Shev by Tracey Devlyn Page B

helplessness felt like.
    Kneeling beside Jacqueline, Anne helped the girl put her shoes back on. She spoke to Jacqueline in tones that would make one question whether or not the last quarter hour had really happened. He marveled over Anne’s mastery at hiding her emotions. Her ability rivaled his own.
    The ladies stood, flowers in hand. Something caught both their attention. Anne shaded her eyes for a better look; surprise slackened Jacqueline’s sweet face. Shev turned, his hands rolled into fists. It all happened as if their movements were slathered in molasses. But never more so than when he recognized the figure striding down the knoll toward them.
    Bélanger.
    Shev’s heart struck the wall of his chest with such force as to make his body recoil. This couldn’t be the tall, balding gentleman Anne had just seen. Bélanger sported a full head of hair. His gaze slid back to Jacqueline, his little banshee, just as she dropped her wild bouquet and tore after Bélanger. Her father.
    “Papa!”
    Jacqueline’s small legs spun with amazing speed, her face more aglow than he’d ever seen it.
    Bélanger’s pace did not alter or falter at the sight of Jacqueline flying toward him. In fact, the gentleman’s gaze wasn’t on the girl at all. It was fixed squarely on Shev, and he would not describe the man’s expression as pleasant or even anxious. Fury swirled around the Frenchman’s dark good looks.
    Anne came to stand beside him. She said nothing, nor did she touch him. A silent symbol of strength, support, and even love, though she would likely never tell him so.
    “Papa!” Jacqueline launched herself at Bélanger, wrapping her thin arms around one leg. Love shimmering on her upturned face.
    Rather than lifting her into his arms and hugging her close, Bélanger patted Jacqueline’s head and pried open her arms. He barked an unintelligible command at her before resuming his march downhill.
    Shev peered around the Frenchman to check on Jacqueline. Her pixie face crumpled before his eyes. Anger burned in his gut.
    “Remember, Jacqueline still loves the man, despite him being an arse. If you maim him, she will hold it against you.”
    Hearing Miss Anne Crawford, the incomparable governess, use “arse” in a sentence momentarily knocked away thoughts of murdering the Frenchman.
    She peered at him without turning her head, the area at the corner of her eye crinkling the slightest bit.
    Another clever move by the vixen. She knew the powerful effect her unusual comment would have on him—and the Frenchman’s fate. She had disarmed him with nothing more than a curse word tucked inside a casual comment. What havoc would she wreak on him when she truly set her mind to the task?
    “I love you, Anne Crawford. And once I run this arse back to France, I’m going to marry you, and we’re going to give Jacqueline a brother and sister to terrorize.”
    Her beautiful, tempting mouth sagged open. Her eyes widened, sheened with tears.
    “Your mouth is agape, my love.” He winked.
    “Lord Shevington,” Bélanger called from a few feet away. “I’ve come to retrieve my daughter.”
    All Shev’s humor fled on the heels of those six ugly words. “Take Jacqui back to the house, Anne. I’ll be there in a moment.”
    “ Jacqueline is not going anywhere.”
    “Go, please.” Shev nudged Anne forward. “I’ll take care of the arse.”
    Anne didn’t argue. She simply strode past the Frenchman with her chin held high, a dark look in her eye.
    “Shevington, don’t think—”
    Shev held up his hand, cutting off the bastard’s rant. He stayed the man until Anne coaxed Jacqueline away. Then he allowed fury and fear to fuel his heart.
    “What do you want, Bélanger?”
    “My daughter, of course. You might have stolen my wife, but I will be damned before I allow you to have Jacqueline.”
    “Do not pretend to be affronted. I happen to know you exiled both your wife and daughter after learning the truth of Jacqui’s