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“Do you remember your parents?”
“Only my father, and only vaguely. Mama died when I was born.”
“Same as my mama!”
At that instant, Brigitte actually hated Liza for abandoning this precious miracle—a miracle she didn’t deserve. “Yes, Noelle, much the same. Then my father died in a carriage accident when I was two. Grandfather has been both mother and father to me. He’s a wonderful man. I’ve been truly blessed.”
“I heard Uncle say the vicar could visit you at Farrington.”
“That’s right. When he does, I’ll bet you and Fuzzy love him as much as I do.” Brigitte rose, lifting a simple, loose-fitting dress from the bag. “Speaking of Fuzzy, didn’t we promise him some exercise? Let’s get you changed so we can go explore the woods. Together we’ll find the perfect spot to erect a huge pile of leaves. Then, Fuzzy can jump to his heart’s content.”
—
Peals of laughter drifted into Eric’s chambers, invading the darkness and the privacy he’d safeguarded for years.
Brigitte Curran.
Damn the guileless chit for intruding upon his life. She was supposed to be supervising Noelle, not permeating the sanctuary that was his and his alone.
What were they laughing about anyway?
With a will of their own, Eric’s legs carried him to the window, and he moved the heavy drape aside so he could peer out. From his vantage point, he could see the entire section of woods surrounding the manor’s east wing.
He didn’t have far to look.
There, pouncing from the lowest branch of a nearby oak to a towering mound of leaves below, were his niece and his bride, alternately climbing and rolling about, leaves clinging to their hair and gowns.
His bride.
Eric released the curtain as if he’d been burned.
What the hell was wrong with him? What was the cause of this unanticipated reaction to Brigitte Curran and the sight of her bounding about like a child?
A bloody beautiful child. Vibrant and spirited, frolicking with a little girl who was the image of Liza.
Resurrecting a flood of memories long since buried. Memories—and feelings.
Everything inside him went taut.
He’d expected the past to haunt him—at least so long as Noelle was underfoot. That’s why he’d married Brigitte. To rid himself of the unthinkable task of rearing Liza’s daughter. Brigitte was the perfect candidate for the position: unattached, untainted, uncomplicated by shallow expectations and false hopes. Plus, she related to Noelle in a way he’d never before seen, much less imagined.
What he hadn’t anticipated were the emotions she evoked inside him—not merely pangs over what had been, but over what could be.
She was a glimmer of radiance in an interminable hell.
She was also his wife.
In name alone, he reminded himself, scowling. To permit more would be insane. She wasn’t one of his occasionally summoned, well-paid courtesans. She was a sheltered innocent who knew nothing about coupling and less about how to separate physical need from emotional involvement. To take her to bed would be cruel.
But, God, she was beautiful. Beautiful, exuberant, and as uninhibited as she was tenderhearted.
Would she be uninhibited in his arms?
With a muttered oath, Eric slammed his fist against the wall, squelching that tantalizing concept in the making. To bed his wife would be an unacceptable complication, threatening not only her mental well-being, but his own. He’d achieved what he’d sought: a governess for Noelle and peace for himself. Anything more was inconceivable.
He moved away from the window, closing his mind and heart to the ongoing shouts of laughter.
But at night, they haunted his soul.
