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“I’m too quick for you anyway, Cat,” the young Lord Corbett called from where he remained by the hearth.

He was frowning at his soldiers, some of whom insisted upon falling down rather than standing in a straight line as he had clearly intended.

“No, you’re not,” his sister said, clutching her doll under one arm and putting her other hand on her hip. “Next time you hide Rosebud or Miss Hoppity Hop, you’ll see. I’ll bite your big stinky toe.”

“Children,” Phee chastised weakly. “Cease your arguing, if you please. Auntie and His Grace shall never again invite us to tea.”

He hadn’t invited them to tea at all. That had been Ro’s doing, but Apollo didn’t bother to correct her. And since he couldn’t help but feel a bit responsible for leading her children down a mischievous path by recounting his own wayward boyhood foibles, he met her gaze.

“Forgive me for being a bad influence,” he said.

“More stories,” Lady Catherine demanded. “What else did you do as a lad, Your Face?”

Phee sighed. “It is Your Grace, darling girl. Not Your Face.”

Apollo chuckled. How wondrous it must be to have these two small people under her roof. To love them, to raise them. He had never been particularly swept away by the notion of having children one day, but Phee’s children had charmed him. The lad was quiet and a bit less trusting than his sister, but Apollo didn’t doubt that in no time, he would work his way past the boy’s shell. Oh, the mischievous tales he could regale them with.

Not that he would be able to do so. Phee had made her position clear. He had been her lover for a finite time only. Now, she was Lady Corbett, buttoned to the throat, the picture of refined elegance and motherhood, shepherding her daughter and son about.

Unless he could somehow change her mind.

“I shall have to think upon further adventures of mine as a lad,” he told Catherine with a wink.

The girl tried to wink back at him and blinked both eyes while grimacing instead.

Bloody adorable.

Could he change Ophelia’s mind? Could he persuade her to give him a chance? To love her, to make her happy? He had to try. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself otherwise. The last week had shown him what a misery his life was without Phee in it. And now, here she was, as if the universe was taunting him by delivering her to his drawing room.

“Think hard,” Lady Catherine encouraged him with a serious nod.

“I shall indeed, my lady,” he reassured her with mock gravity.

“Catherine, please use the manners befitting a lady,” Phee encouraged. “Do go run along now and play with Rosebud and Reggie’s soldiers.”

“But I don’t like Reggie’s soldiers,” her daughter complained. “They’re always getting dead from cannonades and bayonets, and then there’s blood everywhere.” She turned to Apollo, who had apparently earned his position as her most-trusted confidant. “It isn’t real blood, you know. It’s i-mad-in-ary.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding his head. “Imaginary blood is probably the best sort of blood, though even that ought never to be spilled in the vicinity of Rosebud, Princess Puppy, or Miss Hoppity Hop.” Then he turned back to Phee’s son. “You know, I had a set of soldiers just like that when I was a lad. Would you care to see them?”

The boy’s interest was piqued—Apollo could tell. But instead of answering, he cast a furtive look in his mother’s direction.

“If your mother approves, of course,” he added, glancing at Phee, trying to keep the emotions swirling through him from his expression.

He needed time. Time to formulate a plan. Time to woo her, to win her. But for now, he would start by getting better acquainted with her son and daughter, for he would have to win them as well.

Phee was silent for a moment before nodding. “You may, Reggie.”

“Would you care to see my old soldiers as well, Lady Catherine, or do you prefer to stay with more civilized company and take tea with Rosebud?” he asked the girl.

“I wants to come too,” Lady Catherine informed him with a regal air.

And so it was that Apollo found himself leading two small children to his study and opening the wooden box holding his cherished boyhood memories.

Ophelia watched with undisguised astonishment as Apollo guided her children from the drawing room. They flanked his tall form on either side trustingly, Catherine with her doll Rosebud tucked under one arm. Neither of her children looked back. Apollo was telling them some manner of tale about climbing a tree as the door closed behind them, Catherine and Reggie listening with rapt attention.

Bemused, she turned to Aphrodite. “Does your brother often spirit children away to show them his wooden soldier collection?”

“Never,” her friend responded with a raised brow.