Lords of Temptation Ultimate Bundle

“Gris,” his brother roared, likely
from the bottom of the stairs. “Get your lazy fucking ass—”

Fulton was cut off by a mournful
wail that made Gris bolt into a sitting position in his bed. “What was that?”

Fulton didn’t answer. Instead, the
crying continued, punctuated by the thunderous falls of Fulton’s feet stomping up the stairs.

A moment later the door burst open,
crashing into the wall. Fulton stood in the hall, feet planted wide and a
murderous expression on his face. His hands were in front of his body, held out as far from his person as they might reach, a basket dangling from his closed fist.

Gris jumped from the bed, shirtless
and still a bit dazed from sleep. “Fulton?”

In answer, Fulton strode into the
room, his nostrils flared and his lip curled. “Special delivery for you.”
Fulton’s tone held a note of worry that Gris had never heard before. Alarming, considering the amount of trouble in which the other Smith regularly found himself.

“What’s for me? What delivery? I’m
not expecting anything…” He looked down at the basket, his mind grappling with the noise he heard. A goat? Kittens? For a second, he scrubbed his face, trying
to think, but his brain was so muddled, it just didn’t work. He’d taken the earlier shift at the gaming hell they owned and operated and then he’d come home and gotten good and drunk.

He was not exactly certain why he’d
overindulged. Perhaps because it was Tuesday? Or was it Wednesday? Whatever the day, he couldn’t quite calm the restless feeling that had been rising in him
like the tide. He stared at the basket, trying to make sense of what was happening.

“Are you listening?” Fulton barked.

Had his brother been talking? “What
time is it?”

“I don’t know. Six.”

“In the morning?” No wonder his
mind wasn’t working. He’d likely only been asleep for a few hours and he’d had an excessive amount of gin.

“Yes, in the morning,” Fulton spat,
holding the basket up higher. “What does it matter what time it is?”

“Because…” But he stopped talking
as his gaze caught the letter that was pinned to the side of the basket. In a very neat scrawl was written his name…

Lord Griswold Smith

 And then he looked in the basket
and the source of the noise became clear. In the folds of the blankets was a squalling baby, its face screwed up and wrinkled as shrieks sounded from its lips.

“What the—”

“My thoughts exactly,” Fulton said
with a nod and then set the basket on the floor, turning toward the door.

“Where are you going?” he yelled at
his brother, panic rising in him at the idea of being left alone with the
squalling child. He’d helped care for his sisters, but that had been when both girls were older. Mira was only a few years younger than him and Anna five years his junior.

“I’m leaving,” Fulton said over his
shoulder. “That thing is addressed to you.”

He stepped around the basket,
chasing after his brother. “Fulton. You can’t leave. What the hell am I
supposed to do with it?”

Fulton spun, his massive shoulders
barely fitting in the doorframe, and ran a hand through his dark hair. “How am I supposed to know? They don’t teach baby care on ships or in gaming hells.”

Gris looked back at the basket and widened his eyes as the keening cry rose to a new, more ear-piercing pitch.

More boots sounded on the steps and their cook appeared behind Fulton. “What on God’s green earth is making that racket?”

Relief at the sight of the
crotchety old woman made Gris’s shoulders slump. Surely, Mrs. Mable knew how to make a baby stop crying. “Missus Mable, I’m going to need—”

She raised a finger, silencing him.
“I don’t take care of babies.”

“But—” He held out his hands. “It’s
crying.”

“Where did it come from?” she
asked, scowling at the basket as she continued to hide behind Fulton.

“Found it on the front stoop when I
came in from my late shift at Hell’s Corner. It’s got a note with Gris’s name on it.”

Mrs. Mable stretched up even
further to look over Fulton’s shoulder. “So it does.”

Gris turned to look at the wailing
child. “It’s not mine.”

“How do you know?” Fulton reasoned, cocking his head to the side. “Perhaps you should look at the letter.”

He recoiled. No way...