William’s bedchamber door stood ajar, and Tom could hear the quiet murmur of voices: William’s and Carter’s, probably, but Tom could never mistake the low rumble of Mal’s. He tried to shift his expression into something a little less like the beaming foolishness of a love-struck i***t, but the smile kept forcing its way back onto his face. Tom pushed the door open and stepped inside anyway, shoving down a feeling uncomfortably close to shyness. Earlier in the morning Mal certainly wouldn’t have welcomed his presence in William’s sickroom, but now — now he felt he might be able to earn a place here, in this little family group. Gods, but he longed for that, the security of a welcome that would never be revoked. Such family life as he’d had in the past had always rested on lies, concealment,
