7. An Error in Judgement

AN ERROR IN JUDGEMENT

A s the carriage took a sharp turn, Lady Melanie tipped into Malum’s side. Brief contact. Hardly worth noticing. Except, of course, he noticed.

It wasn’t as though he wasn’t familiar with feminine attributes, but there was something unsettling about this particular woman. Petite. Soft. Purposeful. Not a hint of chatter. No pointless observations or coy giggles to fill the space, making him more conscious of her than he’d like to admit.

And there weren’t many Mayfair debutantes, he supposed, who would risk their reputations by setting foot inside the Domus Emporium —fewer still who’d do so for the sake of an abandoned babe. Yet here she was, defying every expectation he had of her kind.

Was it all a ruse? Malum was a duke, after all, and even though he didn’t participate in the Season, he was not unaware of the lengths women were willing to take in order to win the title of duchess. Lady Melanie Rutherford wouldn’t be the first husband-hunting woman who’d risk her social standing in order to stake a claim on the title of ‘duchess’.

From what he’d heard, her mother could be behind it all…

But before the suspicion could fully settle, however, he brushed it aside.

Lady Melanie was not feigning her concern for little Ernest. And although her meddling ought to have annoyed him, he couldn’t help but be grateful for her help the evening before.

And that she’d cared enough to track him down today.

Even so, the whole situation unnerved him. He’d needed a nursemaid for Ernest. He’d hired one. It ought to have been cut and dried.

Apparently, it was not.

This whole business was a mess he hadn’t signed up for. Still, Lady Melanie had taken a risk. He’d reimburse her for that.

Malum hated feeling beholden to anyone.

“What do you want?” he said, cutting through the tangle of his thoughts.

Lady Melanie tilted her head, looking confused as she watched him reach into his coat and withdraw a compact leather satchel.

“Money?” he asked.

Before she had a chance to respond, Jensen took another sharp turn, and this time, his pretty little neighbor was thrown onto his lap.

“My apologies,” he grumbled at the same time his hands instinctively grasped her waist—to prevent any further knocks about the carriage, of course.

He couldn’t help but notice her scent—delicate roses, with just a hint of lemon.

Lady Melanie’s face was only inches from his, her crystal-clear eyes widening as a startled gasp escaped her lips. And her delicate fragrance seemed to wrap around him, unsettling and intimate…

He turned his head away, but his hands had instinctively gripped her waist.

Bloody hell.

Lady Melanie wasn’t just any woman, she was related to two of the Rotten Rakes—trusted colleagues. And Malum never mixed business with pleasure. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little tortured when she turned, wiggling—God help him—and scooted back onto the bench, just as the coach came to a halt outside Preston Hall.

Anxious to check the baby’s condition for himself, Malum threw the door open and stepped outside. He held out his hand to the woman behind him, steadying her with a grip that was firm but deliberately brief—because he’d already allowed himself one lapse in judgment today, and that was more than enough.

Ernest had been fine when Malum left very early that morning. What could have changed in the course of less than a day?

He resisted clenching his fists.

Malum had hired a new nursemaid, that was what.

He’d barely stepped inside when Mrs. Appleton appeared at the bottom of the steps, dressed in what he assumed were her traveling clothes, wringing her hands.

“I returned as soon as I received Mr. Tipton’s message. I never would have taken leave if I’d known... Not that babies are my specialty.” Her gaze shifted to Lady Melanie, right behind him. “I just now sent word to the Domus , regarding that woman from the agency, Your Grace.”

“Too late for that.” Malum’s words came out clipped as he climbed the stairs two at a time. The fact that his neighbor had come to him first spoke none too well for his staff.

Lady Melanie did not scurry back to her own home as he half expected, to watch the unfolding drama from behind the safety of her curtains. Instead, she continued to trail him, and even managed to keep up surprisingly well considering her short stature.

For all intents and purposes, she’d been helpful—he couldn’t deny that, but he didn’t want her help. He didn’t want anyone’s help. For nearly four decades, he’d managed to solve his own problems, thank you very much. Or pay others to.

But as he neared the nursery, these thoughts fell away when he became aware of Ernest’s cries, not strong and hearty like they’d been the night before, but weak and tired. The baby’s voice sounded almost raw, as though he’d been at it for hours.

Stopping outside the door, Malum inhaled a deep breath, curbing the impulse to kick it down—not for the nursemaid’s sake, but because he didn’t want to put Ernest at risk, or scare him in any way.

Lady Melanie arrived beside him, and when Malum turned to meet her gaze, an unexpected connection passed between them.

He raised his brows. We’ll go in quietly , he thought, and she nodded.

As he eased the door open, pitiful crying sounds came into sharper clarity, and Malum felt a squeezing in his chest. When he caught sight of the nurse— who he’d foolishly not taken the time to vet himself —that squeezing sensation turned hot and angry.

The damned woman was lounging in the rocking chair as if she had not a care in the world. There were twisted up pieces of cloth stuffed in her ears to block out the sound, and her eyes were closed. Was— was she sleeping?

Protecting women was a good part of his life’s work, and yet, in that moment, he could easily have strangled Mrs.…

Hell , he didn’t even know her name.

How was it possible that he was so careful with employees at the Domus , but would be so careless with who he’d leave in charge of an innocent baby?

Lady Melanie wasted no time, rushing across the room to scoop Ernest up and out of the cradle. The tiny infant, his eyes swollen and face red, quieted some in her arms, but still choked out little gasps and cries. After tucking one miniature flailing fist against her chest, Lady Melanie glanced up, holding Malum’s gaze meaningfully.

“I don’t think he’s fevered,” she said, and he felt the same relief he saw on her face.

For a mad second, the world seemed to shift beneath his feet.

Ignoring it, he stepped up to the sleeping maid. Although her clothing suggested she was a professional, it was the only aspect that did.

The woman’s head slumped forward so that her chin rested on her chest, and a line of drool trailed down from the corner of her mouth. By God, she really was asleep.

Malum narrowed his eyes. This woman might be immune to the sounds of an infant in want of attention, but she would not ignore his presence. She would quickly learn that she’d chosen the wrong child to neglect.

Not that any child was deserving of such, but Ernest hadn’t been left on just anyone’s steps.

Malum gave the rocking chair a none-too-gentle tap with his foot and… nothing. He gave it a harder thump and this time, her eyes fluttered open. Before she could rub away the sleep in her eyes, she startled at the sight of Malum looming over her like a thundercloud.

“Your name,” he demanded.

She grimaced, looking confused before quickly removing the twisted-up handkerchiefs from her ears.

And watching her scrambling to cover her incompetence, Malum straightaway realized that, had he taken even a few minutes to interview this person, he never would have left her alone with Ernest. Blast and damn .

This was his own fault.

“Your name,” he repeated.

“Mrs. Flora Green,” the nurse answered.

Malum took note of it and then snapped his head in Lady Melanie’s direction. “Is Ernest all right?”

His neighbor nodded, but she frowned. “He’s soaked,” she said, and yet she wasn’t holding Ernest away from her body in disgust, as most ladies would. She’d tucked the baby’s downy head beneath her chin and had both arms wrapped around the tiny little body.

Mrs. Green, who’d fumbled to rise from the chair, took a few steps toward Lady Melanie, as though to take the baby out of her arms.

“You’ll keep away from him,” Malum ordered.

The foolish woman spun around defiantly.

“I assure you, I’ve everything in hand, sir. Some babies simply cry more than others.” A poor explanation for why she, a professional nursemaid, had so thoroughly neglected the boy she was being paid handsomely to care for. “And this one, well, he wouldn’t take the pap.”

From Malum’s experience the night before, he was quite familiar with the mixture of milk, bread, and water. Both before it had been digested and after.

Although dribbling it into the uncooperative newborn’s mouth required patience, it wasn’t impossible. If he, a bachelor duke, could manage it…

“Best not to coddle them from the start, lest they expect it later.” Mrs. Green glanced between Malum and Lady Melanie, still foolishly trying to defend her actions—or lack thereof.

Had she truly believed she could rest her head while the boy—a child in the Duke of Malum’s care—needed attention?

What if Ernest had fallen ill, as Lady Melanie feared, or worse, injured himself because of her neglect?

Malum glanced back toward Lady Melanie, who was staring down at Ernest. The babe’s mouth was open, and twisting his neck, he seemed to be looking for something.

“He’s hungry,” his neighbor insisted almost forcefully, the incredulous horror he felt so intimately reflected in her eyes as well.

“I know my business,” sniffed Mrs. Green, indignant. “The child would have eaten when he was hungry enough.”

Malum exhaled through his nostrils. Until the previous night, his knowledge of childrearing could have fit in a thimble. Normally, he would have deferred to a professional.

But he couldn’t accept anything this woman was saying.

Tipton appeared in the door, looking appropriately sheepish. “How shall I handle this matter, Your Grace?” he asked.

You ought to have handled this earlier.

“Send her packing,” Malum said. “With a week’s wages.”

Mrs. Green let out a sharp gasp. “You can’t do that!” Her outrage was almost laughable. “I was hired by the Wellington Household Placement Agency , I’ll have you know.”

“Wrong, you were hired by the Duke of Malum. Now you’re being fired by him.”

She dropped her gaze, suddenly contrite. “Please, Your Grace. I have nowhere to go. I can’t lose my living…” Mrs. Green curtsied once, and then again. “Please… I’ll keep him quiet in the future.”

Malum had heard quite enough from this woman. “Out of my sight.” His voice rumbled with the weight of his disgust, a warning. “At once.”

The nursemaid glanced toward Lady Melanie, as though she thought she’d find mercy with another woman. Malum’s not-so-timid neighbor simply narrowed her eyes, providing the older woman with none.

Mrs. Green swallowed visibly but then began gathering her belongings, bristling, but wise enough not to argue further.

“Tipton," Malum said, his tone sharp, "Let Wellington’s know their candidate was a complete disaster, and that there is no excuse for this kind of incompetence.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Tipton cleared his throat, and the woman scurried out the door, practically knocking the butler over in her rush to flee.

The door closed behind them both, and except for Ernest’s little hiccupping sounds, the room fell blessedly silent.

Malum, not at all accustomed to not knowing exactly what to do, found himself turning to Lady Melanie. “What she did, leaving him to cry like that, it isn’t really standard practice, is it?”

She stared back at him, her blue eyes wide. “If it is, I don’t like it.”

His sentiments exactly.

Malum rubbed his chin. He appreciated that she didn’t pretend to know, but would express her opinion.

Who was this woman, really?

Was it possible her motives were exactly as they appeared? That she’d been genuinely concerned about a baby that belonged to a perfect stranger?

She’d done the unthinkable for an innocent Mayfair Miss—she’d set foot in a brothel . She either didn’t realize that she’d risked her reputation by doing so, or she didn’t care.

The second possibility—that she didn’t care—was far more intriguing than the first. It was also concerning. Because the fact that she was related to two of his most valuable associates meant he couldn’t ignore it.

“You should go?—”

But Lady Melanie had already shifted her attention back to Ernest. “You poor thing,” she cooed as she crossed to the tall dresser Malum had used to change soiled nappies the night before.

He clenched his jaw. If he sent her away right now, he’d be alone with Ernest.

Again.

Blast and damn, he hadn’t signed up for this.

“There are clean ones in the top drawer,” he pointed out, more grateful than anything. “Nappies, that is.”

A washstand stood beside the dresser, with linen cloths and soap stacked on the shelf below. It was oddly convenient that the room—a nursery, for Christ’s sake—had not only been maintained, but well stocked. His household, of which he’d filled with the most sought-after servants in the ton , had obviously believed he’d inevitably come to his senses one day, take a wife, and immediately require a nursery.

Or…

More likely, they’d believed he sired bastard children on a nightly basis, and that eventually one of them would be dropped on his doorstep.

“You are a precious little darling, aren’t you?” The baby stared up at Lady Melanie as though entranced by her comforting words.

Malum was staring as well, noticing the elegant curve of her neck. Feeling an unfamiliar pull, he quickly shifted his gaze elsewhere.

Beside the changing dresser, a wooden rocking horse gleamed in the waning sunlight. Child-sized furniture filled the room, including a cradle near the dresser and a toy chest pushed against the far wall.

“Let’s get this wet thing off you, sweetheart. No wonder you were crying.” She cooed in comforting tones. This was the most he’d heard Lady Melanie speak so far, tender, calming. She turned and caught Malum watching her, but only grimaced, holding the soiled nappy between two fingers.

“There’s a bin…” Malum joined her just as a stream of urine shot into the air at approximately a forty-five-degree angle, barely missing Lady Melanie’s face.

She yelped, ducking.

Having experienced the phenomenon the night before, Malum right away covered the stream with a new nappy.

“What…?” Lady Melanie blinked. “You cheeky little devil!”

This was the moment any proper lady would summon what dignity she could, make her excuses, and race back across the street, back to her mother’s home where there weren’t tiny cocks to be wary of.

Or large ones, for that matter.

But when Malum slid her a sideways glance, intent on apologizing on behalf of his charge, he noticed her shoulders shaking.

By God, she was laughing.

“He’s like that little statue in Brussels, Manneken Pis . Isn’t he?” she asked, her voice light with amusement as she wiped the front of her gown with one of the clean linens.

“You’ve seen it?” Malum asked, his brow arching as he focused on keeping Ernest’s wriggling legs under control.

“We traveled to the continent years ago.” The smile she sent him was a little crooked—just as he’d thought before—but it fell so quickly he could have imagined it. “There was also an article in the Gazette a few months ago, along with an artist’s rendering.”

As she spoke, her shoulder brushed his arm, a fleeting touch that neither acknowledged. Ernest’s little hands, meanwhile, had found one of Malum’s fingers and clung to it with surprising strength.

“Pesky little things,” Malum replied, his tone dry but his gaze briefly flicking to the curve of her cheek.

“Indeed.” Her lips twitched, betraying a hint of humor as their hands worked in sync, passing linens and managing the squirming infant.

Not even twenty-four hours had passed since Ernest had been left on Malum’s doorstep, and yet, here he was, discussing, of all things, the male appendage, with a woman he would never have been properly introduced to.

The sort of woman he’d normally avoid like the plague.

Because they are trouble , he thought even as he wanted to lean closer, just enough to catch that faint scent of roses and lemon.

It was… surreal.

“Something about being exposed to the air, perhaps,” Malum murmured, his attention only half on his charge as he watched Lady Melanie’s quiet focus.

After a few minutes of fumbling—hands brushing, linens exchanged—they managed to get Ernest dry and clean without him soaking anyone else.

“He’s so tiny,” Lady Melanie said.

“Born a fortnight ago, according to the note.” Malum took a step back and watched as this curious young woman washed her hands and then proceeded to wrap a clean blanket around Ernest, who initially resisted it, but once bound rather tightly, appeared oddly content.

She made a shushing sound, bouncing him gently.

“Newly born, aren’t you? And left to the mercies of strangers twice now…” She spoke so softly, Malum almost didn’t hear.

And then he realized…

He was one of those strangers who’d failed the infant.

Blast it all, this wasn’t something he’d invited upon himself. “The Wellington Household Placement Agency is the best in England.”

She somehow managed a teasing glance that carried more than an ounce of accusation. “You should have met with her.”

“I know.” The admission came out harshly. He was just so out of sorts.

In the ensuing silence, she turned to study him, looking quite serious as she stared over Ernest’s head to meet Malum’s eyes.

“You aren’t at all what I expected,” she said.

Ignoring the weight in his chest, Malum curved his lips into a cynical smile. "What did you expect, my lady?”

Her throat moved just before she licked her lips. “The papers say you’re a monster.”

It didn’t surprise him—it shouldn’t surprise him. And yet, the weight of her words dropped into his gut.

“The papers say a lot of things,” Malum replied, his tone dry as he gave her a pointed look. “But perhaps you shouldn’t believe everything you read.” He shook his head. “Monsters, after all, tend to be more straightforward.”

He clamped his mouth closed.

There was something about this young woman’s demeanor that chipped away at his control. He didn’t like it.

And that might explain the pinch of relief he felt when Tipton reappeared in the doorway with one of the housemaids in tow.

“Pardon, Your Grace,” Tipton said. “Edna has volunteered to take care of the infant until a proper nursemaid’s been hired.”

The maid, who was carrying one of the bottles Malum had used to feed Ernest the night before, crossed to Lady Melanie. “I’ll make sure he takes some of the pap,” she said. “Whenever I go home, I help my sister with her youngins.” Edna’s voice was reassuring. Still, Malum’s neighbor glanced across the room for his nod of approval.

She blinked and then gave Ernest a soft nuzzle. “Be good, little one,” she murmured before reluctantly relinquishing the tightly bundled baby.

The baby, Malum reminded himself, that he too would relinquish just as soon as he located the mother.

Once Ernest was safely in Edna’s arms, Malum set his jaw.

“My thanks,” he said before clearing his throat, because expressing gratitude didn’t come easily. Still, Lady Melanie had done more than go out of her way to help Ernest—she’d risked her reputation in order to do so.

She blinked back at him, and then, apparently realizing she was being dismissed, her lips moved but nothing came out. She lifted her hands and then dropped them before she backed out the door.

And just as abruptly as she’d appeared, she was gone.