Free Rexanne Becnel by The Heartbreaker Page A

Without warning she thrust Leya at him. “I believe your daughter needs her nappy changed.”
    Phoebe could have groaned as she fled to the kitchen. What was she thinking, bragging about her plain cooking when he had a cook to prepare him whatever he desired? And then to hand the baby to him so waspishly? This was no cloddish farmer’s son for her to order about. This was Viscount Farley, the richest landowner in these parts. He was highly educated, a world traveler, and wealthy beyond her imagination. Born to every privilege the English aristocracy offered.
    Who was she to treat him so familiarly?
    It was only that he rattled her so, with his direct gaze and too casual garb. But that was still no excuse, and she knew it. Resolving not to let him affect her, she busied herself in the kitchen. First she stoked up the fire with two added logs, then she drew fresh goat’s milk from a jug she kept cool in the deep water basin. She cut four crusty slices of bread and toasted them as she warmed a small portion of jam.
    But as she glanced out the window and saw Lord Farley holding Leya and talking to Helen, her confused emotions rose right back up to torment her. How could she be expected to treat him with the deference his title required if he insisted on acting like an ordinary man? One minute he was Mr. Shirt Sleeves, driving a simple pony cart and in desperate need of her help. The next moment he was Mr. Puff Pastry and Chocolate Sauce, too good for her fare.
    Well, just see if he didn’t find her bread and jam as good as his snooty old desserts. And if he knew so much about what children wanted, why was he begging her help anyway?
    And why are you so angry? another, saner voice in her head demanded to know. The man might know nothing about raising children but at least he was willing to try. Helen’s father had never evinced any interest in his daughter.
    Then again, did Helen’s father even know he had a child? Considering Louise and all the escapades she’d boasted of, she might not be certain who had sired Helen. Wasn’t that a sad and distasteful thought?
    Beset by too many conflicting emotions, Phoebe resolved to just deal with the task before her, nothing else. So she pulled the toast back from the hearth and set the slices on a large platter. While they waited for Izzy to return, perhaps she should check on Leya before Lord Farley made a complete muddle of things.
    She found him bent over Leya on the cart, struggling unsuccessfully to fasten a fresh nappy around the squealing baby. At least they were happy squeals. Helen sat perched beside Leya, dangling a knot of grass just above the baby’s head. Every time she tickled Leya’s nose the baby laughed out loud, and so did Helen.
    So did Lord Farley.
    The deep sound of his laughter rumbled all the way through Phoebe, rattling her nerves and making her stomach knot. It was almost like nausea, except different. Worse.
    Suddenly Phoebe understood just how dangerous this man was. He acted like such an ordinary fellow. But in truth he was anything but. He might not put on airs; he might even lower himself in ways few other men would. But that only made him more attractive to her, and that’s why he was so dangerous. A simple country girl had no business becoming attracted to a wealthy lord like Viscount Farley. Only disappointment—or disaster—could come of it.
    She wrapped her arms across her stomach, hugging her unsettled feelings inside her. She could not let his low laughter affect her, nor his handsome face and easy ways.
    But knowing that did little to help her, for she continued to stand there watching as Lord Farley, with some assistance from Helen, finally managed to bundle Leya properly. He lifted the baby up, then after a pause, tossed her high over his head.
    Phoebe gasped, but Leya squealed her delight. Helen clapped her hands and giggled uncontrollably. He did it again, laughing along with them, and a third time as well. He only stopped when he heard