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He nodded for her to proceed.

“If you first sought me out to kiss me, then to exact revenge...why do you seek me out now? You know I will not kiss you, so why do you linger with a maid when there is a household of other, far more amiable and attractive women with whom to entertain yourself?”

He paused, seeming to think before he replied. “Most of the conversations I’ve had with the others center around topics like orangeries and conservatories and competitions and decorations. I prefer more depth. Glimpses into past lives, reasoning behind actions, longings of the soul. Everyone is so concerned with how they appear to others—myself included—that I find myself becoming wrapped up in immaterial matters.” His eyes delved into hers. “Not you. You ask me questions that require thought. You seem unaffected by everything and everyone around you. And when you are affected, you fight for your own way.” He shook his head, bewildered. “I, on the other hand, am affected by everything and rarely fight for anything. You are refreshing, Clara. Different. And I suppose, right now, I crave different.” He rubbed the back of his neck again. “I am simply attempting to decipher why.”

“Why you would actually enjoy being around a maid over a proper lady?”

He dropped his hand, shaking his head at once. “No, no, that is not what I meant at all. I am attempting to decipher why I have never felt this way about any woman but you.”

Clara remained still. How things had changed between them. Before, she’d been constantly annoyed by him. Now, she felt a calmness she wasn’t accustomed to. She felt safe, and she hadn’t felt that way around another man since Father died.

Father had always told her she was a fine judge of character.

“Your mother has not always been as fortunate,” he’d told Clara in confidence just before his death. “Keep your eye out for her, my darling. Keep the both of you safe.”

Clara had done her best to do so. She’d warned Mother not to marry Mr. Randall, but Mother had been charmed by his wealth and his flirtatious words.

Which was exactly why Clara couldn’t abide falseness of character. So now, to see Mr. Cole opening up, being himself, being honest, she felt that subtle shift in her heart changing so her whole soul faced him directly.

“Have you any idea why?” he asked when she remained silent.

Her heartbeat quickened as his eyes searched hers, a pleading hope within them, as if he silently begged her to announce his feelings for him.

She could. She knew exactly why he wished to be around her because she felt the same about him. She did not blame him for his lack of knowledge and confidence in admitting to such a thing, as a man who’d led such a life would find it difficult to define love.

But she wouldn’t do it for him. Not out of pride or stubbornness. But out of compassion. She wouldn’t encourage him when she would not marry him.

“It is merely because I am forbidden,” she replied. “A forbidden housemaid is more appealing than an obtainable woman any man can have.”

Doubt flickered in his dark eyes, but he turned away. “I suppose you are right,” he whispered. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry for ever attempting to kiss you by the river.”

“Because of the upheaval it has caused in your life?”

“No,” he replied gently. “Because you deserved more respect. I shall spend the rest of my life attempting to make up for it and will not kiss another woman again unless she initiates it.”

Clara could see the truth in his eyes. While she didn’t think such a thing was possible for a man to agree to, she admired his good intentions anyway.

Mr. Agar would never have done such a thing.

At the thought of the man, disgust overcame her, but as Mr. Cole’s kind and unassuming expression studied her, all thought of the previous man vanished.

“Do you doubt my dedication to my decision?” he asked.

Clara shook her head.

“Then of what are you thinking?”

She could not tell him. She could not tell him that her mind was filled with images of his lips drawing closer to hers, of his hands in her hair, and their bodies close together.

She could not admit that his features that she’d once found infuriatingly handsome were now so appealing, she could dwell on nothing else.

And she could not confess that the only thing she wanted now was to experience what that kiss by the river would’ve felt like, tasted like, if she’d only given in.

She would have never allowed such wayward thoughts to linger if it was morning and she’d received sleep. But tonight, her exhaustion had fully caught up with her. She was tired of her work, tired of missing her family, tired of spending her days cleaning and walking and serving.

And she was tired of the lingering feeling of Mr. Agar’s wretched lips upon hers.

Dare she replace that feeling with something she actually desired?