CHAPTER FIVE
Hugh paced the plush carpet of his bedroom, tearing at the cravat choking him. He nearly succeeded at turning it into a noose before he ripped the piece of linen from his throat.
Why could he not get Felicia out of his mind? He hadn't given her a thought since those long-ago days when she insisted on joining him and Julian and Tony on their boyish adventures.
Now she drove him mad with an inexplicable longing, a sudden yearning he might have pursued if he were not devoted to being an upright, respectable parent.
How had this happened?
He loved being Lucinda's father, and did not want to relinquish that role, not ever.
What he had second thoughts about was becoming a husband to Penelope.
Hugh halted in the middle of the room. He couldn't believe the thought had escaped. He had done everything he could to prevent it from even arising. Yet after a brief encounter with Felicia at his betrothal ball, he could think of nothing else.
Even worse, now he was irrationally consumed by the notion of having Felicia, as if she was meant to be his bride all along.
He growled at such lunacy. Felicia was the worst possible candidate for his wife. At every turn, she incited sensations he had put to rest, willingly, for good.
He was not about to resurrect Lord Wastrel because of a fleeting physical whim. How could he risk his daughter's future in such a fashion? It was folly to even consider it.
He stalked towards the dressing table. His frustration, at himself, and the impossible situation, tempted him to sweep a bevy of useless items to the ground.
"Papa?"
Lucinda peeked around the now-open door. Her eyes were wide, yet not from fear. Her love of him knew no such thing. He knelt, his arms outstretched, and she raced into them. He closed his arms around her for safekeeping, although her pats on his shoulder made him smile.
She was doing her four-year-old best to comfort her distraught father.
"And what brought you here, poppet?"
"I wanted to tell you something."
He leaned back, so he could look into her face. When she did not answer immediately, he raised his eyebrows. "What did you want to tell me?"
She giggled, and then her tongue slid to the corner of her mouth. "I can't remember."
He laughed and then tickled her on both sides, treasuring her delighted squeals as she tried to curl away from the affectionate assault.
"I think maybe you just missed your papa."
She nodded, her bright expression warming him to the depths of his soul.
"I missed you too."
He scooped her back into his arms and cradled her against his chest. He could feel his heart swelling with love once more. He could never regret his wild misspent youth, not when she had been the result. He kissed her forehead. Yet she was also the reason he could not afford to make any more missteps.
A nursemaid dashed around the open door and then bobbed a quick curtsey. "I apologize, my lord. I turned around for one moment to fetch Miss Lucinda's tea, and then she was gone."
Lucinda's lips formed into a pout, and her tiny eyebrows descended into the most adorable scowl. Hugh had to bite back a smile, for the minx was a miniature version of him when he was displeased, although he was able to incite fear rather than joy with that same expression.
"I was just thinking I could use some tea," he said. "Would you like to join me in the nursery, poppet?"
Lucinda nodded so vigorously, her head nearly caught him on the chin. "Yes, Papa. That is why I came up here, to bring you with me."
"Is that so?"
He gazed at her with his eyes wide, informing the little liar he did not believe her for a minute. She was a stalwart, though, returning her own wide-eyed expression, without blinking.
He cleared his throat, to keep from laughing. Being a father would always provide challenges, but some days the biggest one was maintaining a straight face while disciplining this high-spirited creature. He could definitely use a helpmeet for that task.
"In future, when you decide to leave, for any reason, you must first ask permission—"
Lucinda opened her mouth to protest, but he did not let her speak.
"—or at the very least, you must inform Nurse where you are going. Will you promise me that?"
"Yes, Papa."
Her pout subsided, but only slightly. He nearly sighed. He did not want to break her spirit, but she would have a much easier life if she learned there were rules and boundaries to follow, and they were for her benefit.
He chuckled. His own life would be much easier if she learned that lesson, and quickly.
"Let us go have our tea," he said, giving her a little squeeze.
"Yes!" She gave him a wet kiss on the tip of his nose. "I love you, Papa."
"I love you too, Lucinda."
"And I really was going to tell Nurse that I was leaving. Only I forgot, and—"
He tilted his head down, giving her a frown. Her mouth stayed open for two full seconds and then she clamped it shut.
Another valuable lesson learned. His daughter would continue to fight for her cause at a later date.
Where had she possibly discovered that tactic?
~ * ~
Hugh stretched his left leg. He rubbed a spot on his thigh, hoping the cramp would subside soon, or he might not be able to get up from the tiny nursery chair. He lifted the miniature tea cup to his lips and pretended to drink it for the longest time. His daughter's delighted giggles made him smack his lips and declare, "That is the best cup of imaginary tea I have ever had."
She lifted a teapot with all the grace of a duchess. "Would you like some more?"
"Oh, yes," he said with relish, holding the cup towards her.
She poured a large portion of air into his cup, her tongue out to the side while she concentrated. "There," she said, beaming.
"Thank you," he said with a nod. He raised the cup and bobbled it, and then tried to catch it, his hands fluttering everywhere. Her mouth made a big O of surprise and then she started whooping with laughter. How could he not be the clown for his little treasure?
"Oh, dash it all, now I've spilled it on my waistcoat." He made a big show of wiping at the spot with one hand—the hand that had the cup in it.
"Papa!" she squealed before covering her mouth to contain the laughter.
"What?" He gazed at her as if he had no idea what was causing her mirth.
"You're spilling it even more!"
"Oh, no." He carefully set the cup, upside down, on the table, and then proceeded to dab at his waistcoat with a napkin.
"No!" She raced to pick up the cup and turn it right side up. She clucked her tongue as she looked at him. He half expected a finger wagged at him for his naughtiness too.
"Come here," he said.
She skipped over to him, and the absolute joy in her face was almost too much for him. He had never expected anyone to feel for him as she so obviously did, and it made a lump appear in his throat.
He was the luckiest of men, even if he had not thought so the day she had appeared on his doorstep. Her life had started out so inauspiciously—she had not even known she had a father—but it was clear whatever hardships she had experienced had not left a mark, and for that he was eternally grateful.
He set her on his knee, knowing the joint was likely to protest when he climbed onto his horse on the morrow. But she was too delightful for him to worry about that now.
"What would you like to do next?" he asked her.
Her brow wrinkled while she put a great deal of thought into the question. Then an "aha!" expression appeared. "I would like to ride a pony. My own pony."
He nearly groaned. He should have known better than to ask such a question. Just as he knew he could never really deny any request of hers.
It was another timely reminder why he required Miss Lansdale's assistance in raising his boisterous child—before he lost the ability to withstand his daughter's strong will entirely.
"We shall see about getting you a pony some day, my love, but until then, how about we go to the stables and feed the horses. Will that do instead?"
Lucinda's delighted "Yes!" nearly shattered his eardrums.