“Daddy. Can children be returned?”

The sprawling mansion was eerily quiet as Hollie led Maisie up the sweeping marble staircase. The luminous, airy glow of the first floor gave way to the softer, more muted lighting of the family wing. The warm golden hues of the wall sconces guided them to the nursery, a massive room filled with toys, books, and a large, comfortable bed.

Hollie helped Maisie out of her formal party dress, hanging it carefully in the closet and trading her stiff shoes for a pair of soft, cotton pajamas. The little girl was exhausted, the adrenaline of the evening leaving her heavy-limbed and lethargic.

Hollie pulled the thick duvet back and tucked her in, sitting on the edge of the mattress. She smoothed Maisie's hair, her heart aching for the trauma the child had endured, believing she was defective and disposable.

"Are the bad men going to come here?" Maisie asked, her eyelids drooping heavily. She knew enough about her father's world to understand that Felicity's furious departure meant danger.

"Do you think anyone could ever get past your father to hurt you?" Hollie asked softly, borrowing Ambrose's method of questioning to comfort the child.

Maisie smiled sleepily, her fair skin glowing in the dim light. "No. Daddy is the strongest."

"He loves you very much, Maisie," Hollie whispered, kissing her forehead. "You are his real daughter. You are safe."

Within minutes, the girl’s breathing evened out into a deep, peaceful rhythm. Hollie remained seated on the bed for a long time, watching her sleep. Her graceful posture finally relaxed, the tension bleeding out of her slender figure. She closed her eyes, replaying the terrifying, awe-inspiring way Ambrose had defended them both.

A quiet, rhythmic tapping on the open doorframe broke the silence.

Hollie opened her eyes and turned her head. Ambrose stood in the doorway. He had discarded his suit jacket and unbuttoned his waistcoat, looking slightly less formal but infinitely more dangerous. The loose strands of dark hair fell over his forehead, and his powerful shoulders leaned casually against the wooden frame. His perceptive eyes were fixed on her.

Hollie stood up quickly, smoothing her white apron over her short A-line skirt. "She just fell asleep, sir."

Ambrose stepped quietly into the room, his polished shoes making no sound. He walked over to the bed, looking down at his daughter with a profound, unspoken affection. He reached out, his beautifully tattooed fingers gently adjusting the blanket over the girl's shoulders.

"Does she look peaceful to you, Hollie?" Ambrose asked in a hushed whisper.

"She does, sir," Hollie replied, standing close enough to smell the faint, intoxicating scent of his expensive cologne mixed with the dark, masculine scent of the night.

"Do you know that you are the reason she feels safe enough to rest?" Ambrose asked, turning his head to look down at her.

Hollie’s breath caught in her throat. His physical proximity was overwhelming. The sheer, rugged beauty of his angular face and high-bridged nose was breathtaking up close.

"I just did what anyone would do," Hollie deflected modestly, her rosy cheeks flushing under his intense gaze.

"Do you truly believe that anyone else in that dining room would have defied my fiancée to comfort a child?" Ambrose asked softly.

"They were afraid of her, Mr. Calder," Hollie answered honestly.

"Should I have paid closer attention to the shadows in my own home?" Ambrose asked, looking away, a rare expression of guilt crossing his handsome face. "Did my ambition blind me to the cruelty happening under my own roof?"

Hollie felt a sudden, desperate urge to comfort the powerful man standing before her. She took a tentative step closer, her elegant posture radiating quiet strength.