Once they’d put distance between themselves and the pond, she scanned the ground as though she truly wanted to comb the bracken for insects. As she did, a glance from the corner of her vision showed Owen donning his waistcoat and jacket, though he left both undone.
“What are we looking for?” he asked, pitching his voice low, likely to avoid attracting Mr. Fernham’s attention.
“I don’t expect you to actually collect beetles and grasshoppers, Your Grace.”
He shrugged. “Better that than make important decisions regarding field drainage.”
Before she knew what she was doing, she closed the distance between them and placed a hand on his forearm. She ignored the pulse of awareness that moved through her body, though the solid, strapping feel of him threatened to overturn all her good intentions.
“Having you home benefits more than the estate’s tenants,” she said softly. “Your family needs you.”
He exhaled jaggedly. “My tutors and professors all said I was intelligent enough, but that was before I had dozens and dozens of things to consider all at the same time. I’m the sodding duke. Forgive my language, Miss Holme,” he corrected quickly, shooting her a quick look.
She waved off his concern. “I was never your teacher. You can speak freely in front of me. Besides,” she added wryly, “the austere exteriors of proper, modest governesses are merely fiction. The interior landscapes are much more complex.”
It was as close to the truth as she could dare tell him. And it was still too much.
Belatedly, she realized that her hand remained on his arm. Much as she wanted to curl her fingers around him, she let go, and took a step back.
He stared at the place she had touched, and color rose in his cheeks.
How unexpected, to see him respond to her touch…
“Your Grace!” Mr. Fernham called, his voice nearing.
Silently, Cecilia and Owen pushed farther into the shelter of the trees.
“These are monumental changes for you,” she murmured. “University student one day, and the next day, a duke.”
He glanced toward the direction from which the estate manager’s voice had come.
“There were expectations—my own expectations—that when people would call me Your Grace, I’d be a much older man. A man of experience.” He gave a rueful laugh as he buttoned his waistcoat. “I’m hardly that.”
“There will be people around you to help you learn what it means to be a duke. You won’t be alone.”
“So they told me in London.” He dragged his hand through his hair, which formed beguiling, damp curls. “I left Oxford as soon as I heard Father was gone, and Mother and I laid him to rest in London. Then there were appointments—so many appointments with grim men who gave me stacks of books and papers I must commit to memory. It’s all so sodding much.”
His grief and bewilderment shot directly into her heart. “When all you want is a few more years with nothing but geology. A boy and his rocks.”
“Your Grace,” Mr. Fernham called. “Are you here?”
Owen tugged her behind a tree. His hands rested on her hips, holding her close as they both avoided the estate manager.
Her breath came quickly as she looked up into Owen’s face and felt the length of his body pressed to hers.
A jolt ran through his frame. But he didn’t release her.
Given her history, she ought to feel alarm. Instead, something keen and anticipatory gleamed within her. Was it possible…could she dare believe…? Should she?
The air between them thickened with awareness.
The wisest thing would be to walk away, ignoring her desire. There was nothing wrong with feeling desire. She had learned this years ago, just as she’d learned it was not always right to act on that hunger.
Yet Owen’s pupils were large, and he looked decidedly ravenous.
Putting distance between them was impossible.
“Although,” she whispered, “you’re not a boy any longer. You’ve undergone quite a metamorphosis.”
“So you’ve said. But some things about me haven’t changed.”
“Such as?”
His gaze met hers, slightly abashed. “I had been…I was… infatuated with you.”
Stunned, she could only stare at him.
“Ever since you came to Tarrington House,” he went on doggedly before falling silent.
His silence was familiar as she recalled their encounters over the past five years. They had been infrequent, since he’d been at Eton, and then Oxford, but the few times their paths had crossed, he had been extremely quiet in her presence. She’d reasoned that, as governess to his sisters, there was little for them to discuss, and she had likely escaped his notice. When she had overheard him alone with his family, he’d been far more open and expressive, teasing the girls and talking animatedly with his parents. Then she would enter the room, and he’d go mute.
Because she hadn’t mattered to him, or so she’d believed. But now his silences took on another meaning.
Twigs cracked and leaves rustled nearby as Mr. Fernham continued his search. Cecilia clasped Owen’s forearm and led him deeper into the forest, careful to keep her own footsteps as noiseless as possible.
Once they’d put more distance between themselves and the estate manager, she asked in a low voice, “You said you had been infatuated with me. It’s not uncommon for young men to be indiscriminately aroused by any woman nearby. Those feelings change, however, as they age, and meet more women.”
His cheeks reddened as he looked at her hand on his arm. “Even if my feelings persisted, it hardly matters. You’re in my employ, and I can’t abuse my power.”
She exhaled in a peculiar mixture of relief and disappointment—there would be no repeat of the experience with her past employer, whose unwanted attentions had ultimately cost Cecilia her position. Yet she still desired Owen.
“When I was leaving for Eton,” he continued, “my father gave me this.”
From an inside pocket in his coat, he removed a coin and held it up. Its surface shone in a bright circle, as if its owner spent considerable time and effort maintaining its appearance.
“Can’t buy much with a farthing,” he murmured, looking at it contemplatively. “Almost nothing. A boiled sweet, or a small glass of beer, perhaps, but little of significance or use. Even so, my father said that I should keep it safe, and never spend it. As inconsequential as the farthing was to me, it meant a hell of a lot more to someone else, someone who wasn’t the heir to a dukedom. Took me a while to understand his lesson, but as I safeguarded the farthing, I came to understand what it meant.”
In her experience, aristocratic men seldom gave such consideration to the implications of their position, and it was even more rare for them to pass those lessons on to their sons. But the late duke had, and her respect for him increased, conjoined with sadness at his passing.
But what did all these signify to his son?
Her gaze remained on the coin between his fingers. “What did it mean?”
“Value is relative, and it’s beholden to me not to abuse my status and harm someone with less power.”
“An important lesson,” she said softly.
“So it is.” He flashed her a rueful look as he tucked the coin into his pocket.