Page 50 of The Governess and the Brooding Duke
She turned to him and arched a brow in censure. ‘None that I would be interested in.’
‘A scientist to your soul?’
‘Notonly. I am interested in all forms of education. But yes. My leaning definitely runs towards the scientific.’
He stood from the chair and went to the shelf, took out a book and held it out towards her. She stared at him for a moment, and then crossed the space, taking it from his hands. Their fingers brushed. And need, stark and hot, rioted through him. Her cheeks went pink, evidence that she felt the same heat that he did.
‘This is a book about speculations on the origins of the universe. You might enjoy it.’
‘That sounds like it might be sacrilegious.’
‘Perhaps it is. I have always been fond of the profane.’
She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. ‘Have you?’
‘Yes.’
‘I will take the book. Thank you. And I... I have your permission? I just wish that I could help the children. And I think that perhaps giving them some scientific basis to understand... That it might help. As I am attempting to bring them through this time alone.
‘Is that a judgement?’
‘You know that it is. And yet it isn’t. I try... I try to allow space for your loss.’
‘And yet?’
‘In the meantime the children suffer.’
He was not immune to her words. But he did not think she knew, not truly, of suffering. And the kinds of suffering a child could endure when they were subject to the whims of a parent.
‘I see. And what would you have me do?’
‘Comfort them.’
‘As you did me last night?’
She was goading him, and he did not care for it, pushing his mind to places he did not wish it to go. And so he struck back.
‘Your Grace, that was a mistake. I behaved with impropriety.’
‘Indeed.’
‘I thought to comfort you, as I might one of the children.’
She was icy in her speech when she said that. And he knew that she was a liar. The colour in her cheeks rose high.
‘As a child? Is that how you see me?’
‘No, Your Grace. But my impulse was to treat you in the same fashion as the children when they have a difficult day.’
‘And would you offer me comfort now, Mary?’
‘Miss Smith,’ she corrected.
‘For today has been difficult. Do I not deserve some comfort? The touch of your hand?’
Her breath quickened. ‘Your Grace...’
She wanted him. It was apparent. It had been last night when she had knelt before him. The gesture might have been intended to be one of comfort, but it had shifted.
