Page 65 of The Governess and the Brooding Duke
But he was jaded enough that he simply didn’t care.
Or perhaps he wished to court impropriety.
Not that he could think properly of impropriety with the child screaming like this.
He stood at the edge of the room.
She looked at him. ‘Do you not wish to gather your child? I can get the milk if you would like...’
‘No. I do not wish to hold him.’
She frowned. She went to the crib and picked him up, her movements awkward.
‘I do not have much experience with babies. I have only ever cared for children.’
‘Of course,’ he said. It made sense.
He had experience with babies. Going back as far as Elizabeth, of course.
He could likely offer her some assistance.
‘I will get milk.’
‘Do you know how?’
He frowned. He could wake the staff. And anyway, how difficult could it be? Did he know how? He was a man who managed vast estates.
‘Why don’t I accompany you to the kitchen?’ she said. ‘I will bring the child.’
His muscles tensed. ‘There’s no need...’
‘Come,’ she said.
And he found himself following her down the hall, transfixed by the sight of her in her dressing gown. It gave him a better idea of her shape, and when she passed by a moonlit window he could see the silhouette of her waist, her lovely pear-shaped arse and slender legs.
She was holding the babe.
And he was touching depravity.
Something he had always avoided. Something he had always believed necessary to stay away from, and yet he felt his defences were diminished.
Had it been that long since he had a woman, or was it simply her?
He was so rarely in the kitchen, it almost felt like visiting another home.
And he was galled by how useless he felt. How she had read him, far too accurately.
He did not know how to prepare milk for an infant.
‘If you could hold him just for a moment,’ she said.
‘No.’
‘He’s your son, Your Grace.’
And there, in the darkness of the kitchen, he said the one thing he’d never said before. Not out loud.
‘He’s not my son.’
