She took it without even thinking and gasped in response to the skin-to-skin contact. He was pleasantly warm and his grip incredibly solid, holding her up when she feared she might fall.
“I...” She wasn't sure what to say. How did one confess to madness or admit to wanting something one ought not to want?
“Will you walk me out?” His voice was level, but his eyes conveyed a need that matched her own.
“Yes.” She withdrew her hand and led the way back to the kitchen where she deposited the shavings in the bin before returning the brush and dust pan to the closet.
Mr. Crawford waited by the door, watching her closely as she moved past the shadows to reach him. He didn't say a word, and he didn't have to, for his eyes conveyed what words could not say.
Swallowing, he undid the latch and opened the door to the cool autumn air beyond. A strange reluctance to let him go made her follow him out. Turning to face her, Mr. Crawford reached for her hand, brushing it gently with his fingers before raising it to his lips.
“Until tomorrow, Miss Clemens.” He grazed her knuckles, producing a surge of heat at the point of contact and a burst of awareness at her core.
Exhaling, she strove to gather her wits as he straightened, released her hand, and turned toward the cottage. As she watched him go, only one thought rang in her head: whatever her past experiences had been, they no longer mattered because when it came to Mr. Crawford, she wanted more, and she'd happily risk getting hurt in order to get it.
Even though hecould not stop thinking about her, Caleb determined to keep his distance from Miss Clemens in the days that followed. Because if kissing her hand had taught him anything at all, it was that he longed to taste her mouth as well. And once he did that...well...other things would surely follow, because where she was concerned, he feared no touch or caress would ever be enough. The physical attraction was simply too strong.
So he stayed away, busying himself with repairs, showing Peter how to use different tools. After all, it was clear now that giving in to temptation would lead to misery for both of them, because while most women dreamed of marrying a peer, Miss Clemens wanted the one thing he would never be: a simple man without a title. And since he liked her too well and respected her too much to suggest a fleeting affair, he had no choice but to resist her.
But the way she cared for the children and the willingness with which she consistently offered to help everyone made him question his ability to do so. Indeed, there were days when he feared he might end up in Bedlam. Like when she’d shattered a glass and sustained a deep cut.
Caleb’s heart had fluttered with desperate unease when he’d seen the wound, and had continued to do so until the wound was properly cleaned and the bandage he’d tied around her hand secured to his satisfaction. The need to comfort her afterward had been too fierce for him to ignore, which made him wonder what might have happened if she had not walked away after offering thanks.
Perched on top of the roof, he watched her walk toward the lake with Peter and Eliot by her side. The boys were thrilled with the fishing rods he'd made and used them as often as they could, provided someone went with them.
“Halloo?” a man's voice suddenly called. “Miss Clemens, Miss Howard...Lady Cassandra? Are you home?”
Caleb made his way to the ladder and climbed down to where a handsome young man with inquisitive eyes stood waiting. “May I help you?” Caleb asked.
The stranger looked him up and down and narrowed his gaze. “Who are you?” he asked with the sort of edge to his voice that told Caleb he wasn't pleased with Caleb’s presence.
“Mr. Crawford.” Caleb stuck out his hand, and the stranger eventually took it, albeit with obvious reluctance. “I'm here to fix the leaking roof.”
The other man's expression eased. “Excellent,” he said. “I am Mr. Townsend.”
“Ah.” Caleb recalled Lady Cassandra’s brief mention of him when he’d offered to chop firewood. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Mr. Townsend gave a slow nod. “Are any of the ladies about?”
“Miss Howard and Lady Cassandra have gone on a nature walk with the girls.”
“And Miss Clemens?” Mr. Townsend's interest was evident in the altered pitch of his voice.
Caleb clenched his jaw and reminded himself that he was in no position to get between this man and Miss Clemens. “She's by the lake with the boys. I'll show you the way.”
“No need for that.” Mr. Townsend waved toward the roof. “I'm sure you have work to do. Wouldn't want to keep you.”
The words, “I'm a duke, you ass, so show some respect,” tickled Caleb's tongue. He forced them back and strode past Mr. Townsend instead. “Nevertheless,” he muttered, intent on ignoring the man.
“You really needn't,” Mr. Townsend said, catching up.
Caleb kept his gaze fixed on his destination. “I insist.” To his relief Mr. Townsend said nothing further until they arrived at the lake.
He rushed forward. “My dear Miss Clemens, it is so good to see you.”
Caleb rolled his eyes and focused on the woman who haunted his thoughts and his dreams. She stood with a pail in one hand and in the other, a fishing rod from which a small flapping creature dangled. Wide-eyed and speechless, she glanced at Caleb, who merely shrugged.
Miss Clemens frowned before redirecting her gaze to her gentleman caller. “Mr. Townsend,” she began and handed Peter the pail. “It has been far too long. I was almost starting to think you'd forgotten about us.”
