Justin's Bride. Susan Mallery

      “Here you go, sir. One clean girl. We had fun, Bonnie, didn’t we?”

      Bonnie nodded. Justin wondered if she ever smiled.

      Alice held the child’s dirty clothes in her arms. “I’ll see what I can do about these and leave them outside her door in the morning.”

      “Thank you.” Justin accompanied the maid to the door, then tipped her generously. When she’d left, he turned back to Bonnie, who stood beside the laden table staring as if she’d never in her life seen that much food.

      “Why don’t we start with some soup and bread,” he said, pulling out a chair for her. If she hadn’t been eating regularly, she wouldn’t be able to hold that much. He didn’t want to make her sick on her first decent meal in God knows how long. She glanced from him to the table setting and back. Confusion darkened her blue eyes, and fear, or maybe hunger, made her tremble.

      “Don’t be afraid.”

      He picked up a biscuit and handed it to her. She stared at it, then snatched it from him and shoved it in her mouth. While she was busy chewing, pushing and swallowing all at the same time, he lifted her and set her on the chair. Her head barely cleared the table.

      Justin frowned. That wasn’t going to work. He grabbed the pillows from his bed, picked her up with one arm and shoved the pillows under her behind.

      “How’s that?” he asked.

      She swallowed the last of her biscuit. “Nice.”

      He grinned. “Try the soup.” He lifted the cover of the tureen and ladled some broth into the bowl in front of her. The aroma of chicken and spices must have enticed her because she licked her lips. He tucked the napkin into the collar of the shirt she wore, then handed her a spoon.

      “It might be hot,” he said. “Blow on it first.”

      She stared at him as if he’d told her to ride a pig to market, then obligingly bent forward and blew on the soup. After a couple of minutes of listening to her huff and puff, he told her the soup should be fine now.

      Before he’d even chewed more than two bites of his steak, she’d finished the bowl and set the spoon neatly on the table.

      “You still hungry?”

      “Uh-huh.”

      He handed her another biscuit. This time she ate it slowly, a bite at a time. Her big, blue eyes studied him. He wondered what she was thinking. He cut another piece of his steak and chewed slowly. After swallowing, he took a sip of the whiskey that had come with his meal, then leaned back in his chair.

      “You mind staying here tonight?” he asked.

      She shook her head.

      “I’ve never had a little girl around before, so you tell me if you need anything. And if you want to know something, you just go ahead and ask me. You’re safe here. Mrs. Jarvis isn’t coming back.”

      She set the half-eaten biscuit on the tablecloth and wiped her hands on her shirtfront. He could still see the faint outline of the bruise on her face. It made him want to find that wretched woman and show her what it felt like to be bullied by someone bigger and stronger.

      “What’s your name?” the child asked.