Page 37 of The Duchess Debt

“Spending time with your daughter.”

“And we can’t do that over chocolate and sticky buns?”

Her eyes narrowed. “No.” Then she smiled at Alice and clasped her hands in front of her skirt. “How would you and Beatrice like to hear a fairytale before you go to sleep?”

“I’drather have chocolate and sweets,” Gabe mumbled.

She elbowed him in the ribs as she slipped past him to walk to the head of the bed where a big book of fairytales sat on the bedside table. “Which is your favorite story, Alice?”

The little girl shrugged. Apparently, her interest had vanished along with the possibility of having sweets.

“How about if your papa reads…” Helena flipped through the pages, then smiled when she came to one she liked. “Hansel and Gretel?”

Gabe came up behind her and looked over her shoulder at the book. “A story about cannibalism and child abandonment?”

“It isnotabout…” She pursed her lips. She knew better than to start down that road and instead searched again through the pages. “All right. ThenCinderella.”

“Hmm.”

She turned her head to shoot him a hard look. “And what’s wrong with that one?”

“Forced child labor to start with. And don’t the wicked stepsisters cut off part of their feet to fit them into the glass slipper? I thought we were trying to put her to sleep, not give her nightmares.”

“Now you’re just being silly. There’s nothing wrong with—” When his lips twitched from restraining a grin, she inhaled a deep breath to gather her patience.Troublesome man.“Fine. Then read herRumpelstiltskin.” She arched a brow, daringhim to challenge her. “That is, unless you have a problem with determined women working hard to financially save their families?”

He dropped his gaze over her from head to toe and murmured, “Not at all.”

She hid her flush with an acerbic taunt. “Then that must make you the magical troll.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

“Just read her the story, will you?” Biting back the tongue-lashing he deserved, she shoved the book into his chest.

He took it and pulled up a wooden chair beside the bed, then paused to roll up his shirt sleeves. Helena gave a long-suffering sigh. Good heavens, the man was carrying on as if he were about to be tortured. But he settled onto the chair, kicked out his long legs, and began to read.

“’Once there was a miller who was poor.’” He paused reading and grumbled to himself beneath his breath, “I don’t know any poor millers. If he’s poor, then he must be a terribly bad one given the price of corn these days.”

Helena pointedly cleared her throat.

He read on, “’But the miller had a beautiful daughter.’” He turned the page and muttered, “I certainly don’t know any beautiful miller’s daughters either.”

“Papa,” Helena scolded gently.

In the bed, Alice moved her confused stare between them as if they’d both gone mad.

“Very well.” Duly chastised, he took a deep breath and continued. “‘Now it happened that he had to go and speak to the king—'” He looked up at Helena in confusion. “What business would a miller possibly have with the king?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a tight smile for Alice, “but I’m certain it was important milling business.”

He scoffed. “Unless Farmer George has suddenly decided to open a royal charter for mills, then—”

“The story,” Helena insisted, dropping her hands to her sides in frustration. “Please.”

He rolled his eyes and looked back down at the book. “‘In order to make himself appear important’—thatI believe. A miller would have to dress up like the pope in order to get a king to notice him.”

Helena bit her tongue.

“‘He said to the king, “I have a daughter who can spin straw into gold.”’ Well,” Gabe said to himself, “that’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming.”