A bite of pain made her jump. Ian lifted her hand and kissed a spot of blood on her thumb.
"Stay here," he said quietly.
He flowed to his feet, leather boots creaking, and walked swiftly out of the room. Beth waited, more tears coming, and she put her thumb into her mouth to stop the bleeding.
She couldn't believe she'd done this, ruined the thing Ian had wanted so much, had worked so hard to find. He'd finally won his heart's desire, and Beth had broken it.
She had to fix it. She had to. If she couldn't repair the bowl, she'd have to find another one. The Russian gentleman might have a similar bowl, or know someone who had. She'd need help--and she knew just which Mackenzie she would recruit to help her. Hart could make the world turn upside down and shake out its pockets if he truly wanted to, and Beth would explain that he truly wanted to. This was for Ian.
Ian returned, carrying a broom and a dustpan. He put out his hand to stop Beth when she tried to climb to her feet, then Lord Ian Mackenzie, youngest brother of the Duke of Kilmorgan, swept up the tiny shards of porcelain and shoved them into the dustpan.
"What the devil?" Curry ran into the room, taking in Ian then Beth on the floor. "M'lady, what happened?"
He asked Beth, because Curry knew that if Ian didn't choose to answer, he wouldn't.
"I broke the bowl," Beth said, miserable.
Ian carried the broom and dustpan to Curry. "Throw the pieces away."
"Just like that?" Curry bleated. "Throw the pieces away?"
Ian gave him an impatient look, shoved the dustpan and broom into Curry's hands, and turned for the open door.
"Where are you going?" Beth called after him.
Ian glanced back at Beth but didn't meet her gaze. "Jamie and Belle will be awake from their naps in five minutes."
Because Ian knew his son's and daughter's routines by heart, and never let anyone vary them, he would be right.
Beth didn't relax. "Tell them I'll be up soon," she said.
Ian nodded once and walked away.
Beth got to her feet, picking a minute piece of porcelain out of her skirt.
Curry stared at her, round-eyed, still holding the dustpan. "What happened?"
"I don't know. It slipped out of my hands." Beth dropped the last piece into the dustpan, her breath hurting as she spoke. "Oh, Curry, I feel so very awful."
"No, m'lady, I mean, what did 'e do?"
"He . . . fetched a broom and swept up the pieces. But I could see he was upset."
"That's all?"
"I wouldn't say that was all. He had trouble looking at me, and I know I've hurt him. He wanted that bowl so much."
Curry turned away, laid the dustpan next to the opened box, and propped the broom against the table. "'E broke another bowl once," he said in a slow voice, "about a year before 'e first clapped eyes on you. It were 'orrible, m'lady. Screaming like . . . I've never 'eard a sound like that come out of a 'uman throat. Me and Lords Mac and Cameron had to sit on 'im to keep 'im from 'urting 'isself. 'Is Grace wasn't 'ere--off politicking at the time--but 'Is Grace had to come back from wherever 'e was to calm Lord Ian down. It were days to get 'im to quiet, and none of us slept a wink."
Beth listened, disquieted. She'd seen Ian in what he called his "muddles," when he lost control of his rage or performed an action over and over, desperately trying to make sense of whatever had happened to set him off. But he'd not done that in years, not since their marriage ceremony in their cozy house not far from here. Beth's domestic life so far had been nothing short of blissful.
Ian had broken Beth's heart the night she'd met him, when he'd explained that he had no ability to love, had no idea what love felt like.
He'd since proven he did know how to love--he proved it every day.
"Ian's become quite good at controlling his rages," Beth said, but the words didn't come out with the conviction she'd hoped they would.
"Aye, and we all breathe a sigh of relief, we do, knowing you're looking after 'im. But this were a Ming bowl. Maybe 'e's just 'olding it in."
"He'd never let himself go into one of his muddles in the nursery. He'd never do anything to hurt the babies." Her conviction was firmer now.
"If ye recall, 'e didn't actually say 'e were going to the nursery. 'E only said the kiddies were finishing their naps."
Beth and Curry shared a worried look, then both of them rushed to the door. At the last minute, Curry stepped back to let Beth exit first, then they hurried down the hall and up the long staircase to the huge nursery the cousins shared when the family gathered.
Nanny Westlock, who considered herself in charge of the rest of the nannies, looked up from her darning in surprise as Beth and Curry ran inside the sunny room.
Near one of the wide windows, Ian was just lifting Belle out of her cot. Two-and-a-half year-old Jamie had already headed for the large wooden rocking horse he'd received from Cameron for his second birthday.
Ian set Belle on the floor and held her little hands while she walked eagerly toward Beth. "Mama!" she said brightly. Ian slowed his giant steps for her, his boots alongside her chubby legs.
"Look at me, Mama!" Jamie yelled from the horse. "Like Uncle Cam."
"Excellent, Jamie," Beth said. "Uncle Cameron says you have a good horseman's seat." She lifted Belle as Belle dropped Ian's hands and raised her arms for her mother.
Ian put his hand on Belle's back, Ian always worried that the little girl would fall. Beth hugged her close, determined to prove she wouldn't drop this precious package at least.
Ian met Beth's gaze and gave her one of his rare, full smiles. No pain lingered in his eyes, only the warmth he showed when he was in the nursery. The bowl might never have been broken.
"Yes, Mr. Curry?" Nanny Westlock said as Curry lingered in the doorway. "May I be of assistance?"
"Just going, Miss Westlock. Ye run your kingdom to your 'eart's content."
Miss Westlock only gave him a look, but Curry grinned at Beth and shut the door behind him.
Ian moved to Jamie and started showing him how to hold the reins between his small fingers. Jamie was already tall for his age and robust. He'd be a towering Mackenzie before long.
Beth cuddled Belle in her arms and watched her husband become absorbed in his children. She hoped Curry would take the broken pieces downstairs, but she'd have to worry about the bowl and what to do about it later.
*** *** ***
The at least twenty people in the servants' hall listened in horror and then surprise as Curry related his tale. John Bellamy, his blunt fingers working a needle to repair the lining of one of Lord Mac's riding coats, listened while Curry spoke with his usual flair for dramatics. Curry finished by dumping the contents of the dustpan across the table, what was left of a very expensive Ming bowl.