Page 53 of The Governess’s Carnal Temptation

“She is asleep. I brought her a hot chocolate, and her maid saw that she drank it. The physician will stop in later to see her again, but she is physically fine, given all she’s been through. But she needs you for her emotional health, Your Grace.”

“It’s all my fault,” Nicholas said as if he hadn’t heard her. “Louisa died because I pretended I could love her when all I wanted was a suitable match to raise myself in society. Charlotte was on the brink of turning into a bitter, arrogant young woman without a hint of empathy, all because I couldn’t show her love. Without Lydia, she would have turned into…” he scoffed. “Lady Evelyn.” He shook his head. “Isn’t it ironic? I chose a woman that I dread my daughter turning into for a wife, and why? Because of my ambition. Again. I was weak then; I am weak now. A coward in duke’s clothing. Do you notice a pattern, Mrs. Funny?”

He looked up and, to his surprise, saw the woman’s face had turned into a mask of anger. A deep line ate into her forehead, and she puckered her lips.

“I do. A pattern of you feeling sorry for yourself, Your Grace. It is all well and good to see one’s faults. It is quite another to flee into a puddle of self-pity instead of doing the hard thing. Finding strength within you.”

“I have none,” he said stubbornly, but she clicked her tongue.

“Of course, you do. And if you can’t be strong for yourself, be strong for Lady Charlotte and Miss Haddington, for they have no strength left either. You found your strength in ensuring Lady Charlotte could find a suitable husband. You sought out Lady Evelyn because you wanted to make sure her future was secure. That took strength after… Well. It took strength.”

“And what has it gotten me? A woman my daughter dislikes. A woman who likewise never tires of telling me to send Miss Haddington away because she is envious.”

Mrs. Funny licked her lips. “Perhaps she wants to send Miss Haddington away because she can see what we all can, Your Grace.”

Mrs. Funny had never spoken to him so frankly, but Nicholas had to admit he rather liked it.

“I abandoned her, do you know that? When we were young. I promised she’d be my duchess, but I broke my promise and abandoned her.” He shook his head, disgusted with himself. Perhaps he deserved a calculating woman like Lady Evelyn.

“Do you wish to do it again? Abandoned her in her hour of need?” Mrs. Funny asked, and he looked up. Did he? Was that what he was doing? He blinked as if only now realizing that that was exactly what he had done. He’d run away from her chamber as she lay there, in the grasp of death.

Nicholas shook his head. What sort of man was he, he wondered, if he left the woman who’d done so much, possibly even given her own life, alone in her darkest hour? He rose and nodded. “You are right. I must return.”

“You do, Your Grace. And what is more, you must do what your daughter did before you. Leave behind the darkness, the guilt, and the past. Step into the light. Do it now, or I fear you shall never have another chance.”

He took a deep breath, feeling the icy air run down his throat and into his lungs. Then, he turned and returned to the house, and to Lydia’s side.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Lydia’s eyes felt heavy, and her body felt as though it were weighted down by hot rocks that pressed on her and sent sweat out of every pour. She let out a groan as she forced her eyes open. The bright light streaming through the window burned her senses.

She blinked and looked around, unsure of her surroundings. It took a few moments for her to realize she was in her chamber, in her bed beneath a mountain of blankets. No wonder she was hot.

She moved, but her entire body screamed in pain. She shuddered as the sudden stench of the lake entered her nose, and the sensation of water dragging her down pulled on her legs. Her lungs tightened, and she curled her hands around the sheets to keep from being dragged under. She took a moment to realize it was all but a memory. The ice. The lake. Her mother's dulcet voice. She forced herself up, despite her body's protests, and looked around, her gaze falling on the small chaise in the corner by the fireplace.

"Nicholas?" she asked, realizing he was asleep and they were alone. Nicholas was lying on his side, arms wrapped around himself and legs drawn up to his chest. His hair stood up around his head, and a shadow from the window fell on his face. He was paler than usual, and appeared beaten down and painfully strained.

“Nicholas?” she repeated, and his eyes sprang open this time. He sat up and stared at her as though he were looking at a mirage.

“Lydia,” he murmured, and then, he was at her side and enveloped her. He pulled her near until his chest pressed against hers.

“Lydia,” he whispered. Then, his lips were on hers, and he covered her face in a million kisses. Lydia blinked, utterly confused by this outburst of emotion.

Since that wonderful afternoon at the lake, her body had longed for him. That day had awakened memories of their former physical connection, memories she’d suppressed all these years, along with her love for him. However, they’d burst to the surface, and try as she might, they continued to haunt her. Even now, as her entire body ached and she had no idea how she’d gotten here, how she’d survived, that desire was ever-present.

“Lydia, I thought I would lose you,” he whispered and sat back. He clutched and squeezed her hand while his thumb caressed the back of her hand. Her skin tingled with the unexpected sensation as he sat on the edge of her bed, so close she smelled the peppermint tea he’d been drinking on his breath. “I thought you were gone,” he repeated. Lydia blinked, wracking her brain to remember what had happened.

“Lydia, I don’t know what I would have done if you had died. I was so sure I had lost you.” His breathing grew ragged when he spoke, and she placed her free hand on his.

“Nicholas, breathe, please. I do not know what happened. I remember the water; it was so cold. And then I was warm. I....” Her eyes grew wide. “Charlotte! How is she?”

He placed one hand on her cheek, and she felt the callouses formed there from years of holding a horse’s reins. They felt rough but good against her skin.

“She is well. She has been in bed for a few days, but this morning she was back in her classroom, drawing pictures for you under Mrs. Funny’s watchful eye.”

A sense of relief flooded her.

“Not even a cold?”