“Edgar...” She lifted her hand again, as if she wanted to touch him.
He wanted to retrieve the words before he even said them, but this would be better for both of them. It was better to maintain distance. To be at odds rather than succumb to this treacherous need for connection and comfort.
What he felt for her was nothing like the blind, unheeding passion he’d felt for Sophie. This was eyes-wide-open and agonizingly aware of how beautiful and filled with hope she was... and how he could only end up hurting her.
“One spoonful at bedtime and the duke becomes a good man,” he said, imitating her lilting voice. “You can’t believe hard enough to rescue me, Mari.”
He walked to the door.
“There’s no cure for what ails me.”
Chapter 23
Edgar’s head pounded from a restless night.
His heart ached more.
He’d been surly with Mari last night. He’d pushed her away when she’d only been trying to help.
He wanted to apologize for what he’d said to her. The way he’d said it.
But he couldn’t just walk up to her in front of the children and lay his damaged, scarred heart at her feet.
I’m sorry for saying there’s no cure for what ails me. It’s true, but I’m sorry I said it in such an abrupt manner, because I saw that it wounded you.
I was still smarting from my encounter with my mother.
I was lashing out at you because I was angry with her.
These were not appropriate things to say to a governess.
Their acquaintance had taken on a dangerous level of intimacy. And apologies were just as objectionable as caresses... perhaps more so.
Because this desire to make her think better of him, to forgive him... it stemmed from some deeper place than the desire to bed her.
He wanted her physically, more than anything, but, even more troubling, he wanted her to like him. Because he liked her. Respected her. And was intrigued by her.
Before he left for the foundry today, he would apologize and do something nice for her and the children. Surprise them with the holiday trip to the seashore.
All of the details were in place.
He heard Mari’s voice in the breakfast room. His heart raced, anticipating seeing her with the children.
As his mother had said, damn her for being so perceptive, all this domesticity was having an effect on him.
It was giving him longings. And those longings had nothing to do with bedding Mari. Scratch that... they had much to do with bedding her, but even more to do with a new desire for closeness. For family.
He stepped into the breakfast room with a smile on his lips. But the children weren’t there. Only Mari. And she had on her bonnet and pelisse.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning, Your Grace.”
The loss of his given name hit him in the gut. And suddenly his entire goal in life was to make her call him Edgar again.
To restore the easy rapport they’d had yesterday. The intimacy.
Before he’d ruined everything.