Sophia had made her way to and from the library on three separate occasions, but, each time, had retreated back to her own room having heard the duke and his brother talking.

Her stomach swirled with a delicious excitement, as she made her way back along the hallway, her slippered feet making no sound as she walked. The duke had wanted to speak to her again, and that in itself was something she could be glad about. It had been rather freeing to speak so openly with him last evening about her brother, although she had chosen not to express the depths of her feelings toward Peter in doing what he did. The duke had listened carefully and had appeared to be rather upset for her, which Sophia had found somewhat touching. Even though he did not know her particularly well, and even though she was the hired help, he was still angry enough about the whole situation—enough to allow it to show in his expression and his words.

And then he had asked her to come back and talk to him again this evening. She had not been able to refuse, aware that her pulse was beating somewhat erratically as he had held her hand in his. There was something growing between them, something that should be completely forbidden, and yet remained there, as undeniable as ever.

She should not be going back to speak to him again; she should not be so willing to be alone in his company, but the desire to do just that could not be ignored. She wanted to talk to him, to have him talk to her so that she might learn more about him, more about his life and his character, his hopes and desires, his struggles and dreams. It was, perhaps, foolish to hope for all of that to be shared since their association was still one of employer and servant for the most part, but the chance to simply talk to another living soul, to be able to speak with more freedom than she had been able to for a long time was so great.

There were no voices from within the library, and tentatively, Sophia knocked on the door, hearing the duke’s low voice call out to her almost at once. With excitement rifling through her veins, she stepped inside and looked all about her, seeing the duke sitting by the fire, his head tipped a little to the side as she came in.

“Your grace,” she murmured, coming nearer to him. “Do you still wish to converse this evening? I am more than happy to retire if you would prefer to be alone.”

He smiled at her and warmth pooled in her core.

“No, indeed, I would be glad to speak to you,” he replied, gesturing for her to come and sit down. “I have a few things I need to apprise you of as well.”

She sat down carefully, folding her hands in her lap. “Oh?”

He waved a hand. “They will come later.” His eyes lingered on her for a moment or two, his smile remaining fixed. “I was just thinking about our conversation last evening. I was sorry to hear of your brother’s treatment of you. I can understand now why you appeared so upset when you first arrived.”

She laughed, wincing just a little. “Yes, indeed. It was all a bit of a shock.” Recalling how she had been dropped at the bottom of the driveway with her four bags, she shook her head ruefully. “The day I walked with my bags was only the beginning of all the changes I had come to expect. How glad I am that you have proven to be a kind and compassionate man, your grace. I have been truly blessed in coming here.”

“That is very good of you to say,” the duke murmured softly. “This home was once a place of deep sadness, and so I am relieved to know that you find it so appealing.”

Sophia’s breath caught, and she held it for a moment, waiting to see if the duke would say more whilst not wanting to pry. Sarah had never mentioned her mother, and aside from being aware that the duchess had passed away some years ago, Sophia was entirely in the dark about the lady.

“My wife passed away soon after bringing my daughter into this world,” the duke murmured, his gaze now lingering on the flickering flames of the fire. “It was a long, hard labor, and a fever set in.”

Her heart broke for him, wondering if his marriage had been a happy one and how much of a loss it had been for him to lose his bride.

“We were not long married,” he continued, a faraway look in his eyes, as he glanced back at her. “It was a marriage of convenience.” He shrugged, a sad smile on his face. “After all, it is what is expected of a duke.”

“I am terribly sorry, your grace,” Sophia whispered, a lump in her throat as she thought of him standing by his wife’s bedside with baby Sarah in his arms. “That must have been a very difficult time for you.”

He blinked and turned back to her, his eyes filled with sadness. “I did not care for her in the way I should have, Miss Weston, and I can assure you that she did not care for me in the least. Sarah was the only good thing that came from our marriage, aside from the connection created for both of our families.” His eyes glazed over, his lips twisting, as he frowned heavily, his voice low and husky. “I swore I would never be in that kind of situation again.”

Her hands tightened in her lap, as Sophia struggled to think of what to say. She knew precisely what it was she wanted to express, but as yet, she was not certain he would not think her rude if she spoke with such freedom as she might with a friend.

“My brother, of course, began to write to me a great deal more often when Elizabeth passed, but he has only visited once since then.”

“I am sure you are very glad to have him back with you now,” Sophia murmured softly. “He seems to be a very kind man.”

The duke chuckled. “You saw him with Sarah, did you not? And that told you the kind of man he was?”

“Indeed,” Sophia replied without any hesitation. “I always think how a gentleman or a lady treats either a child or a servant says a great deal about their character.”

The duke nodded slowly, looking at her thoughtfully. “That is very astute, Miss Weston.”

There was a short silence, as the duke looked back into the fire, clearly lost in thought. Sophia closed her eyes tightly, drawing in a long breath, as what she wanted to say, what she wanted to express, refused to let go of her mind.

“It sounds as though you were…somewhat lonely these last few years,” Sophia ventured, her stomach tightening, as she finally gave voice to her thoughts, praying that he would not think she had overstepped in expressing such a thing. “I can well understand that, your grace. It lingers for a long time, does it not, even when there is company to be found?”

Slowly, he turned his whole body back toward her, his eyes pensive, as he regarded her carefully. She could almost see the way he was thinking about what she had said, her nerves stretched taut as she waited for him to respond.

“You have seen more in me than anyone else,” he murmured, looking at her as though she were a gift sent from heaven. “Yes, that loneliness still lingers. My daughter gets all of my heart and soul, for she is the one that fills my life with joy. But yet, when it is late and there is no one else about, I have often felt wrapped in the arms of loneliness.” A slow smile spread across his face, his gaze flickering across her features. “And yet I have found that feeling dissipating somewhat since your arrival.”

Sophia shivered.

She could not look away from him, the only sound the crackling of the wood as it burned. She could feel a long, slow heat began to burn all through her, her breath quickening as he smiled slowly.

“You are good for me and for my daughter, I do believe,” he said quietly. “I do not think I should ever want you to leave.”

His words rang around her mind, capturing her heart. She could tell that he had surprised himself by what he had said, as though he had never meant to say it out loud. His eyes flared, and in a moment of embarrassment, he cleared his throat gruffly and turned his face away from her.

“I think I should retire now, your grace,” Sophia said, aware that tension was now crackling between them. He had said too much; she had said too little; and whatever it was that she felt, or he felt, it was not to be said tonight.

“Thank you for coming to speak with me, Miss Weston,” he murmured, as she rose from her chair. “I do hope I have not put you off coming to speak with me again another time.”

A swell of relief ran through her, and she managed a quick smile, inclining her head as she remembered her place. She had forgotten that she was the governess for a few minutes, forgotten that she was Miss Weston, the hired help. She had thought herself back amongst the best of society, engaging in conversation with a gentleman of the ton.

“No, indeed not, your grace,” she replied softly. “I will be glad to come and talk to you again, whenever you may wish it. I find your conversation to be very pleasant, and I have greatly enjoyed speaking to you.”

He nodded, his lips quirking into a small smile. “As have I. Good evening, Miss Weston.”

“Good evening, your grace,” she whispered, leaving the room and closing the door softly behind her.