Free Latymer by Tracey Devlyn Page B

and out of focus. “Papers in the saddlebag. Some for you. Others for Giles—when the time is right.”
    Kissing my son’s head, I whispered, “Giles.”
    My son lifted his head, fear pulled at his innocent features. “Yes, Papa?”
    “Go with Lord Somerton.”
    He shook his head, burrowing closer to me.
    “You must.” Wishing I could hug my son, my arms and legs had turned leaden. “The earl is my friend. He will take good care of you.”
    Tears filled Giles’s eyes. “No, Papa. I want to stay with you.”
    “Please, for me, go with him.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m dying, Giles,” I said simply. “I want to know you’re safe before I join your mother in heaven.” If only that were true.
    “Papa, no! Don’t die. Don’t leave me.”
    “I will always be with you, Giles. Always.” A harsh, rattling cough burst from my lips. Blood speckled the wall beside me. “Take Lord Somerton’s hand now. Take it so I know you’re safe.”
    Somerton knelt down and held out his hand.
    Giles looked between me and Somerton’s outstretched hand.
    Daylight was breaking, and a warmth and a peace I had never known enveloped me. My range of vision had been reduced to little more than a pinpoint. Everything had slowed to a crawl. I wanted only one thing, and that was to see Giles go with Somerton.
    A ray of sunlight squeezed between the doorframe and O’Donnell’s shoulder. I blinked once, twice, and as light infused the room, I watched my precious son slip his hand into that of my old friend’s. I closed my eyes, and the pinpoint of light disappeared.

 
    EPILOGUE
     
    Six weeks later
    Bellamere Park, Somerton’s Country Estate
     
    Mac O’Donnell rested his forearms atop the veranda’s wide marble baluster. Several feet below, Amelia and Sydney stood conversing quietly as they watched the antics of a horde of children running around Somerton’s favored sunken garden.
    Somerton’s almost-betrothed’s exuberant daughter, Sophie, led the pack of wild ones around the tall hedges, flowing fountains, and thick vines of the garden. Joining Sophie was her friend, Teddy; Amelia’s son, Leo; and Giles Clarke.
    It was good to see them all scampering about. For the first few weeks after Latymer’s death, they wondered if Giles would ever speak again. If not for Sophie Ashcroft’s effusive and managing ways, he might not have done so for quite some time.
    The little girl had not only helped transition Giles into his new home, but she’d helped Leo as well.
    Amelia glanced up at Mac and smiled.
    He winked at her in return.
    Excusing herself, she climbed the expansive steps to join him. Sydney threw him a knowing smile before joining the children in the sunken ring of terror.
    Watching Amelia’s progress up the stairs, Mac’s heart began its familiar anticipatory rhythm. She sidled up next to him, allowing their shoulders to touch. It was enough contact to show him she cared but not enough to draw undue attention from her son below, or from the Nexus agents lounging on the veranda behind them.
    “Leo seems to be enjoying himself,” Mac said.
    She smiled. “Yes. He’s adjusted well after all the dramatic changes in his life. The three older children treat him like a beloved younger brother, and he clearly adores them.”
    “I’ve always heard about the resiliency of children. Now I know it to be true.”
    “You should have realized that was true well before now, Mac O’Donnell. Look how well you and Mick survived the streets of London. The two of you were barely older than Sophie, Teddy, and Giles.”
    “Good Irish stock,” Mac quipped. Thinking about his brother no longer brought on the unrelenting anger. The grief was still there and would always be there. But now he could concentrate on good memories of Mick, not his last horrific ones.
    “Speaking of Giles,” Amelia said. “When do you think Lord Somerton will give him the letter his father left for him?”
    Among the items Latymer had placed in Somerton’s