Page 38 of His Daughter

It was coming from the nursery bathroom. The door was open. Thea was inside, kneeling beside the small tub on the floor, one hand supporting Lena's head in the water. She was singing, and Lena was staring up at her with wide blue eyes and the most perfect, gummy smile. Her small hands slapping the water, and her focus was locked on Thea's face.

I leaned against the doorframe. I didn't announce myself. The image was too good to interrupt — the steam rising from the tub, the singing, the baby's smile, and Thea's loose curls falling over her shoulder as she leaned in.

She lifted Lena out, wrapped her in a towel, and turned.

She saw me.

"Well, look who's alive." She settled Lena against her shoulder and rubbed her back through the towel. "You lasted approximately forty-five seconds before you were unconscious. Very impressive."

"I was resting my eyes."

"You were snoring."

"I don't snore."

She shrugged. "If you say so."

She walked past me to the changing table and laid Lena down. The baby kicked her legs and grabbed at the air, making small, happy sounds that were nothing like the screaming from last night.

"Can I do it?" I asked.

Thea looked at me. The surprise was brief — a flicker in her eyes, there and gone. She stepped to the side. "Sure."

I stood over my daughter. "Okay." I reached for the diaper. "How does this work?"

"Hold her ankles. Gently. Lift her hips."

I held her ankles. My hands were enormous against her legs. My fingers felt thick and clumsy.

"Pat her dry with the towel. Then the new diaper goes underneath — tabs in the back."

I fumbled the tabs. They stuck to each other. I pulled them apart and tried again, and the diaper sat crooked on Lena's body like a bandage applied by someone with no medical training.

"Here." Thea reached over. Her hand closed over mine, guiding my fingers to the right position, pressing the tab flat. Her palm was warm. Her fingers were smaller than mine and steadier. She smelled like lavender, and she was close — her shoulder almost touching mine, both of us leaning over Lena, and the curl at her temple was right there, inches from my face.

Neither of us moved.

Lena chose this moment to spit up. Directly onto my hand. A warm, milky eruption that ran down my wrist and pooled in the cuff of my sleeve.

I jerked back. "Jesus…"

Lena gurgled. Pleased with herself. Thea laughed. She leaned down and tickled Lena's belly, and the baby squirmed and kicked.

"Is that…is this normal?"

She nodded. "Uh-huh… Welcome to fatherhood."

She turned to grab a cloth from the shelf behind her. I wiped my hand with the handkerchief on me. My wrist. The sleeve of my shirt, which was now officially ruined. While I cleaned up, I noticed a book sitting spine-up on the changing table. Bright cover. A couple on the front, locked in an embrace. The title was something about a duke and a secret.

I picked it up and flipped to the page she'd left open. My eyes landed on a line halfway down. I read it. My eyebrows climbed. I read the next one. My face twisted.

"This is what you read?"

Thea turned, cloth in hand. She saw what I was holding. "Put that down."

"'His hands traced the map of her desire'? Calloway, this is — "

"Put. It. Down."