He added nothing more, and she waited and waited. As one minute, then another, then a third passed, she wondered if she should excuse herself. Maybe he had fallen asleep. She raised her eyes.
Her breath caught as her gaze met and was held by his. He leaned forward and folded one of her hands between both of his. She stiffened, knowing how alone they were, but he made no further move toward her as he held her hands as gently as she would the children’s.
“Miss Oliver, if you do not look at me, I doubt the children will, either. They take their clues from you.”
“I am sorry. I did not mean to—”
“There is no need for an apology. I would rather speak of our next outing with the children.”
“Next?”
“As I told you, I have not given up on the idea of getting to know them. My sister has encouraged me to do so, and I learned as a child myself that doing as my sisters wish often makes my life easier.” He smiled.
Maris did, too. There was something so honest and earnest about his grin that she could not help responding. She wanted to ask why he hid behind his arrogant mask. She bit back the words, telling herself to be grateful that he was willing to speak more than a handful of words to her.
Instead, she asked, “When do you think you will feel well enough to spend time with the children again?”
“Is tomorrow possible?”
“But Mr. Hockbridge said—”
“I will not be running about with them. Rather, I thought you might bring them to the garden. They could play for a while, and then we can take a light tea together. That way, they will become accustomed to me.”
“If you are certain...”
“I am.” He released her hand as he covered his mouth to hide a yawn. “In the meantime, I shall make sure I am prepared.” He did not give her a chance to ask the obvious question before he said, “Now that Bertie believes he knows the meaning of his name, I am sure the others will wish to know theirs. If you would tell me more about them, I will devise something for each of them.”
Something softened inside Maris at his thoughtfulness. As she began to share stories about the children, she slowly sat back when he did. She could not recall the last time she had spoken easily with anyone. A part of her mind stayed on alert, but she focused on coming up with the perfect stories to describe each child.
She watched Lord Trelawney’s eyelids grow heavier. Yet he was listening closely, because he chuckled over some of the youngsters’ more mischievous antics. She kept talking until Goodwin returned. A single glance from him told her that Lord Trelawney’s valet believed it was time for the viscount to rest, as the doctor had ordered.
She stood, asking the viscount to excuse her to return to her duties. Lord Trelawney caught her hand as she walked past his chair. When she looked down into his ice-blue eyes, that sweet warmth glided through her anew.
“Thank you, Miss Oliver,” he said, trying to fight his obvious exhaustion. “I appreciate you telling me about your charges. Please bring them to the garden an hour or so before tea tomorrow afternoon.”
“Of course, my lord.” She drew her fingers away from his, her skin aquiver where his had touched it. “I know the children will be eager to race about after being inside this afternoon.”
“Good.”
It took every bit of Maris’s will for her to tear her gaze from his and walk toward the door. As she passed Goodwin, he gave her a silent nod. He opened the door so she could leave. She was glad he did, because her fingers trembled, and she was not sure she could have managed the latch.
She rushed toward the stairs leading up to the nursery floor. Tonight, the children needed to rest after their eventful day. But in the morning, once they finished breakfast and were clean and dressed, she would let them know about the outing with Lord Trelawney. They would be excited to have their tea al fresco. While they played, she would sit with the viscount for what she hoped would be another comfortable coze.
She halted in the middle of the staircase and clutched the banister. Oh, sweet heavens! Was she looking forward to seeing Lord Trelawney again on the morrow? She had no idea which version of him would be there: the quiet, almost forbidding man who had gone with them to the cove or the genial man whom she had spoken with minutes ago.
But it should not matter. The abrupt change should be alarming rather than appealing, a signal to remind her that becoming involved even a tiny bit in the viscount’s life could lead her into a desperate situation. As when Lord Litchfield had chanced upon her alone in the book room. Had she completely lost every bit of her good sense? It would seem so, and she must recover it fast.
Very fast, before she ruined everything again, including herself.
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