Free One Rogue Too Many by Samantha Grace

he couldn’t help eavesdropping. Once Annabelle saw him, she would clamp her lips together tightly and stare at him with large green eyes that reminded him of her mother.
    Odd that his anger with Camilla never reared its head when he looked at his daughter. He only felt angry with himself.
    More than once, he’d berated himself for the choice he had made to leave his daughter in her aunt’s care. He was little more than a stranger to Annabelle now, but he’d thought he was doing the right thing. After all, Miss Teague was Annabelle’s true blood and the only mother she had ever known.
    “Lady Poppy likes cream in her tea, Mama.” He could picture Annabelle hugging the tiny doll. Even if she didn’t care for him, she loved his gifts. He supposed he could be proud of that at least.
    “Oh, dear,” Miss Teague said with mock distress. “Why do I always forget? Allow me, Lady Poppy.”
    Annabelle’s delighted squeal made him smile. “Not on her hat , Mama.” She expressed her mirth as only a child could, with deep belly laughs. His heart swelled and made his chest feel full. He’d missed out on much of her four years of life with visiting no more than a handful of times a year. But she’d obviously been well cared for by Miss Teague, and Annabelle was happy.
    Just not around me.
    That did seem to be his lot in life. He was the thief of happiness for every female unfortunate enough to be associated with him. At least that had been his mother’s recurring lament when her mind was fuzzy with brandy. He simply assumed his wife, Camilla, had felt the same since she hied off with her lover a few months after marrying Anthony.
    He hated to interrupt his daughter’s play, but he wished to say good night before he returned to Talliah House for dinner. He knocked lightly on the door then eased it open.
    Miss Teague and Annabelle were seated at the miniature table he’d bought after his return from Crickhowell, where he had found his daughter residing with her aunt. Part of him must have hoped Annabelle would live with him one day.
    Miss Teague smiled. “My lord, how kind of you to visit us this evening.”
    “Miss Teague. Annabelle.” He bowed toward the doll in Annabelle’s arms. “Lady Poppy. My, but you look fetching in your new bonnet, my lady.”
    Annabelle inched closer to her aunt, her eyes round and fearful.
    The gut-punch went all the way to his spine. Ah, well. It had been too much to hope she might like him a little more today.
    Miss Teague nudged Annabelle. “Say good evening to your papa.”
    She snuggled against her aunt, crushing her copper curls.
    “Go on, now. Mind your manners.”
    “Good evening, Papa,” Annabelle mumbled.
    When Anthony looked at Annabelle and Miss Teague together, their fiery locks the same brilliant shade, he had no doubt the woman had been telling the truth about his daughter. Annabelle wasn’t really his.
    Miss Teague’s brother—Camilla’s lover—had sired Annabelle. But that didn’t make him her father.
    Anthony had loved his daughter before she was born, and he would love her as long as he lived. She was his child by heart if not blood. And if that lousy blackguard James Teague ever tried to take her away again, Anthony would see him swinging from the gallows. He was lucky Anthony hadn’t crossed paths with him in Wales or he would already be dead.
    Thank God, Miss Teague had possessed the wherewithal to send word to Anthony and go into hiding when her brother had come around threatening to take Annabelle unless she paid off his debts.
    Neither female spoke as he rocked back and forth on his heels, trying to think of something clever to say. Nothing came to him. “Well, I will leave you to your tea party then. I wanted to say good night before I left for the evening.”
    Miss Teague squeezed Annabelle to her side. “How lovely of you to call, my lord. We wish you a good night as well.”
    Annabelle was gawking at him as if he were a beast that might gobble her