So then, perhaps the best he could do was to keep his distance.
You tried that, you dolt. How well did that work?
Not well at all.
Staying away from her had only intensified his feelings.
A drop of rain fell on his brow, then another upon his cheek. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Marcus started back toward the house so he’d not get caught in a downpour. Lady Louise deserved better than to be the wife of a disreputable man others whispered about whenever he entered a room, and if he cared about her, he’d do well to remember that.
8
The days came and went, merging together until it was hard for Louise to keep track. The monotony grated. She wanted to get up and move, longed to go outside with an almost suffocating sort of desperation. This room she’d been confined to, the quiet, and the immobility, were starting to drive her mad.
“How much more of this do I have to endure?” she asked Mr. Berkly the next time he came to change her compress.
“Fünf tage.”
Louise smiled. “Five days?”
“That is what I said, is it not?”
She chuckled softly while he began removing the bandage that held her compresses in place. It was the first time he’d answered her in German, and while he still knew very little, he’d learnt the numbers well enough to combine them with the words for day, week, month, and year.
“It is indeed, Mr. Berkly.”
His hand caught her chin, tipping it slightly while he proceeded to study her right eye. She’d grown used to this in recent days, and yet, his touch still frazzled her nerves while his scent turned her insides to goo. Allowing herself to relish this moment of closeness, she breathed him in and let the sandalwood soothe her.
Something had changed three weeks ago when he’d helped her with the cramp in her foot. He’d left her room and when he’d returned it had been as though he’d built a wall between them. Since then, they’d continued to meet for stretches of time. She’d helped him learn some more German, and he’d tried to teach her night writing from a book he’d ordered. In between it all, he’d occasionally read to her fromThe Last of the Mohicans, or they would discuss how a school for blind children might be created. But the bond she’d sensed growing between them - the affinity she’d begun feeling for him - had been swept aside in favor of a far more professional detachment. In fact, it was almost as if the intimacy she was sure she’d experienced with him had been but a dream.
“There’s still some swelling and redness,” Mr. Berkly told her. “Do you feel any kind of discomfort?”
“A little, but it’s no worse than what I’ve felt before after the couching.”
She reached out, searching for him until her hand connected with what she believed must be his upper arm. Muscles flexed beneath the superfine wool. A rush of air alerted her to his sharp intake of breath. Louise’s entire body jolted. Her heart skipped into a jittery rhythm as physical awareness took over.
“My lady?” Mr. Berkly’s gentle murmur hummed across her skin until she was overcome by an almost painful need for added closeness.
Her fingers gripped him while her heart beat with added insistence. She fought for composure, some semblance of control. What was it she’d meant to tell him?
Ah yes.
“Perhaps the small piece of lens you feared might be lost in my eye broke off after the lens was removed.” She forced her brain into compliance, made it focus on her eye exam instead of on the man conducting it. “Maybe I will be fine.”
“It does appear as though there’s a good chance of that,” he said, “though I am reluctant to give you false hope.”
His hand covered hers and her heart sang with joy, but rather than offer some sort of caress, he unclasped her hand and eased her away. “Can you hold this in place for me, please?”
“Of course.” Louise made sure her new compress stayed where it should even as her spirit began its descent from exuberant pleasure to hollow despair.
What made it worse was that she still didn’t understand the acute response she had toward Mr. Berkly. For the first time in her life, it felt as though her mind, heart, and soul were rioting against her. This need for his presence, the loss creeping through her when he wasn’t with her, had been getting progressively stronger with each passing day. He affected her in a way Mr. Fairbanks never had and…
She gasped.
“Are you all right?” Mr. Berkly asked.
No. Not in the least.
“Yes,” she answered with a squeak.
