Owen Hunter's son, Little George, had turned two. He was chubby-cheeked, adorable, had started learning to talk, and was already a sweet-talker. Adrian Desmond and his friends all loved him.
"Uncle Desmond!" Little George looked at Adrian Desmond and called out happily.
"Good boy!" Adrian Desmond, who rarely smiled, stroked the child's smooth little face. "Uncle brought you a gift and had the servant take it to your room. Go see if you like it. If not, I'll buy you something else."
"Thank you, Uncle!" Little George beamed.
"He's been asking me when Uncle Desmond would get here," Aria Harris said with a laugh.
Owen Hunter's wife, Aria Harris, was beautiful and gentle as water—clearly a woman suited for home and hearth.
"Little George, call me Uncle too! I bought you a birthday present as well," Dan Taylor chimed in, leaning closer. But the little fellow didn't like Dan Taylor; he ducked into his mother's arms, snubbing him completely.
