“Yes, Miss Knightley,” Iris mumbled. She shot Ezra another suspicious look, this one apparently determining whether he could be trusted with her beloved governess. Slowly, she turned back to her slate.
Ezra gestured for Miss Knightley to leave the room ahead of him. Her skirts brushed slightly against the tops of his boots as she passed. It wasabsurdthat he noticed this.
There was a small parlor across from the nursery. It was traditionally the duchess’ parlor, but Ezra’s mother had not used it for years before she’d died, and while it was clean, it was sparsely decorated.
He tucked his hands behind his back, lest he be tempted to reach for Miss Knightley.
Which he would not be.
Because that would be insane.
“So...” He cleared his throat. “Iris has opened up to you.”
Miss Knightley had been looking out the window to where the bustling Mayfair street was laid out below. She turned to him with that professional smile of hers. He hated it.
“Yes,” she said. “She’s making great strides.”
“Has she… said anything about her family?”
Miss Knightley’s professional smile grew a little brittle around the edges.
“She has not,” she said, a touch coolly. “And I don’t think it’s the time to prod her yet.”
There was a warning in her words.
“No,” he said. “No, I do not intend to. I just… I would like to find her parents, if that is possible. I cannot imagine anything good happened to them, if she landed on my doorstep, but…”
He didn’t want to admit something so foolish and naïve, but she was still watching him in assessment.
“I hope,” he admitted. “I hope that they are alive and seeking her because they love her and miss her. Every child should have that.”
He didn’t dare look at her expression to see what she thought ofthistawdry little bit of sentimentality. The pause before she spoke again lasted an age.
“I will see if she says anything,” she allowed.
He dared a quick glance at her and saw her looking thoughtful. “And Iris speaks more and more every day,” he ventured.
“Indeed,” she said. “She’s a lovely girl. Quite friendly, actually.”
“Though not to me.” It came out more bitterly than he’d planned.
His embarrassment—he had never felt so embarrassed in his life as he did before he’d met this woman, which was utter madness—vanished beneath the pleasure of watching her lips twitch in suppressed amusement.
He couldseeher battling with her tongue. She lost.
“Well,” she said dryly, “you are… You know.”
He felt practically awash in relief at the sight of her teasing look. Yes, he still had behaved in a manner that was unbecoming of a gentleman, but at least he had not terrorized her. He had not realized until right now how much he’d worried that she would cower, act overly polite, or do any of the other things that suggested she was afraid of him or worried he would make unwanted advances.
“I don’t know,” he said. “What am I?”
Now, she was ducking her head. He could still see her smile.
“Scary?” she supplied, peeking up at him, one eye squeezed shut.
“I amnotscary,” he insisted, offended. “I am just a regular person!”
She pressed a knuckle to her mouth and looked up at the ceiling, as if she were calling for divine patience.
