Page 58 of Dearest Beast
“It’s always undeserved.” He cleared his throat. “You are, at a minimum, my guest, and you generously not only assisted with the search, but found my daughter and treated her injury. And I am grateful for it.” His voice was firm. “Very grateful,” he amended. “I have been under a touch of strain as of late and I was—” He forced himself to halt. “There’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she gazed up at him. “What’s wrong?”
For a moment, Roger almost answered her. Almost told her preciselyhow many things in his life were wrong. How far his life was from what it was supposed to be. How many times he failed, no matter how much he knew better. Knew what he was supposed to do and who to be.
How everything fell apart.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t tell anyone. No one could know. Not his family, not his friends, not his staff, not the community, who all depended upon him. Certainly not anyone outside, who’d only use his failures as evidence against them all.
No, he had to keep it all contained, even if the walls he’d built to assist him in doing so were crumbling yet again, and this time nothing he tried seemed to fill the cracks.
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I’m just tired,” he lied.
Well, not a complete lie. He was exhausted. Utterly exhausted. And had been for years.
Humiliating, really.
“The household is a mess, especially concerning the children,” he found himself saying, despite his better judgment. “The nurse quit two months ago, and I’ve not replaced her, and now I’ve sacked the governess.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, recalling the scene—the reason he hadn’t been with her and Fannie earlier.
“Why?” Miss Adler was now frowning. “Because Fannie was wandering the house late at night?” she asked, her tone accusatory, as if he was being unreasonable with his staff.
If only.
Though the assumption, surprisingly, stung.
“Because the reason she did not notice that Fannie was wandering the house late at night was because she was—” He cleared his throat. “In delicato—” The woman interrupted him with a huff.
“You could’ve used ‘having sexual intercourse,’ ” she pointed out. “Like you, my sensibilities are not delicate. Moreover, I find flowery euphemisms often a waste of time, if not confusing.”
Naturally. Why would she acknowledge the use in such?
“You have your phrasing, I have mine,” he told her, his tone now mild, which was rewarded with a half smile.
“With my stable master. Mymarriedstable master,” he added, in case she wanted to make another argument on the couple’s behalf. “Who Ialsonow need to replace.”
Blast, it truly had not been his night.
“Ah,” the woman said after a beat. “This has been quite the evening, has it not?”
“It has. My house is truly quite the mess.” He couldn’t help chuckling a little. He gazed back at her, her expression now thoughtful. “What?”
“I hate to mention it, but… While your comment was intended to be metaphorical, your hothouse, well…”
He barked another laugh.
“I can only imagine,” he said. Rather fitting, for the one thing he relied upon to keep him grounded to be in shambles as well.
His whole world was crumbing, and yet, once again he found himself staring at her. And those truly finely formed lips. As well as the soft curve of her neck.
Roger swallowed. This was not the time. No matter how much he wanted it.
“Thus go all my hopes for rest, as I now truly have pressing work.” He sighed at her confused expression. “Cleaning the hothouse,” he explained, trudging toward the exit.
“You aren’t just going to permit your staff to do it?” she called after him.
“It’s my hothouse and my child,” he returned. “It wouldn’t be fair. They’ve already worked hard enough tonight.”
“All right,” she said, brushing her hands on her apron and moving to his side.
