Chapter 9
Letitia sucked in a gasp as the duke’s lips, warm and soft, landed on hers.
For an instant, she froze.
And then, because she was the most foolish woman alive, she relaxed into it, let him hold her cheeks, let him pull her close, and let herself trail her fingertips down to his shoulders.
She had not intended for this to happen. She had been doing a fine job of avoiding the duke, pretending that she didn’t feel his gaze when they crossed paths, and rebuffing Sarah’s probing questions.
And then, she’d woken to screaming.
Her first thought had been Iris, of course. But the screams weren’t the cries of a little girl waking alone in the night; they were deeper, the cries of a man consumed with terror.
She’d been in the corridor before she could think better of it.
She’d had enough sense to try knocking, at least. But there had been no answers, and the tortured sounds kept coming, too pained for her to resist. So, she had gone in.
And then, when the duke had failed to respond to her voice, she’d touched his face, which was twisted with fear.
She’d called his title and, then, when that had not worked, his name—his given name.
When she laid it all out like that, it sounded almost logical. Except it could not be logical, because there was no logical world in which she and the Duke of Rutley—Ezra—were kissing.
His mouth was warm, his hands gentle on her face. He parted his lips, coaxing hers open. His tongue brushed against her lower lip, just a featherlight touch. She gasped again—and this time, he seemed to wake up the rest of the way.
“Miss Knightley!” he exclaimed, releasing her.
She instinctively reacted to the alarm in his expression, using the place where her hands were planted on his chest to push herself upright.
He lacked his usual composure; there was no smoothness to his expression now, no charm. He looked truly disarmed, utterly shocked.
Letty had known what she was doing was stupid. But now, she worried that what she’d done was wrong.
“I... I am so sorry,” she sputtered, scrambling to her feet and backing away from the bed. She wasn’t even wearing a dressing gown. She felt completely naked in just her night rail. “I should not have... You were screaming, I—”
“No, no,” the duke said. He looked as though he wanted to stand up, too, then glanced down at his state of undress.
Good God, Letty thought faintly, her back pressed against the wall.
When had she gotten so far back? How had she not noticed that he wasn’t wearing a shirt?
She could not help herself from looking now, her eyes taking in the expanse of muscle.
“I am sorry,” he said, pulling her from her deeply inappropriate glances. “I should not have... I took advantage—”
“No!” she insisted. “You were half asleep! It wasn’t you...”
She shook her head sharply. This was going nowhere.
“I am going to go back to bed,” she said, feeling as awkward as she had in her entire life. Her cheeks were flaming so fiercely that she felt lightheaded, probably because there wasn’t any blood left for her brain. “This... Nothing happened. You’re still dreaming, probably. Goodnight.”
She fled before he could say another word, before she could let herself get lost in looking at him again, before she could do or say one more idiotic thing.
She went back to her room and burrowed under the blankets, like a child who believed the monsters under the bed could not get her as long as she was covered by cotton and wool.
Only in this case, the monster was her own foolishness.
She was tempted to scream into her pillow, but, as she had learned all too well, screams carried in this wing of the house.
Since there was nothing else to do, all she could manage was to seep in her own mortification until dawn arose to put her out of her misery.
* * *
“And this is how you write the letter I,” Miss Knightley was saying as Ezra approached the nursery. She was crouched beside a small table, where Iris sat with a slate, a stick of chalk, and a determined expression on her face.
“I for Iris,” the little girl said, watching closely as Miss Knightley drew the letter, leaving enough space for the child to copy the strokes.
“That’s right,” Miss Knightley said encouragingly. Even from where he lingered in the doorway, he could see the curve of her approving smile.
He tried not to linger on the thought of the governess, her smile, or her mouth.
He had not seen much of her the past few days, and, at first, he’d been relieved.
He didn’t like that she’d seen him at one of her weakest moments.
He was embarrassed that she’d caught him weeping in his sleep like a terrified child, and he was ashamed of himself for taking advantage of her kindness.
She was a woman in his employ! Only the worst kind of cads took advantage of women who merited their protection.
But after his mortification had faded, he’d found that…
He rather missed seeing her.
That was absurd. It was ridiculous! It had been mere days since he had seen her last. If he was missing someone after that short a period of time… Well, he likely needed some sort of swift medical attention.
But when he’d come to the nursery today, he had done so to see Iris, yes. But there had been part of him that was also looking forward to seeing Miss Knightley.
He tried to think of it as little as he could manage. Iris needed his focus. Miss Knightley decidedly did not.
“I for Iris,” the child repeated, her hand a little shaky as she traced the chalk across the slate with a squeak. “That’s me.”
“That’s you?” Miss Knightley asked, sounding shocked. “I thought I was Iris. You mean to tell me that you aren’t Miss Knightley?”
“No!” Iris squealed, delighted. “I’m Iris!”
This time, the smile that crossed Ezra’s face had nothing to do with Miss Knightley. It was all Iris. She was talking.
He’d heard as much. The housekeeper reported that Iris was thriving, and the butler confirmed it. If either of them wondered why Ezra was asking them rather than speaking with the woman he had specifically hired to care for the girl, they did not say anything.
He knocked gently on the doorframe. Both Miss Knightley and Iris quickly twisted around to look at him.
Miss Knightley wore an instinctive smile, one that flickered as she blushed.
She quickly replaced it with a more polished, professional look of pleased anticipation.
Ezra forced himself not to analyze this, instead noting how Iris’ face changed from open and delighted to that same, closed-off look she’d worn when she first arrived in his house.
That stung. He was surprised by how much that stung.
He covered his reaction, too. He was usually good at that, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Miss Knightley didn’t miss it.
“Good morning,” he said, forging ahead. “I just came to see how Iris is doing. Learning your letters, I see?”
All he got from the child was a blink, but Miss Knightley gave Iris an unmistakably fond smile.
“She is,” Miss Knightley agreed when it became clear that Iris didn’t plan to speak. “She’s getting quite good. She recognizes nearly all of them already, and she can write I and R. Once we manage S, she’ll be able to write her whole name.”
Iris’ face transformed as soon as she glanced at her governess, going from guarded wariness to open adoration in an instant. This time, the pang that went through Ezra was… jealousy. He shoved it away.
“And,” Miss Knightley went on, smoothing the little girl’s hair back from her face, “she can count all the way up to thirty.”
“Thirty-five,” Iris corrected sternly. “I just forgot some.”
Miss Knightley’s lips pressed together against her smile. She exchanged a glance with Ezra.
“Thirty-five,” she agreed. “With a few forgotten.”
“That’s very good,” Ezra praised, though, in truth, he had no idea what a four-year-old girl ought to know or not. As soon as he spoke, Iris’ head jerked back to him, and she looked wary again. “Iris, do you mind if I borrow Miss Knightley for a moment?”
She blinked several times. Then, she looked up at Miss Knightley for the answer.
Another pang. Maybe he was dyspeptic. All of this nonsense could not just be emotion. It was excessive.
“Practice your letters,” Miss Knightley said. “I will speak with your guardian and come back soon, all right?”
“Yes, Miss Knightley,” Iris mumbled. She shot Ezra another suspicious look, this one apparently determining whether he could be trusted with her beloved governess. Slowly, she turned back to her slate.
Ezra gestured for Miss Knightley to leave the room ahead of him. Her skirts brushed slightly against the tops of his boots as she passed. It was absurd that he noticed this.
There was a small parlor across from the nursery. It was traditionally the duchess’ parlor, but Ezra’s mother had not used it for years before she’d died, and while it was clean, it was sparsely decorated.
He tucked his hands behind his back, lest he be tempted to reach for Miss Knightley.
Which he would not be.
Because that would be insane.
“So...” He cleared his throat. “Iris has opened up to you.”
Miss Knightley had been looking out the window to where the bustling Mayfair street was laid out below. She turned to him with that professional smile of hers. He hated it.
“Yes,” she said. “She’s making great strides.”
“Has she… said anything about her family?”
Miss Knightley’s professional smile grew a little brittle around the edges.
“She has not,” she said, a touch coolly. “And I don’t think it’s the time to prod her yet.”
There was a warning in her words.
“No,” he said. “No, I do not intend to. I just… I would like to find her parents, if that is possible. I cannot imagine anything good happened to them, if she landed on my doorstep, but…”
He didn’t want to admit something so foolish and na?ve, but she was still watching him in assessment.