“Does it?”
“Yes.” She looked down at the snowy white cloth. “Does this mean you are going away?”
“No, not at all. I just wanted you to have it. Foolish idea.” He shook his head, feeling ridiculous.
“Not at all,” Miss Brooking said. “It was very thoughtful.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
Then, to his shock, Frances reached up and wrapped her arms around his waist. Rory hadn’t been expecting the embrace and didn’t quite know what to do. He patted her head. Finally, she moved away and looked up at him with a big smile. His entire chest felt warm at the sight of that smile. He wanted to make her smile every day and all the time. “Goodnight!”
“Good—” He had to clear his throat. “Goodnight.”
Miss Brooking curtseyed and escorted Frances out, and Rory looked about the dining room and the footmen staring straight ahead, unseeing.
“Go,” he said.
The footmen exited, leaving him alone. Rory sat down in his chair again, leaned back, and smiled.
*
Lord Emory continuedto surprise Genevieve. Every time she spoke to him, he rebuffed her and behaved as though he would send her packing at the first opportunity. And then the nextthing she knew, he was doing something that made her tear up. Dratted man.
Frances had gone to bed quite easily for a change. Genevieve had tucked her in with Harriet and one of her mother’s handkerchiefs. Her father’s handkerchief had been placed near the box on the shelf, and Genevieve told herself she had only picked it up to put it away. But when Mary had come in to take Genevieve’s place and watch over Frances throughout the night, Genevieve had taken the handkerchief to her own room. Now, she’d washed and changed for bed, and she still had the slip of cloth. She placed it on the nightstand, determined to return it to Frances in the morning. She climbed under the covers, blew out the candle, and lay in the dark.
She was glad Mr. Notley was gone and Lord Emory seemed content to stay home. Everyone would sleep well tonight. And yet she didn’t fall asleep. She turned to one side and then the other, trying to find a comfortable position. She lay on her back, and then her stomach, and, finally, turned back on her side.
In the dark, she stared at the nightstand, a vague rectangular shape in the low light of the banked fire. But she could see the white of the handkerchief. Slowly, she reached for it and brought it to her nose.
It did smell of him. He had a scent that made her think of amber, something rich and sensual. She noted the undertones of vanilla and other darker spices. Closing her eyes, Genevieve remembered the feel of his arms as they came around her. She hadn’t embraced him in the library for any purpose other than to give him comfort when he was obviously in need of it. But he’d put his arms around her too, and ever since that moment, she hadn’t been able to forget how solid his arms had felt, how broad his chest and shoulders, how secure she’d felt against him.
The scent of him trapped in the silk handkerchief brought it all flooding back, including the one thought she’d most triedto suppress. For a brief moment, when she’d held him and he’d held her, she’d wanted to turn her head toward him and place her lips on his neck, just below the curve of his jaw.
Wicked, wicked thought. He would have let her go at once with the accusation that she was a wanton woman. She was his child’s governess. He didn’t think of her as any more than that.
Very well… Even she couldn’t convince herself that there wasn’t something between them. But just because she saw admiration in his eyes when he looked at her, that didn’t mean he wanted to act on it. They should absolutelynotact on it. If there was one rule a governess should follow, it was to avoid entanglements with the master of the house. She’d known of more than one governess who’d been seduced by her employer and let go with a bellyful. Genevieve had determined that would never be her.
That promise had always been easy to keep. She’d never looked twice at any of her other employers. Of course, she’d never had as much interaction with them as she had with Lord Emory, but she didn’t think that would have mattered. None of them looked like Lord Emory with his eyes the color of rich brandy, his dark, wavy hair, and that striking face. He was easily the most handsome man she had ever seen, but it was more than his appearance that drew her.
She had always been drawn to the vulnerable. That draw was one reason she enjoyed caring for children. But a vulnerable man didn’t need her to bandage a cut or sing him a song or tuck him into bed.
Genevieve closed her eyes at the image of that last act, savored it for a moment, then pushed it away. She couldn’t be the one to heal him. She wasn’t even sure she could heal Frances. Perhaps he and Frances might heal each other. Tonight had been a good step toward that healing. Her task was to stay out of their way—out ofhisway.
But she didn’t put the handkerchief back on the nightstand, and when she woke up in the morning, she was still holding it in her hand.
*
The day dawnedgray and dreary. In the distance, thunder rumbled, and fat drops of rain plopped against the window at irregular intervals. “I do not think we will be able to have our walk and picnic today,” Genevieve told Frances as the girl ate her porridge, Harriet and Marcella sitting in the other chairs at the table. Genevieve had surreptitiously replaced Lord Emory’s handkerchief beside the box that held Lady Emory’s handkerchiefs.
“I hate the rain.”
“There wouldn’t be any flowers without it,” Genevieve pointed out.
“I wish the rain might have waited until tomorrow.”
“Hopefully, the skies will be clear tomorrow, and we may take our walk then.”
“What shall we do today?” Frances asked.
