Simon’s smile was an endearing cross between sheepish and sly. “Here,” she said, holding David up. “Do you want to hold him?” “Of course.” Simon crossed the room and took the baby into his arms. He cuddled him for several moments, then glanced over at Daphne and grinned. “I think he looks like me.” “I know he does.” Simon kissed him on the nose, and whispered, “Don’t you worry, my little man. I shall love you always. I’ll teach you your letters and your numbers, and how to sit on a horse. And I shall protect you from all the awful people in this world, especially that Whistledown woman . . .”
