This time, she heard no insult but instead a compliment, and she felt her body flush.
“Thank you, Your Grace. That is very kind to say.”
“Seems you are teaching me something after all, Miss Lewisham”.
Giving her a slight bow, he left her standing there without another word, and she leaned back on the table, her legs weak from their exchange. Deciding it best she return to her room, she made haste for the privacy of her sanctuary.
Reaching her room, she kicked off her shoes, threw herself face down on the bed, and let out a muffled scream.
His complete change in behaviour and the apology had undone her resolve. This side of him was terribly attractive, and if he was to try and kiss her now, she would not hold him back with her hand. Instead, her hand would claw at his shirt and pull him closer. And it was such a foolish thing to be thinking. No matter how kind he was, it would never be possible to bridge the gap between their classes. Kisses with a man should lead to marriage, and the idea that she would marry a duke was inconceivable. Before meeting him, she had had no idea or need to marry or kiss anyone.
A knock interrupted her thoughts, and she asked who it was. It was one of the maids, so she opened the door.
“His Grace asked that you share the evening meal with him, as he would like to hear more about the sennight you spent with Lady Clara.”
Nodding her understanding, she quickly closed the door before the maid could notice any other reaction. The last time they dined together had ended poorly and then had been followed with a kiss. Their earlier conversation suggested it would not repeat, but that thought caused a pang of angst. She wanted to feel that passion, but alas, it would need to remain unspoken.
Reminding herself to be unselfish and that this was about Clara, she freshened herself up and considered what insights she would share with him. There were many to choose from. Clara was reading and writing, and her skill with the pianoforte was improving.
Chapter Sixteen
Thomas had a strange sensation in his stomach that he had never experienced. It was all in a tremble as if he had swallowed a horde of butterflies and hundreds of little wings were beating inside of him.
By Jove, am I nervous?
Grunting in annoyance, he tugged at his cravat, suddenly stifled. All he was asking of her was to share a meal where she could regale him with his daughter’s progress. Or so he kept telling himself. His journey home had given him considerable time to mull over the predicament of Maribel Lewisham. As a governess, she was doing well—remarkably well when he compared her to the previous employees. His return home had given him the welcome sight of Clara responding, behaving, and most importantly, learning! His pondering had led him to the conclusion that Maribel, delectable as she was, was simply a woman. And bedding her was not worth losing the first governess that was actually meeting the task. Knowing his rationale was sound, he had decided to keep Maribel at arm’s length. All of that logic had escaped him as soon as he found himself back in her proximity. Her honeysuckle scent had been an aphrodisiac upon his senses. And she had not the faintest idea what she was doing to him.
“Miss Lewisham, please, sit,” he said with a cordial sweep of his arm. She nodded with a smile, but he could sense she was nervous. Her eyes were wide, and she was biting her lower lip. Wanting to put her at ease, he turned the conversation immediately to Clara, waving his hand at the chestnut soup laid out before them.
“I have observed positive changes in Clara’s behaviours and demeanour. How did you manage to do so much in such little time?”
He watched her bring a spoonful of soup to her mouth, her tongue furtively escaping her luscious mouth to lick the moisture that stained her lip. She swallowed and placed the spoon back down, her stare almost curious, watchful.
“Lady Clara is a very clever child. These behaviours, as you call them, were not who she was, but a manifestation of loneliness and a deep yearning for your attention.”
His spoon froze on its way to his mouth at her brazen accusation that he did not give his daughter attention. A niggling voice in the back of his head whispered that his offence at her comment was because it held truth. Again, the impertinence with which she spoke to him astounded him, but he could not help but admire it. It had been a long time, if ever, since anyone dared to challenge him. Scooping up the woody-scented soup, he weighed his response while he ate, watching her watch him. Her eyes had slightly narrowed, and her posture was tense, waiting for him to reprimand her. This made him smile.
“You speak truth, I will not deny it. First, let me say I love my daughter. I will admit that I perhaps have not been the most attentive father. It seems you have taught me that, because before you, the thought had never occurred to me.”
It was true—as he spoke the words out loud, an awareness washed over him that it was he who had allowed his child to become so unruly.
“I am surprised you so readily agree to my observations. And that you admit that I, a simple governess, have been able to teach you something of value.”
The impertinent chit did not even try to hide her smug smile of satisfaction, and he rolled his eyes in mock annoyance.
“So, not only have I created a child who exhibits such poor behaviour, but now a governess with hubris?”
Maribel blushed but held his gaze.
“And I now have a cat living under my roof—I really do not like cats, Miss Lewisham.”
“If it helps, my plan had been to keep Mr Whiskers hidden from sight, especially yours.”
“And now I have no choice except to allow this cat, this Mr Whiskers, to live in my home. Clara would never forgive me if I expelled the four-legged wretch.”
Maribel broke out in a fit of giggles just as a servant brought in the next dish, his eyebrows rising in surprise at the intimate encounter. Thomas gave him a stern look, and he quickly laid down the food and left.
“Can you share with me what you find so amusing?”
