Page 32 of The Moonstone Governess
“Would you believe me if I said yes?”
“No, Your Grace. That is too much of a stretch.”
They were nearing the village and would soon part ways. The field of poppies was just behind them, and Daire could hear the light whoosh of their petals swaying in the wind. He glanced at Brenna as they walked along in silence. True, he did not care about her clothes other than in the way she filled them out—which she did spectacularly well, no matter what she wore.
This morning she was clad in a pale green muslin gown with the barest of lace trim at the modest collar and sleeve cuffs. The sun shone down on her hair, setting the red tones ablaze amid her dark locks. Her lips were a lush pink and gracefully shaped, and her eyes shone like dark emeralds. All these colors about her ought to have clashed, but each enhanced her beautiful features instead.
Or was it just him falling under her ensorcelling spell?
She would laugh heartily if he dared to call her an enchantress.
For one mad moment, he contemplated what his life might be like if he were married to her. But the fleeting moment of madness passed, the spell somehow broken when the mail coach thundered by on its way to the inn and jolted him out of his musings. He knew it was on its way to the Kestrel Inn because the inn served not only as the village’s hotel but the local post office as well. Thaddius, who seemed to be quite the enterprising businessman, was its postmaster.
“Your Grace, I—”
“Bollocks, Brenna. Call me Daire. I’ve given you permission to do so whenever we are alone.”
“I know, but it does not sit well with me.”
“Only because you want to keep me at arm’s length from you. I’ve already given you my oath to behave around you.”
“Which is something any gentleman ought to do, so do not make it out to be a sacrifice or reason for reward. It is only polite behavior.”
He grunted.
“Obviously, I trust your word, or I would not have agreed to move back to Stoningham Manor and work with your nephew. I hardly think I am pushing you away.”
“This is you being friendly?”
“Let’s just say cautiously friendly. You know I cannot let down my guard around you. And our definitions of friendship are not quite the same. Your notion of a lady friend is one who is a bit too…willing to surrender herself to your amorous advances.”
“The women approach me. I do not approach them.”
“What is the difference? You do not turn them away from your bed.”
“Why should I turn them away?” he asked. “I am not betrothed or married. You are frowning in disapproval, little dove. If it is any consolation, they use me as much as I use them. Nor do they care about me beyond the pretty trinkets I might give them. Do you think I would ever dare open my heart to any of them? Or trust them?”
She looked at him but said nothing.
“To them, I am nothing beyond my title, first as Viscount Claymore and now as Duke of Claymore. Just a title and deep pockets.”
“Is this why you keep yourself aloof? To maintain your protective barriers?”
“Yes.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Although I have lowered them for you. Is it not obvious?”
She regarded him with some surprise. “Why me?”
“Because your friendship, if ever freely given to me, would be genuine and something worth treasuring.”
“Half the time you want to throttle me.”
“Is that not part of friendship, being confident enough to express your opinion and knowing it will be valued even if we happen not to agree? You are impudent and do not hesitate to challenge me.”
She arched a delicate eyebrow. “Is that an insult or a compliment?”
He grinned. “A compliment. In truth, one of the highest I can give.”
“Then I feel quite worthy.” She dipped into a quick but graceful curtsy.
