Time to go downstairs. Alex walked down the twisting stone steps from his library, mentally bracing himself. He had forgotten, in the intervening weeks, just how much Charlotte’s beauty moved him. Even the sight of her trim bottom as she bent over to pick up Pippa sent a stab of lust to his groin. Well, all the better, he reasoned, pacing calmly toward the entrance. She was his wife, after all. Maybe he could keep her too busy to roam to other men.

He walked into the courtyard. Servants were pouring out of the door, lining up for their formal introduction to the new countess. Charlotte was standing, Pippa in her arms, looking slightly amused. Her expression didn’t change when she saw him. She merely inclined her head a fraction of an inch and said, “My lord.”

Alex looked at her thoughtfully. He inclined his head in response.

“Charlotte.” There was silence in the courtyard. Pippa, who had been watching the horses over Charlotte’s shoulder, twisted her little self around. Alex smiled at her and held out his arms. But rather than say “Papa” in her lovely Italian accent, or struggle to get down and run to him, as she had to Charlotte, Pippa took one horrified look, twisted her free arm around Charlotte’s neck, and burst into loud sobs.

“Sweetie,” Charlotte said, “I told you Papa would come back. You see, Papa is here, and he missed you, and he loves you very much. He didn’t leave forever. Do you remember what I told you?”

There was no answer. Pippa just buried her face more tightly into Charlotte’s neck. Alex felt a burning red creep up his neck. His own daughter was rejecting him in front of some thirty servants, all of whom were craning their necks to see what was happening. Alex walked over to the two of them, his body rigidly disguising his impulse to pull Charlotte into his arms and kiss her until she lost that distant look.

“Pumpkin,” he said, his deep voice calm and persuasive. “I missed you very much. In fact, I thought every night about how much I wished that I had never left you. But here I am, and I would very much like a hug from my own pumpkin.”

Pippa raised her tearstained face. “Papa?” she asked. Alex stooped down, ignoring the fact that Charlotte drew back slightly as he came close. He rubbed noses with Pippa. She giggled and held out her arms. “Papa,” she said. “Papa!”

The Italian accent was gone forever, Alex thought. But the warmth of his daughter’s small chunky body clinging to his was all that mattered. “I love you, pumpkin,” he whispered into Pippa’s neck. He forgot all the bystanders.