“I do not want any woman in England. I wantyou.”
Serena’s breath caught audibly. He saw her throat work; saw the emotion she was fighting to contain.
“I am not asking you to answer me now,” Nathaniel said, when the silence stretched on. “I am not asking you to make decisions or commitments. I am simply telling you how I feel, so that you can... so that you can know. Whatever you choose to do with that knowledge is your own affair.”
“And if I choose to do nothing?” Her voice was strained. “If I choose to pretend this conversation never happened, to go on as we were?”
“Then that is what we shall do.” The words cost him something, but he meant them. “Your comfort and security are more important to me than my own feelings. If you want me to keep my distance, I will. If you want to leave Greystone Hall, I will provide you with excellent references and ensure you find a position worthy of your abilities. I will not make this difficult for you, Serena. I will not let my feelings become a burden you are forced to carry.”
She was crying now—silent tears slipping down her cheeks, though she made no move to wipe them away.
“You are making it very difficult to be sensible,” she said.
“I apologise.”
“No, you don’t.”
“No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”
A choked laugh escaped her—half sob, half genuine amusement. “I cannot think. I cannot... you have said so much, and I do not know how to respond, and my head is still aching from yesterday, and none of this is fair—”
“I know. I know. And the moment could scarcely have been more ill-chosen. But I could not keep silent any longer.” Nathaniel reached out, very carefully, and took her hand. She did not pull away. “Take whatever time you need. Think about what I’ve said. And when you are ready—if you are ever ready—I will be here.”
Serena looked down at their joined hands—her slender fingers wrapped in his larger ones, his thumb tracing small circles against her skin.
“Last night,” she said slowly, “when you came to my door... when you brought me tea and tended my fire and did not flinch from the reality of what I was experiencing... I thought to myself, ‘This is not how employers behave. This is not how marquesses behave.’”
“How do marquesses behave?”
“They remain at a distance. They maintain propriety. They certainly do not fetch monthly cloths in the middle of the night.” A tiny smile flickered across her face. “But you did. You did all of it, and you did not seem to mind.”
“I did not mind. I was glad to help. Glad to be trusted.”
“That is what made me realise...” She looked up at him, her grey eyes swimming with tears and something else—somethingthat looked very much like hope. “You are not just an employer to me, Nathaniel. You have not been for some time. I have been fighting it, telling myself it was inappropriate, that I was imagining things, that a man like you could never truly see a woman like me—”
“I see you.” His voice was fierce. “I see you, Serena. Every part of you. And what I see is remarkable.”
She laughed again—a wet, broken sound. “You are going to make me cry even harder.”
“I will fetch you a handkerchief. I am becoming quite adept at fetching things.”
“Do not jest.” But she was smiling now, really smiling, through her tears.
“I am not jesting. I am simply observing that the past twelve hours have significantly expanded my domestic capabilities. I can now build fires, prepare tea, and locate linen closets with reasonable efficiency. I am practically a housekeeper.”
“You are ridiculous.”
“So I have been told.”
They stood there in the rain-washed garden, hands still joined, smiles fading into something quieter and more serious.
“I do not know what happens next,” Serena said finally. “I do not know how to navigate this, or whether it is even possible. Everything you have said—everything I feel—it terrifies me.”
“It terrifies me too.”
“Does it?”
“Enormously.” Nathaniel squeezed her fingers gently. “But I have discovered, recently, that terror is not always a reason to retreat. Sometimes the things that frighten us most are the things most worth pursuing.”
