Page 80 of The Moonstone Governess
“Duchess Juliana, Miss Brenna, and Master Matthew are in the music room,” the stately Greggson said, helping him off with his coat and waistcoat, then watching as Daire removed his cravat. “Your Grace, you are still soaked.”
“There’s no help for it. I cannot remove all my clothes, can I?”
“No, I suppose not. Shall I search for something for you to wear? Staff livery? It isn’t perfect, but you have none of your own clothes here.”
“My fault. I should have thought to bring some up before this.” Daire heard a lively country air being played on the pianoforte and a young lady delicately singing. He recognized Brenna’s sweet voice. “Just bring me a cup of tea. I’ll join the others. Thank you, Greggson.”
He raked his fingers through his hair to put himself in some kind of order. But his shirt and riding breeches were still damp and plastered to his body. “No help for it,” he muttered, striding in and unwittingly disrupting Brenna’s song.
Juliana was sitting on a settee, embroidering while listening to Brenna’s playing. Matthew had his tin soldiers and was lining them up in battle formations in a corner of the room. He scrambled to his feet, but did not approach. “Good morning, Uncle Daire,” he said with an aching hopefulness to his voice.
This was a huge advancement, and one Daire had no intention of letting go to waste. “Good morning, Matthew,” he said with equal cheer. “You seem to be enjoying your soldiers.”
“I am. I’m setting up the armies.”
“Would you like to learn about battle tactics?”
The boy’s eyes lit up. “Would you teach me?”
Daire nodded. “Yes, but give me a few minutes to dry off and have my tea.”
Brenna was a vision of loveliness seated at the pianoforte, her gown a pale blue muslin that seemed to enhance the pink of her cheeks and ruby sweetness of her lips. But she shot to her feet now. “Oh dear. Your Grace, you are completely…wet. Let me fetch you a towel.”
He grinned. “I’ll be fine. Don’t let me interrupt your dulcet tones.”
She blushed, no doubt remembering the last time she had seen him wet. “My singing voice is adequate, at best,” she said, making one of those little, breathy sounds that shot heat through him. “I’ll ring for tea.”
“Already done, Brenna. Go on with what you were doing.” He turned to Juliana. “How are you today, darling?”
She smiled up at him. “Quite well. But you will catch a chill if you stay in those wet clothes.”
“Must you all comment?” Daire laughed. “I can hardly take them off, can I?”
Brenna’s face was once more suffused with color, and she made another of those breathy sounds that put his heart in spasms because he wanted her so badly.
He was in no danger of catching a chill. No danger at all.
“I’ll have Greggson light a fire,” Brenna said, obviously wanting to fuss over him.
He smiled, quite liking the tender attention she was paying him. “Not necessary. It’s already too hot in here.”
Her pretty eyes widened, for she understood his meaning, obviously feeling a little warmth herself, which had everything to do with his nearness and nothing to do with the inclement weather.
She licked her lips.
He wanted to kiss her.
Instead, he grabbed a wooden chair and sank his large frame into it. “Do keep playing. Ah, Greggson, just in time.”
The butler handed him his cup. “Will you require anything else, Your Grace?”
“No, Greggson. This is perfect,” Daire said with a nod of dismissal.
Brenna plunked her delicate derriere back down on the piano stool.
Daire listened to her play another lively air and sing while he drank his tea. His insides were warmed by her sweet voice as much as by the hot liquid. This was another moment he wished to hold on to—Juliana at her embroidery, Matthew humming along while playing with his soldiers, and Brenna, his little dove, seated at the pianoforte.
This was what his heart needed. This was what his heart ached for most.
