Chapter 9 #2
“I hope,” he admitted. “I hope that they are alive and seeking her because they love her and miss her. Every child should have that.”
He didn’t dare look at her expression to see what she thought of this tawdry little bit of sentimentality. The pause before she spoke again lasted an age.
“I will see if she says anything,” she allowed.
He dared a quick glance at her and saw her looking thoughtful. “And Iris speaks more and more every day,” he ventured.
“Indeed,” she said. “She’s a lovely girl. Quite friendly, actually.”
“Though not to me.” It came out more bitterly than he’d planned.
His embarrassment—he had never felt so embarrassed in his life as he did before he’d met this woman, which was utter madness—vanished beneath the pleasure of watching her lips twitch in suppressed amusement.
He could see her battling with her tongue. She lost.
“Well,” she said dryly, “you are… You know.”
He felt practically awash in relief at the sight of her teasing look.
Yes, he still had behaved in a manner that was unbecoming of a gentleman, but at least he had not terrorized her.
He had not realized until right now how much he’d worried that she would cower, act overly polite, or do any of the other things that suggested she was afraid of him or worried he would make unwanted advances.
“I don’t know,” he said. “What am I?”
Now, she was ducking her head. He could still see her smile.
“Scary?” she supplied, peeking up at him, one eye squeezed shut.
“I am not scary,” he insisted, offended. “I am just a regular person!”
She pressed a knuckle to her mouth and looked up at the ceiling, as if she were calling for divine patience.
“Putting aside the question about whether you are scary,” she said very mildly.
“Which I am not.”
“I feel you can accept that you are absolutely not ‘a normal person,’” she went on as if he had not spoken. “You’re a duke.”
Well, that was undeniable, but…
“Children don’t know about aristocratic social hierarchies,” he argued.
“Children know more than you think,” she corrected, this time without a hint of humor.
“But it’s not the title itself. It’s that you are…
” She waved a hand up and down. “Polished. You carry your power about you like a cloud. It isn’t bad, not necessarily,” she added.
“But intimidating. Especially to a little girl.”
He wanted to argue again, but he stopped himself. Hadn’t he brought her here—had he not insisted that she come here—because she was skilled with children? And, even if he had not believed that, the way she’d spoken with Iris in the nursery just now would have served as proof.
So, he made himself listen.
“Very well,” he said, huffing slightly. “What can I do to make myself less intimidating to her, then?”
Miss Knightley looked surprised, then pleased. He appreciated that she wasn’t hiding her emotions from him, and he was glad that he had made her happy.
After a moment’s consideration, during which she watched him with frank assessment, she said, “Give her something to talk to you about. You have been kind to her, no doubt. Her room is lovely; her things are lovely. But she knows enough to know that a grand gentleman doesn’t want to talk about little girls’ dresses.
” Her smile was gentle. “That’s why she talks about them with me. ”
Ezra considered this, then nodded. Indeed, he did not have anything interesting to say about little girls’ dresses. He’d sent his housekeeper to purchase Iris’ wardrobe, after all.
“Do you have any suggestions?” he asked. He received another of Miss Knightley’s pleased smiles for his trouble.
“I do…” she said hesitantly. “How do you feel about puppies?”
“Puppies?” he echoed.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “And the cute, floppy, utterly useless kind—not a sensible hound or farm dog or anything like that. Iris adores them. Every time we go out to walk, she goes simply mad for every puppy she sees.”
“A puppy,” Ezra repeated. He could manage a puppy… especially since he wouldn’t have to actually manage the thing. It would be Iris’ dog. And he could pet it sometimes, he supposed.
“Preferably one of that kind that always looks as though they’re about to topple over,” Miss Knightley added, flapping her hands in front of her in a way that he supposed was meant to illustrate a set of ungainly paws. It was rather adorable.
“Right,” he said. “I can get her one of those—” He tried to copy her movements. She bit her lip. “—floppy ones.”
“She will love it,” Miss Knightley assured him. “And it will keep her company, if…”
If he sent her away. She didn’t say it, but she didn’t need to.
He wanted to reassure her, but he feared that after the incident between them, it might seem like he was trapping her here.
God, I have really cocked things up, haven’t I?
“I will do that,” he said, nodding. “I will find a dog that’s good with children.”
“Wonderful,” Miss Knightley said.
There was a beat, the air thick between them with awkwardness. She looked away from his face, casting her eyes down like a demure servant. He hated it.
One more breath passed, then Miss Knightley stepped around him, preparing to head back to the nursery. On impulse, he grabbed her wrist, stopping her, then let it go as if he’d been burned.
Still, she stopped, looking first down at her hand, then up at him—curious, but not alarmed.
He cleared his throat.
“I... Miss Knightley. I really must apologize—again—for the other evening.”
Her cheeks went almost as bright red as her hair. It was disarmingly precious. Her freckles faded away, covered by the pink in her cheeks.
“Really, you do not need to mention it,” she said, her eyes skittering away from his face, then back again. “I should not have come into your chambers.”
“It was a kindness,” he said. “And I—”
“Please do not say ‘took advantage,’” she interrupted, holding up a hand between them. “I have known men who take advantage, and that was not what happened.”
That had been exactly what he’d planned on saying, but he lost the words in a rush of anger that anyone would ever do anything to discomfit Miss Knightley—himself included.
“Fine,” he agreed with a huff. “But I consider it... It is abhorrent to me that any man might make his staff uncomfortable, might make them feel that they are in a position where they cannot say no. So, please, Miss Knightley. Accept my apology. Or slap me across the face. Heaven knows I deserve it. It shan’t affect your position in this household. ”
“I am not going to slap you,” she said with a tiny smile.
He copied her expression. “I admit that I am glad for it,” he said. “But I really am sorry. It was a mistake. It will not happen again.”
Her assessing gaze felt heavy upon him. After another long moment, she nodded.
“Don’t think anything of it,” she said at long last. “I bear no grudge. You were not yourself.”
It was so, so tempting to leave it at that, but if he was seeking her forgiveness, he had to do it honestly. Anything else was rank cowardice.
“I was myself,” he said softly. “I was very much myself. I just did not possess the same amount of self-control that I normally do.”
It was tantamount to admitting that he was attracted to her, and he feared that this would undo his good work, that it would make her afraid, make her look over her shoulder every minute, waiting for him to corner her in a dark room.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
“It will not happen again,” he told her.
“All right,” she said. And then again, more firmly, “All right.”
“All right,” he repeated.
There was another of those wretchedly awkward moments. She turned to go, then turned back.
“It’s just...” He braced himself for her anger. “Do you know that, during this whole conversation, your cravat has been…”
She made another illustrative gesture, waggling her fingers in front of her throat. He looked down to see half the garment hanging loose.
“Oh, Lord,” he muttered. He gave her a sheepish look. “My valet asked for the morning off for his mother’s birthday. Apparently, she’s very pious and makes the whole family go to church with her on her birthday. I tried to tie it myself.”
Something tender crossed her face. “You gave your valet the morning off for his mother’s birthday?”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
He scowled. “Like it’s precious.”
She smiled. “It is precious.”
“Stop it right now,” he said sternly. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
She did a poor job of pretending she wasn’t delighted. “Yes, of course. Well, come here.”
“I... What?”
Really, what was it with this woman? He had not gotten this tangled up in conversations since he was a child. Maybe not even then. He had been, to hear his mother tell it, annoyingly precocious.
“Your cravat,” she said slowly. “I will fix it for you.”
Ezra should have refused. No, thank you, I can do it myself. The words were so simple. Or, I will wait for my valet to return. Also, terribly easy.
Instead, he said, “Oh, thank you.” And then he stepped forward so she could reach his neck more easily.
She didn’t touch his skin as she retied the cravat, not once.
But he could smell the powdery, flowery soap she used on her hair.
He could see the thin, pale line of her scalp where her hair was parted so she could pin it back into that prim little governess’ style.
He could feel the faint heat emanating from her.
It was almost impossible not to reach for her. But he had just promised her. So he kept his hands fixed at his sides, and he didn’t release his breath until she stepped away. He didn’t let himself do or say anything about the vivid blush that had returned to her cheeks.
And when she rushed away, he didn’t make a move to stop her.
No matter how badly he might have wanted to do so.