But she was shaking her head. “I cannot. You must understand…”
Without thinking, he stepped forward and grasped her by the arm. He needed her.
For the girls, of course.
The moment he touched her, though, he understood her refusal. Because the instant his hand grasped her arm, he found it difficult to stop at that. He felt an overwhelming desire to dig his fingers into her upswept hair, tilt her head back and plunder her mouth was nearly too much to overcome.
He released her, as though burned.
“Of course, what was I thinking? I’m sorry.” He could not hire a woman–– one that he wanted for himself––to be given charge of his daughters.
Nonetheless, she paused in her retreat.
“Will you tell them… that I am sorry. And that I would love to be their governess but… it just didn’t work out.”
Jasper clasped his own hands behind his back and stepped over to stare out the window, lest he act unforgivably with this woman for the millionth time since they’d become acquainted.
“Althea doesn’t talk.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her. “She hasn’t said more than twenty words to me since her mother’s death.”
Tilde furrowed her brows. “But?” The child had talked to her. And then she pondered that thought.
The child had not talked to her. She’d talked to Peaches.
Jasper was nodding. “You see. I would not ask you to stay here for me. But because I fear my daughter requires something special.” A small, ironic chuckle. “And that something special seems to be your dog.”
Tilde blinked. Oh, but this raised the stakes indeed.
It would seem the height of selfishness to refuse to help a sad and lost little girl. And worst of all, Tilde had guessed as much. She’d known Lady Althea required gentle persuasion. But to hear Jasper put her need so plainly.
Tilde absentmindedly lowered Peaches to the carpet and began pacing the room. After crossing back and forth three times she stopped. “She speaks with Lady Eloise.” This was not a question. “Not to you?”
He continued staring out the window. “No.”
Tilde felt confident that she could draw the child’s personality out––calm many of her fears. Althea quite obviously was capable of talking. It would simply be a matter of gaining her trust.
Could she and Lord Willoughby set aside this… magic? No. She would cease to call it any such nonsense. Passion? Chaos? Whatever it was, could they ignore it?
For the sake of the child.
“I may, perhaps, have led you to believe that I’m a certain type of lady, by my actions on two of the occasions we met, of which I am not and never will be.”
He cleared his throat. “I hold your character in the highest esteem, Miss Fortune.”
She met his gaze, narrowing her eyes at him. “And regardless of certain…” She raised her hand and rubbed her fingers together as she searched for the proper word.
“Inclinations?” He supplied helpfully.
“Yes.” When she nodded in appreciation, she surmised that his eyes could appear nearly black but also a smoky gray. What had she been saying? Oh yes… “Regardless of these inclinations, if—and that is a very big if—I were to accept the position, I would expect that we never entertain those…”
“Inclination.”
“Exactly.”
“Because you shall be in my employ.” He supplied. “And a certain degree of professionalism must be maintained. Of course, you’ll wish to keep me appraised of the girls progress and any difficulties you might be experiencing with them.”
“Indeed.” She agreed. “And I’ve always insisted upon an open-door policy in order to be an effective governess. I realize this may be a tad unconventional, but I am not the most conventional of governesses. What good does it do for me to raise them up if the result is that they know nothing of their own parents? Or parent, as the case may be.”
