Rebecca Winters: The Duke's Baby

Lance’s heart lurched. His father’s voice was weak. Without the oxygen helping him breathe—

He fought not to show his concern in front of him. The father he loved was too young a man to be this sick. His pallor alarmed Lance.

“When did you arrive?” the older man asked with effort.

“A little while ago. You were asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I took a walk.”

After suffering one shock that his father’s flu had turned into something worse, he hadn’t been prepared for another one—that of coming across anyone on their private property.

“Father?” he squeezed his hand. “Why didn’t you let me know your illness was this serious? How come I had to hear it from Henri? You know I would have flown home sooner.”

“The pneumonia barely came on. It took me by surprise, but I’m better than I was last night.” After a coughing spell he asked, “How long will you be here this time?”

Lance sucked in his breath. “I’m home for good.”

At that unexpected news, joy illuminated his father’s face. “You mean it?” He tried to raise his head off the pillow, but Lance restrained him gently.

“I’ve left the service. It’s over.”

“I’ve hoped for this day, Lance.” He struggled through another coughing spasm. “I’ve prayed you would return healthy in mind and body. Le bon Dieu heard me.”

What his parent saw was a shell of the man he once was. Lance wouldn’t want him to know what lay beneath.

“Now that I’m back, we’re going to work on your getting well. Anything you’re worrying about, I’ll take care of.”

His father smiled through his tears. “Am I dreaming?”

Lance had trouble clearing the lump in his throat. “Non, mon père.”

It was long past time he started helping his remarkable father who needed Lance to shoulder more of the responsibilities. His parent had not only raised him from birth, ten years ago he’d been wise enough to give Lance his freedom without making him feel guilty. In the end, that freedom had brought Lance back home of his own free will.

The reason that had driven him away in the first place no longer mattered. Since that time life had delivered him a blow from which he would never recover whether he lived at the far ends of the earth or at home. At least here he could be of use to his father.

“The nurse is making signs you need to rest. She says you’ve had too many friends come by and they’ve worn you out, so I’m going to let you sleep now.”

“Don’t go.”

“I just want to have a word with the staff, but I promise I’ll be back to stay in here with you tonight. Percy will stand guard, won’t you.”

The dog moaned in response.

“Do you know he won’t leave me? Henri has to force him to go out when it’s necessary.”

Percy’s love for his master was touching. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

A couple of years before Lance had joined the military, his father had found a stray puppy of mixed breed near to death in the forest. Some cruel person must have dropped it off to die, but his father brought him back to the château to nurse him. They’d been inseparable ever since.

“Are you settled in your suite down the hall?”

“Oui.”

“We—” He stopped long enough to cough again. “We have a visitor.”

A frown marred Lance’s features. “Someone’s staying at the château?”

“Yes.” He would have said more, but another coughing spell took over.

As far as Lance was concerned, whoever it was needed to leave. His gracious father didn’t know how to say no to anyone. His second marriage was proof in point. Right now he was too ill to realize what was good for him. Lance hadn’t come home any too soon to take charge.

Kissing his father on either cheek, he nodded to the nurse then left his father’s suite to go in search of Henri who was devoted to his parent. He found him in the foyer closing up the château for the night.

Lance approached him from the right since the head of the staff couldn’t hear out of his left ear. Years earlier Henri had been a young groomsman at the stable when a hunting accident had occurred. After being released from the hospital, Lance’s father had brought him into the château to take care of him. He’d been in his household employ ever since.

“I understand there’s a guest staying at the château, Henri.”

The older man turned and nodded. “Oui. A Madame Fallon.”

His shuttered gaze searched Henri’s. “Someone ‘special’?”

“Your father insisted I put her in la chambre verte.”

Lance was stunned. The green room had always been off-limits to guests in order to preserve its treasures. This meant his sixty-seven-year-old father could have become romantically involved.

Even if this woman was worthy of him, which Lance knew wasn’t possible, his father had gone too far. Lance had to admit to being surprised his parent hadn’t mentioned her before now. But after the disaster of his second marriage, maybe he was too worried over his son’s reaction to tell him anything on that score.

“Has he known her long?”

“He met her at Easter, but she’s only been at the château a week.”

Lance had come home for that holiday on a chance twelve-hour leave, but there’d been no mention of her then.

A week was long enough for his parent to have become infatuated. He ground his teeth. What hold did this woman have over his father? He’d buried his heart with Lance’s mother and had waited until his mid-forties before marrying a second time.

That travesty of a union had lasted less than a year. Long enough to scar his father, or so Lance had thought…

A blackness swept through him. “What’s your opinion of her, Henri?”

“She’s been good for your father.”

Such praise coming from Henri, the soul of discretion, was unprecedented. Evidently she’d deceived Henri, too.

“When was the last time Corinne was home?”

“Last month. She’s on holiday in Australia right now.”

That meant she wasn’t privy to this latest information about his father’s interest in another woman. He could only imagine her reaction when she found out. As for her knowing Lance had returned…

He patted Henri’s shoulder. “Thanks for all your care of him. Now that I’m home on a permanent basis, bring any concerns to me.”

The other man smiled. “It’s good to have you back. Your father has been living for the day.”

If Brigitte hadn’t already gone to bed, she’d volunteer certain details about his father’s relationship with this latest predator. Unlike her husband, Henri, the housekeeper had no qualms when it came to expressing her opinions.

Any feelings of guilt Lance suffered for having been away this long were overshadowed by anger that another toxic female was already sleeping under their roof, counting the seconds until his father made her his third wife.

In need of a drink, he went to the kitchen for coffee first. Much as he’d like something stronger, he would opt for pain-killers in lieu of alcohol to tamp down the pain of a recent injury. However there was no medicine, no drink to wipe out the agony of shattered dreams.

From the first day of her arrival, Andrea had been told she could help herself to anything from the modernized kitchen no matter the hour. Brigitte insisted the cook wouldn’t mind.

Taking her at her word, Andrea found some fresh brioche under a glass cover and ate one over the sink so she wouldn’t spill crumbs on the stone floor. Since neither coffee nor fruit juice sounded good, she ended up drinking potable water from the faucet.

As she was standing on tiptoe to put the glass back on the baker’s rack, someone pushed open the kitchen door and came in. She assumed it was Brigitte about to make hot tea with honey for the Duc.