Page 33 of Stealing His Duchess

“Fussy,” Anna admitted, shifting Lucy into a more comfortable position against her shoulder, patting her small back in slow, soothing circles. “She has not been feeding well these past days. I confess I am at something of a loss.”

Hudson walked across the room to stand beside her, peering down at the child with a small frown creasing his brow. It was the same expression, Anna had realized, that he so often wore when confronted with matters he did not yet understand – and to their collective, genuine surprise, Lucy let out a delighted little laugh at the sight of it, reaching one chubby fist toward her father’s face as though determined to poke at the offending frown directly.

Hudson blinked, staring at her blankly, and her giggling ceased, only to start up again when her father’s brows furrowed again, and his mouth twisted into an unpleasant expression.

“She seems to find your scowling rather amusing,” Anna noted, unable to entirely suppress her own smile at the sight of the two of them.

“I am not scowling,” Hudson said, though the frown deepened in genuine confusion at his daughter’s reaction, which only made Lucy laugh harder still, kicking her small legs with evident glee, apparently no longer bothered by whatever fussiness had plagued her moments before.

“You are, and she adores it, for some reason,” Anna remarked, and then – before she could stop herself, she found herself overtaken by fits of laughter.

It stunned her, how easily the sound slipped free, unguarded and light in a way she had not allowed herself to be since his return to the estate. She sobered shortly after, still holding Lucy close as she thought of what she could do about her predicament. Hudson kept his eyes on her, the awareness of his firm attention from the moment she had laughed until now causing warmth to creep up her neck. She cleared her throat and tried to shift her gaze in an effort to look busy, but was inevitably caught when he asked quietly,

“Is there something wrong? You appear to be troubled.”

Anna shook her head. “I am fine.”

“You looked close to tears a moment ago,” he pointed out swiftly, catching her off guard. “What is it?”

Anna hesitated, glancing down at Lucy, who had settled somewhat, her small hand still curled around one of her father’s fingers. “We ought to speak. Somewhere more private, though. I do not want to bother them.”

He nodded without question, and she handed Lucy off to a waiting maid before leading him toward her own chambers, closing the door behind them both with a soft click that seemed unexpectedly loud in the quiet of the room.

When she faced him, she began to rethink her decision to involve him in the subject. What if he thought her unfit to raise their children? What if she was providing him with the upper hand he needed to take their children away from her?

“Anna,” Hudson called to her gently. “You have my attention. I am here to listen to whatever it is you wish to say. Whatever the problem is, I am certain that between us both, a solution will be found.”

Unexpectedly, his words soothed her nerves, and she inhaled deeply.

“We shall need to bring in a wet-nurse,” Anna informed him quickly, wrapping her arms loosely around herself. “Lucy has refused to feed properly for three days now. I have tried everything I know, and nothing has helped. Miss Hill agrees it is the sensible course.”

“Then we shall find one,” Hudson agreed simply, as though the matter required no further deliberation at all.

But his eyes, sharp as ever, did not miss the tension still lingering in her shoulders, or the careful stillness with which she held herself. “Why do you still look so troubled, then, if the solution is so easily reached?”

Anna opened her mouth to deflect or even dismiss the notion entirely, as she so often did when matters grew too close to the heart of things, but something in his patient, steady gaze – waiting, unhurried, entirely focused on her – made the words falter before they could form. Instead, to her own surprise, the truth spilled free, exposing more of herself to him than she was ready to show.

“I understand the necessity of it,” she began, her voice quieter now, stripped of its usual composure. “I do. I know it is the right choice to make for my child, and I know Miss Hill is right that it reflects nothing poorly on me as a mother. But I cannot help the way my chest tightens at the very thought of it – of allowing someone I do not know close to my children, close enough to hold them, to feed them, to become someone they might grow to need and trust, when I have spent an entire year ensuring that no one outside this household could touch them at all.”

She tightened her hold on herself, staring at some fixed point on the carpet rather than at him, unable quite to meet his eyes for this part of it. “I have protected them so fiercely, for so long, relying entirely on my instincts and what I believed to be the best means of keeping them safe. I know it is foolish. I know I am likely overreacting to something so ordinary, so common among women of my station, and it frustrates me terribly that I cannot simply reason myself out of the feeling, however hard I try.”

Hudson was quiet for a moment, and when she looked at you, she found him studying her with an intensity that made her want to look away. But he made it entirely impossible for her to do so, his gaze holding hers with a gentleness she had not known him capable of before these past few days.

“It is not foolish,” he disclaimed finally, his voice low, certain. “You spent months protecting them with no one but yourself to rely upon in the end, aside from whatever help your brother and sister and this household offered along the way. Of course, the notion of handing any part of that over does not come easily to you. That is not weakness, Anna. It is simply what it looks like to have loved them fiercely enough to need no help at all – until now, when circumstance has finally left you no choice but to ask for it.”

Something in Anna’s chest cracked open at the words, at the gentleness in them, so at odds with the cold, clipped tones she had grown accustomed to from him over the course of their brief, strange marriage. It made her think that perhaps… there was more for them within their agreement than she had previously allowed herself to consider.

Scarcely had that thought left her head before he closed the small distance between them, his hand coming up to cradle her jaw, tilting her face gently toward his, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone with a tenderness that made her breath catch in her throat.

“You are doing nothing wrong,” he murmured, his eyes searching hers for a long moment, and then his mouth found hers.

It seemed neither of them had any intention to ease into the kiss, immediately allowing the hunger within to take over in a way that had their tongues mingling in mere seconds. The closeness between them and the warmth between them stole the breath from her lungs, and his hand slid from her jaw to the base of her neck, fingers slipping into her hair as she found herself leaning into him rather than away. Her fingers curled into the front of his coat as though she meant to anchor herself there against the sudden, dizzying rush of it. Heat pulsed through her, consuming and unrelenting, and for one long, unguarded moment, there was nothing in the world beyond the press of his mouth against hers and the low, satisfied sound he made against her lips as she yielded to it entirely, months of careful distance dissolving in the span of a single breath.

His other hand found the small of her back, drawing her closer still, and she went, some small, reckless part of her rising to meet him with an eagerness that would have mortified her had she paused to consider it. It was Anna who pulled back first, though it cost her a considerable effort to do so, her breath coming unevenly as she stared up at him, wide-eyed and flushed, her lips still tingling from the pressure of his against hers.

“I… I think I should go,” Hudson stated, his voice gruff, even as he stayed close to her with his hand on her hips.

Anna nodded, unable to trust her own voice.