The question escaped before she could stop it. She’d have given anything to call it back again.
His gaze flicked to his nightstand. “It’s Lady Helena’s book.”
Clara had assumed as much. The Abbey’s library was filled with books of every variety. “Yes, but…why are you reading it?”
He shrugged. “Curiosity.”
“About Sir Galahad?”
“About you.”
Warmth suffused her chest. She’d suspected his interest was in her and not in Arthurian poetry. But to hear him admit it…
“I don’t like Sir Galahad,” he said.
“Don’t you?” She privately confessed to a faint flicker of disappointment. “He’s noble and pure of heart. The noblest of all the knights.”
“He’s n-never been kissed,” he said. “Or held a lady’s hand.”
She blinked. “Oh, that.” She leaned back against the windowsill. The ridge of it pressed into her hips, pushing her crinoline out in front of her. “It lends to his purity, I suppose. The reason he’s deemed worthy to find the grail.”
“Is that what you think of…of me?”
“I don’t—” She broke off. “It was just a foolish fancy. I don’t know why I gave voice to it.”
He slowly crossed the room to join her. She’d only seen him in his shirtsleeves once before, and then she’d been too distracted by Betty’s labor to get a proper look at him. But now…
Great goodness.
Without his coat and cravat, he looked even bigger, if that was possible. All broad shoulders, and lean, masculine strength.
It was quite easy to imagine him in a suit of polished armor, atop that enormous gray horse of his. A horse that did rather resemble a charger.
He propped his shoulder against the window frame. “Because I lived at the c-convent.”
“Yes. I daresay that was part of it. And because you’re so very handsome, and so very kind.”
His mouth quirked.
Good lord, had she just called him handsome?
She rushed to explain, her words tumbling over each other. “It’s all silliness, of course. I have a tendency for such things. To romanticize gentlemen who are kind to me. Some people shouldn’t read poetry or novels. It gives them all sorts of romantic ideas about life, and about people. It’s not at all healthy.”
He frowned at her. “You’re not silly.”
“You don’t know me, sir. I have a long and undistinguished history of fantasizing. But I’ve grown up since. I’ve committed myself to being sensible. I’d thought I was succeeding at it until I met you.” An unexpected swell of sadness clogged her throat. “It’s good that I’m leaving. If I stayed through Twelfth Night, I’d likely end up making a fool of myself.”
“Over me?”
She forced herself to meet his eyes. “I’m not imagining it, am I? That we’re attracted to each other? Drawn to each other?”
He gazed steadily back at her. “No.” His voice went gruff. “I…I admire you. Very much.”
She compressed her lips to stop their trembling. She wouldn’t make a spectacle of herself. No matter that no gentleman had ever admitted to admiring her before.
“Must you go?” he asked. “Can’t someone else…?”
“There is no one else. My mother teaches at a girls’ school in Edinburgh. Some of the students stay on over Christmas, and she remains to chaperone them. She couldn’t leave even if she wanted to. It’s up to me to find out what’s happened to Simon and help to resolve things, if I can.”
He was silent for a long while. “Will you return?” he asked at last.
“I don’t expect so. Mrs. Bainbridge says there’s no point in traveling all the way back to Devon for only a day or two.” Clara had spoken with her again last night, and with Mr. and Mrs. Archer, too. The three of them had been excessively practical about the situation. “Which brings me to a favor I must ask of you. And you mustn’t feel obligated to say yes.”
He came closer, looming over her. It should have been intimidating, but it wasn’t. Quite the reverse. She felt protected. As if his presence could somehow shield her from the cares of the world. “What is it?” he asked.
“I wonder if you might keep Bertie with you while I’m gone? I can’t take him with me. That is, I could, but it would be very hard on him.”
“Of course.” He paused. “How…how will you…?”
“Mrs. Bainbridge has promised to bring him back to Surrey with her on the train. But she’s ill-equipped to care for him while she’s here. Bertie requires constant looking after.”
“I’ll look after him.”
She managed a tremulous smile. “Thank you. I won’t forget.”
“Nor will I.” He looked down at her, gazing into her eyes for a taut moment. And then he brought his hand to her face, tracing the line of her cheek and jaw with a gentleness that bordered on reverence.
Her pulse beat an erratic rhythm at her throat. She knew what was going to happen. Just as she knew that she could stop it happening if she wished it. All she need do was pull back from him or voice an objection. But she found herself incapable of doing either.
Instead, she listed against him. And when he bent his head and kissed her, her lips softened beneath his, yielding to his mouth with a sensual warmth she hadn’t known herself capable of.
“Clara,” he said. It was a murmured breath of enquiry. As if he was asking permission to continue
In answer, she twined her arms about his neck. Her heavy skirts bunched against his legs as she stretched up to brush her lips to his.
He responded instantly, enfolding her in a powerful embrace. Holding her so tightly that the bones in her corset gave a creak of protest. And he kissed her again. A deep, soul-stirring kiss, as passionate as it was poignant.
She felt the heat of it thrumming in her veins. It weakened her knees and limbs, forcing her to cling to him almost desperately. Like some poor shipwrecked soul clinging to a rock. The only solid and dependable thing in a stormy world.
He was saying goodbye to her.
And suddenly, she could no longer hold back the tears that stung at her eyes. She pressed her face into his neck.
His breath was heavy against her hair. He moved his hand over the curve of her spine, up and down in a slow, reassuring caress. Long seconds passed.
“I’m sorry,” he said.