Come the Night

“I know the facts of life, Mother.” His cheeks colored, raising a spattering of freckles. “You decided to have a baby with him, didn’t you?”

The facts of life. Toby had only the weakest grasp on the nature of relationships between men and women, but he knew enough.

“Sometimes,” she said, “we don’t always expect what’s going to happen.”

“You didn’t want me to be born?”

“Oh, Toby.” She moved quickly toward the bed and sat down, her arms trembling with the need to embrace him. “You were a miracle. A wonderful gift.”

“But I’m part human.”

He knew, and there was no going back. “Yes. But your werewolf blood is of the very strongest. You don’t have anything to—”

Be afraid of. But he wasn’t afraid. Not…yet. She had almost slipped, almost revealed too much.

“Even if Father isn’t like Mr. Delvaux, he’s still a werewolf,” Toby said, speaking into her sudden silence. “I’ll bet he could thrash anyone coming to the Convocation.” He bit his lower lip. “Maybe you don’t have to Change to be a real loup-garou.”

Gillian began to shake. He was talking as much about himself as Ross. Either he’d seen through her private fears or he’d drawn the natural conclusions from what he’d read.

She couldn’t lie. But she wouldn’t tell the whole truth.

“You’re very real,” she said, cupping his face between her hands. “And there are many admirable things about humans. Think of Uncle Ethan. Haven’t we been good friends?”

“Would you marry him if he asked you?”

For a few seconds she was too stunned to answer. “Ethan? Where did you get such an idea, Toby?”

“It wouldn’t matter whom you married if you weren’t going to have any more babies, would it? You could even marry Father.”

If he really believed that, she had succeeded in one thing, at least: she had kept him busy enough at Snowfell—and isolated enough, when the occasion required it—that he hadn’t grasped how little her life was her own, or how hard she’d striven not to let him feel the weight of burdens he was too young to bear.

But he would have to be told about what awaited them both at the Convocation. And soon.

“No,” she said gently. “That is quite out of the question. Our lives have become too different. We are too different.”

He frowned at the counterpane. “What if Father wants me to stay in America?”

“He knows that is impossible, Toby. A boy belongs with his mother.”

“What if he asks you to stay, too?”

That icy river sluiced anew through Gillian’s veins. “He will not. You must put any notion of our remaining in America out of your mind.”

She could see right away how little impact that command had on Toby. She should have found a better way to control him, to raise him with enough discipline to have prevented him from considering such a mad course as running away from England. But each time she’d considered treating him more strictly, she’d thought of Sir Averil, and all such resolutions had deserted her.

There was only one way of getting through to him now. And it would mean sacrifice…and faith that her bargain would be enough.

“You would like to see your father again,” she said.

Toby sat up. “Oh, yes!”

“Then I propose a compromise.”

“He’ll come to visit England with us!”

Oh, Lord. He had no idea. None whatever.

“No,” she said. “You know the Convocation is soon to begin, and there won’t be room for more visitors. I propose that we remain in New York for a few days, and you may see Mr. Kavanagh, if he is agreeable. But at the end of that time, you must promise to return with me to the ship without protest.”

Toby cocked his head. “Two weeks.”

“A few days, no more.”

His chest rose and fell in a great sigh. “Agreed,” he said. “May I ring him now?”

“Tomorrow morning is soon enough.” She rose, letting him see nothing of her apprehension. “Back to sleep, young man.”

He plunged back under the sheets with the energy of any ordinary eleven-year-old boy. Gillian was almost out the door when his voice brought her to a halt.

“Thank you, Mother,” he said.

Unable to trust her own voice, Gillian left the room. She almost went straight to the sideboard and the half-empty bottle of brandy, but she didn’t. Alcohol was a refuge of which she had no need.

Ross had. But he wasn’t the one who’d lost the skirmish between them. An hour or two was all the time it had taken him to win Toby over. He had never held a wailing infant in his arms, changed a nappy or soothed a little boy’s hurt, but Toby was already halfway his.

Was that how it happened to me?

The front door clicked. Hugh stuck his head into the room and glanced about warily.

“Is it safe?” he asked.

“Mr. Kavanagh is gone.” Gillian pulled the pins out of her hair and let it tumble down around her shoulders. “Did you enjoy your walk?”

Hugh snorted. “Enjoy it? I was worried sick about you.”

“There was no need.” She sat on the sofa. “Mr. Kavanagh was quite civil.”

Hugh eyed the brandy as he sat in one of the armchairs. “What now? Do I buy a gun or start packing my bags?”

The idea of Hugh wielding a gun was as ludicrous as the notion of Ross among the delegates at the Convocation.

“I have decided that Toby will visit with Mr. Kavanagh over the course of the next few days,” she said.

Hugh hummed through his teeth. “That is civilized,” he said. “I have to say, I’m a little surprised you trust him so much.”

“I trust him because I will be with him and Toby every moment they are together.”

“Won’t that be a trifle…awkward?”