"I know they'll tell me to wait until morning, and I just can't." She raised hopeful eyes to his. "Will you help us?"

Stephen stared at the child. "Me?" What he knew about dolls could be carved on the head of a pin with room to spare. He wondered if he looked as horrified as he felt.

Tears streamed down Callie's face and another heartbreaking sob racked her small frame. "Please, Mr. Barrettson? Please?"

Stephen swallowed and suppressed a desperate desire to flee. The sight of Callie crying, her eyes huge with tears, completely undid him. He knew defeat when it stood in front of him.

"Please, don't cry, Callie." He yanked his hand through his hair. "I suppose I could help you set Miss Josephine back to rights-"

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Barrettson!" Callie launched herself into his arms and hugged him fiercely, nearly knocking him over. His arms automatically went around the child. She was so small. And trusting. And sweet. He inhaled, and a smile touched his lips. She smelled like what he imagined children were supposed to smell like-warm sunshine and fresh cream.

She pulled back and raised teary eyes to his. "Do you think we can fix her?" she asked, her voice filled with hope.

"Absolutely." He had no idea how to accomplish such a task, but he'd do whatever necessary to make her smile again. "Let's see. Why don't we take her into your chamber and clean her up a bit? I'm sure she'd feel better if we washed the dirt off her."

"All right." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Stephen reached into his pocket and extracted a white hanky. Callie took the piece of linen and gave her nose a gusty blow.

"Feel better?" he asked with a smile.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Excellent."

Callie slipped her tiny hand into his and led him down the hall to her bedchamber. Once there, she removed the doll's torn dress and handed it to Stephen, who gingerly dipped it in a pitcher of water. He used a bit of soap on the cloth, rubbed it vigorously, wrung it out and placed it near the fire to dry.

Then Callie held Miss Josephine in her small hands while Stephen gently washed the filth from the doll's porcelain face. When they finished, Stephen carefully dried her off with a towel.

"What now?" Callie asked, cradling the towel-wrapped doll in her arms. "Miss Josephine's clothes are still wet, and her arms are still ripped off."

"Does she have any other clothes?" Stephen asked, totally at sea.

"No. That is her one and only dress."

"Hmmm…" Stephen stroked his chin with one hand, puzzling over how to solve the problem of Miss Josephine's lacking wardrobe.

"Perhaps we can sew her arms back on," Callie suggested.

Stephen stared at her blankly. "Sew?"

"Yes. I think that would be best."

"Do you have the proper, er, utensils for sewing?" he asked, praying for a negative answer.

"Yes." She retrieved the items from a small basket near her bed and handed them to Stephen.

He looked at the needle and thread resting in his palm. He couldn't have been more astounded if she'd just placed a tarantula in his hand. While he could easily see that Miss Josephine's arms needed to be sewn back on her body, he hadn't the faintest clue about how to accomplish the task.

"Do you know how to thread the needle?" he asked.

"Of course." Callie brought her supplies near the fire, and with a great deal of concentration she threaded the needle and made a knot at the end of the thread. "Here you are," she said, handing the item to Stephen.

Stephen pinched the needle between his fingers and stared at it as if it were a snake. Dear God, what had he gotten himself into now?

But then again, how difficult could this be? He was an intelligent man. Surely he could manage to take a stitch or two. He glanced quickly around the room, as if to make sure none of Society's esteemed members were lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce at him and denounce him for this unseemly behavior. The Marquess of Glenfield sewing on a doll's arms. Stephen knew that even if he were foolish enough to tell anyone of this episode, they would not believe him anyway.

"All right then." Folding his legs under him, he sat on the floor near the fire. Callie sat next to him, and together they managed to sew Miss Josephine's arms back onto her body. She held the arm while Stephen took a series of uneven, awkward stitches, forcing his lips to remain clamped shut when he stuck his finger over and over with the sharp needle.

"You'd best not stick yourself too many times, Mr. Barrettson, or you'll find yourself with a tattoo."

"I beg your pardon?"

"That's how tattoos are made, you know. With needles. I heard Winston tell Grimsley all about it. First you swill something called Blue Ruin till you feel lushy, then you get stuck with needles, then you go with your mates to the bawdy house." She inclined her head questioningly. "What's a bawdy house?"

Stephen dropped the doll and nearly choked. "It's a place where, er, ladies and gentlemen go to, ah, play games."

"How grand! I love to play games. Do you suppose there's a bawdy house in Halstead I could go to?"

He scrubbed his hands down his face and smothered an oath. "Only adults are allowed, Callie." The thought of such vulgarities ever touching this innocent child turned his stomach.

Disappointment filled her eyes. "Perhaps when I'm older?"

Settling his hands on her narrow shoulders, he looked in her eyes and desperately searched his mind for appropriate words. "Nice, clean young ladies do not go to bawdy houses. Ever."

Her eyes widened to saucers. "Oh my. You mean it's a place for ladies who don't take baths?"

"Baths? Er, yes."

She wrinkled her pert little nose. "Then I wouldn't care to go. I love playing in the bath. Hayley lets me stay in till my skin is wrinkly." Her gaze drifted down to the doll lying on the rug between them. "Can we finish fixing Miss Josephine?"

Stephen grasped the opportunity and snatched up the doll with the zeal of a starving dog grabbing a bone. He sewed as if his life depended on it, praying Callie wouldn't think of any more questions to ask him.

"There," he finally said, making a knot and breaking the thread with his teeth. He held Miss Josephine up for Callie's inspection. Not bad, old man. Not bad at all. In spite of his sore fingers, Stephen felt very proud of himself. So what if the doll's arms were a bit crooked and one was now longer than the other? They were attached.

"She looks wonderful," Callie breathed, her eyes wide with gratitude.

A wave of smug accomplishment washed over him. "Yes, she does. Let's check her clothing. Perhaps it's dry by now."

Callie retrieved the doll's dress. "It's only a bit damp around the edges," she reported.

"Excellent. I suggest we get Miss Josephine clothed and tucked into bed."

"I agree," said Callie. "She's had a very trying evening."

Stephen held the doll while Callie slipped the dress over her head. Together they fastened the clothing.

"Thank you, Mr. Barrettson," Callie said, hugging the doll close to her chest. "You saved Miss Josephine's life and I'll always be grateful." She held the doll to her ear and listened, her eyes growing round. She looked up at Stephen. "Miss Josephine would like to give you a hug and kiss."

Stephen dropped to one knee in front of Callie. She held Miss Josephine's porcelain face next to his cheek and made a kissing sound. "Thank you, Mr. Barrettson," Callie said in a high, Miss Josephine-like voice. "I love you."

A knot lodged in Stephen's throat. A knot that became nearly unbearable when Callie threw herself against him, wrapping her small arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely. He hesitated, then hugged the child to him, his heart expanding at her show of gratitude. What a unique feeling, being hugged by a child. Unique, incredible, and heart-stoppingly wonderful.

"I love you, too, Mr. Barrettson," Callie whispered into his neck. She planted a damp kiss on his cheek with pursed lips, then leaned back and smiled at him, her eyes glowing.

Bloody hell, the child was going to completely unman him. Stephen cleared his throat, and somehow managed to smile at the child. "I believe it's time for you and Miss Josephine to get into bed," he said, his voice husky with emotion.

Callie clambered into her bed, and Stephen tucked the covers around her and Miss Josephine. He wasn't sure he'd done it correctly, but Callie immediately yawned and closed her eyes. Within moments her breathing grew deep and regular with sleep.

Stephen stood at the edge of the bed for several moments watching her. Shiny dark hair surrounded her small face in a halo of curls. Her lashes created dark crescents on her chubby cheeks, and her little bow mouth looked as if it had been stolen from a cherub.

I love you, Mr. Barrettson. God help him.

Stephen left the room, quietly closing the door after him.


* * *

When he entered his bedchamber, Steven made a beeline for the brandy decanter. Damnation, the people of this household were going to rob him of his wits. He didn't know how it had happened, but each one of them had somehow managed to sneak with the stealth of a master thief into his jaded heart and steal a piece.

And none more completely than Hayley. Dear God, he hadn't even realized he possessed a soul until she touched it with her warmth and loving, courageous compassion. She was an angel who tempted him beyond reason and made him feel things he'd never felt before-things he couldn't begin to describe-that squeezed his insides together and made his chest feel queer.

Feeling decidedly unsettled, he tossed back his brandy and quickly poured another one. It was indeed a good thing he was leaving Albright Cottage. He was entirely too involved with these people-with their lives and their problems. He couldn't allow himself to care for them.