

With one last devilish smile he trotted down the stairs. Before I turned to leave, Lisette sat up and yawned.

"Good night, Monsieur Kire."

"Good night, Mademoiselle Seuratti."

She lay on her side and smiled. Her eyes fluttered shut. "May I call you Papa when you and my mother are married, or do you prefer Father?"

"What did you call your father when you were smaller?"

Her brow furrowed, eyes remained shut. "I don't recall. But you aren't my father. You'd be…" She grunted in concentration and her left eye popped open. "You'd be Papa." A giggle escaped her. She was as devilish as her future brother. "Papa Kire."

"Daughter Lissy," I replied.

She glared at me. "Oh, Mother! She simply tells everyone everything. Honestly! I am Lisette. I insist."

Her words and the manner in which she spoke were taken straight from Hermine Leach's mouth. Without argument, I offered a bow. "Daughter Lisette, then. Good night."

"Good night, Papa Kire." She blew me a kiss and nestled in for the night.

For a moment longer I watched the three girls before I turned down the lamp. "Oh, Charles, for your sake I hope you have a son. Girls are far too much trouble."

Before I turned I felt someone staring at me and knew I was not alone upstairs. My hands balled into fists. If that bastard had decided to follow me, he'd have hell to pay. Not once had I ever considered mistreating Lisette, but Julia's pig-headed cousin remained skeptical. I resented defending myself against him when he knew nothing of me. Perhaps my fist to his face would jar sense into him.

Swiftly I removed my overcoat and set it over a chair. I wrestled with my shirt cuffs until I had them pulled up to my elbows. He probably thought he was clever to hide from Alex as he bolted down the stairs and out the door. He'd underestimated me greatly—which was a mistake he wouldn't likely make twice.

The floor in the hallway creaked and I turned on my heel. My ghostly silence returned as I strode across the room and entered the darkened hallway. A broad-shouldered, featureless shadow appeared, one which I jabbed in the throat to silence him.

"I do not appreciate eavesdropping," I said through my teeth as I shoved him toward the end of the hallway. With one glance over my shoulder I made certain I heard voices from the parlor and no footsteps approaching. Satisfied, I turned toward my spy and prepared to cover his mouth and shove him into the closest room.

Instantly I pulled my hand back as I recognized who I had caught. We blinked at one another, his eyes watery from the blow to the throat, mine narrowed.

"You damned fool," I spit.

The Vicomte attempted to step away but hit the back of his head against the wall. From the corner of my eye I saw another figure at the bottom of the stairs, who turned and walked out of sight. Without looking I knew it was Anthony Seuratti.

My jaw twitched as I continued to stare through the meddlesome boy. He coughed into the crook of his arm.

"Why in the hell are you sneaking about in Madame Seuratti's home?"

He fished into his pocket, his gaze nervously flitting in the darkness. "I have something for you."

"I want nothing from you."

My words didn't deter him. He pulled an envelope from his pocket and smoothed the wrinkles. He stared at it in the darkness, his lips pursed. Slowly he brought it to his chest and briefly pressed it to his overcoat.

"This belongs to you," he said softly.

His hand extended to me. I hesitated to accept his offering, but the temptation was too great. At once I snatched it from his hand.

The moment I saw my name on the front I regretted what I had done. Until the day I died I would remember how Christine wrote my name, the forward slant of the letters, the barely visible dot over the letter 'I'.

"Why?" I demanded. My free hand balled into a fist and I stepped forward.

This time he didn't flinch. He seemed strangely calm. His expression had changed, his posture straighter and eyes clear. No longer was he a confused drunkard mourning the death of his wife.

"Nothing will bring her back into my life. Perhaps for a week more the linens will smell of her essence. Perhaps the recordings of her performances will do her voice justice. Perhaps just one more night I will close my eyes and still remember every detail of her face, the exact color of her eyes. It doesn't matter. She is gone now, and I will certainly not find her anywhere…not a stage or a wine glass."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Anger flashed through his eyes, followed by a hint of grief. Inhaling, he nodded and his features softened. "Because it belongs to you, and finally I can allow you to have it."