Page 20 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
She nodded. “I tried him with the stew last night, and he seemed to enjoy it, though this morning…”
She wrinkled her nose, and Andrew grimaced. He could just imagine the consequences of a child taking solid food. The stench in Mrs. Biggs’s cottage after her first child digested his first solid meal had been enough to flatten a herd of cattle.
She averted her gaze. “There’s so much to do just to keep him clean and tidy that it leaves me little time for housekeeping.” She gestured about the parlor. “What must youthink! I’m ashamed to admit anyone.”
“I think you’re working as hard as you can with no help,” he said. “But we must all make time for ourselves, to reflect and to enjoy the moment After all, is not life there to be lived?”
“That’s an easy argument for you to make, vicar.”
“Mr. Staines, please. Or, if I may be so bold, you could call me Andrew.”
Her mouth twitched into a smile. “Mr. Staines.” She gestured to the boy in his arms. “He likes you, at least, but a child is permitted more freedom when it comes to intimacy. And I suspect he’s the principal reason for your visit.”
“You wound me, madam,” he replied. “I came to see you. Your son has everything he needs—a loving mother. Whom doyouhave, Mrs. Ward?”
“I have no one.”
“I beg to differ,” he said. “You have me. And if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion, I think I have the very person who might be able to help you.”
She arched her eyebrows, and he caught a glimpse of another woman in her expression and the way she held herself—a lady, reigning over the ballrooms of London.
A mystery surrounded her—who she was, and why she was in Sandcombe.
She was a lost soul, out of her world, and her allure was not merely due to her exquisite beauty, or the sorrowful expression that tore at his heart. It was in the fierceness with which she cared for her son, the purest expression of love, even though she believed herself to be inadequate. Never had he seen such strength of love in another living soul.
What might it be to be loved by such a woman?
He held out his hand. “I know I have no right to demand your trust, seeing as you hardly know me,” he said, “but I ask it nevertheless. Let me help you—and I will ask nothing in return. You have my word.”
She lowered her gaze to his hand, a flicker of astonishment in her eyes at his declaration. Yet she remained still.
“Are you so alone in the world that you believe it impossible to find another living soul whom you can trust?”
“Trust must be earned, Mr. Staines,” she said. “I know from experience the folly of trusting another. There is no service that can be offered without expectation of something in return.”
“Then I shall do everything in my power to earn your trust,” he said. “Take my hand as a gesture of faith, if nothing else. I give you leave to sever it from my body if I prove myself unworthy.”
The corner of her mouth twitched into a smile again. “I fear I’ll be unable to administer your punishment should you betray me, Mr. Staines. My kitchen knives are in sore need of sharpening.”
“Then the first task I promise to accomplish shall be to sharpen each and every knife in your kitchen.”
She met his gaze. Through the despair that seemed so much a part of her, he caught a flicker of mirth in her expression, and a ripple of warmth rushed through his blood, pooling at his center.
Then she stepped forward and took his hand. The air seemed to crackle as their fingers touched, and he caught his breath at the burst of need deep inside his body. His breeches seemed to tighten, and he shifted his feet to ease the thick ache in his groin.
Dear Lord!His body had never experienced such a powerful reaction, not since he’d first entered manhood and, as a callow youth, had pleasured himself to secret dreams of the women that Robert regaled him with tales of—painted peacocks capable of wringing every last drop of exquisite pleasure from a man. Then he had set such sinful urges aside when entering into his vocation. But, as his older brother had always said, a man had needs, and no matter how many prayers he might utter, those needs always simmered close to the surface, ready to burst forth when the right woman presented herself.
In Robert’s eyes, all manner of women had claimed that particular title. But Andrew had accepted the opposite of his brother’s rakehell lifestyle in the belief that only one woman existed upon whom he could bestow the title of theright woman.
And the deep tug at his soul told him that the right woman was standing before him here and now.
*
Sweet heaven—the expressionin the vicar’s eyes was almost enough to restore her faith in others.
Almost, but not quite.
Resisting the visceral urge to pull herself into his arms—arms that looked strong enough to weather the burdens of the wholeworld, let alone hers—Etty released his hand, her soul shivering at the momentary sense of loss.
