“He is learning,” she pointed out. “It is a beginning.”
“He’s a little pest.”
“He is a pest that you were worried about.” Lydia could do nothing to stop the satisfied smile that stretched her lips.
Jeremy stared at the floor, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “How old would you guess he is?”
The question surprised her. “Five? Six at the most?”
“He is nine, Lydia.” Jeremy pinned his gaze back on her. “At least he thinks he is nine. He says he lost track of time after his mother disappeared but believes he was nearing his seventh birthday at the time.”
“But he’s so small.”
Jeremy’s eyes darkened. “He only eats what he finds in rubbish bins or what he can steal.”
Lydia and Clarissa had discussed this aspect of an orphan’s life before. She ought to have realized Ollie was older than he looked.
As horrifying as the reminder was, though, she also felt a sense of peace.
Because Ollie was going to get proper meals now, and Jeremy did not look nearly as cold and cynical, as he had just a few days before. Of course, he was still not the same as he once was; the tragedies of the past year had scarred him. But…
He was not uncaring.
And he had kissed her earlier today—and he’d done it as though he couldn’t help himself. He’d been like a man starved.
Much the way she had felt.
Jeremy took a step closer and reached out and brushed his fingertips along the fabric of her sleeve. “How do you manage to look more beautiful each time I see you?”
It didn’t feel as though he was complimenting her, more like he was truly baffled by such a phenomenon.
“Jeremy.” All she could do was say his name. And of course, all of her feelings sounded in that single word. In that moment, the broken heart she’d lived with since that dreadful November day made itself known as actual physical pain. “What happened? Why do you hate us? Why do you hate me?”
He exhaled loudly, in such a way that she sensed the weight of the world crashing down on him.
“I don’t hate you, Lydia.” He blinked and turned to stare up at a rather large painting of one of her ancestors. But he wasn’t really looking at the painting.
“Then why?”
“I can’t tell you why.” His voice hardened. “You don’t want to know. It wouldn’t be fair for me to tell you, nor would it be fair for… others involved.”
“My brothers?”
The muscles of his jaw twitched. “And others.”
She couldn’t help herself, she moved even closer to him until naught but a few inches separated them.
She stared down and grasped both of his hands in hers.
Jeremy’s hands were not soft. They never had been. Ever since he’d inherited his father’s title, she knew of several occasions when he’d taken the time to work in the fields with his tenants.
He may have been their landlord. They may have feared him a little, even. But they all respected him.
She grazed her fingertips over the callouses, which now sported ink stains.
Jeremy was not an idle person, nor was he a man who accumulated wealth for the sake of accumulating wealth. He seemed to be lost in his own frenzy, however. Raging against humanity in his grieving.
He did not resist her hold of his hand but neither did he do anything to encourage her.
For Lydia, of course, this was encouragement enough.
Because this was Jeremy.
“I’ve missed you.” She’d wanted to tell him this since she first saw him in Lord Baxter’s office and especially while she’d been walking alone with him through the Wicked Earls’ Club.
He didn’t answer but turned his head away.
She raised one of her hands to trail the line of his jaw. “If you don’t hate me, then why…?”
He moved his chin side to side, and then he turned to stare at her again. How many times had she gazed into the warmth of his mahogany gaze, feeling safe and protected, but most of all, simply knowing that he was her destiny?
In that moment, she felt all of this… and more.
Kiss me, she begged him with her eyes. Heat that had once felt like flickering embers burst into a raging inferno.
She pressed up, onto her toes, and parted her lips.
Seeing confusion and indecision in his eyes, she closed her own and waited. She was not afraid that he would embarrass her. Perhaps she ought to be. But she’d also seen something else in his gaze.
She’d seen the same longing that must be reflected in her own.
On tiptoes, one hand cradling his cheek, the other now resting on his shoulder, she waited.
“Lydia.” The warmth of his breath fanned her lips. “Lydia.”
The temperature of her blood spiked, and a roaring sound filled her ears as it raced through her veins.
Oh, yes. So much yes.
When his mouth captured hers, he seemed to be seeking permission.
And… forgiveness. He was not demanding, impatient, and passionate as he’d been earlier. This kiss was quiet—searching.
When he traced the seam along her lips with his tongue, he did not press inside until she parted her mouth and welcomed all that he would offer.
“Lydia.” A shudder ran through him.
Her arms snaked up his chest and encircled his neck now, as though she’d been drowning for months and finally found something to keep her afloat.
Locked in his embrace, sobs threatened to overflow, and her eyes burned with tears.
“Jeremy.” Her throat caught. “Why did you hurt me so?” There must be some explanation.
He stilled then, and released her mouth, ending the kiss.
“What did I do wrong?” Her heartache and confusion could not be contained, the question escaping unchecked. She had to know!
He cradled her face in his hands, conflicting emotions burning in his eyes. “I didn’t want to. You did nothing.” He stared at her mouth and then into her eyes again. “What am I going to do with you, Lydia?”
Love me! Love me! Love me!
These words, however, she kept to herself. He wasn’t ready. If she pushed too hard, she’d lose him forever.
But there had to be a way. Deep down, she knew with every fiber of her being that Jeremy loved her as much as she loved him. Anyone else would consider her naïve to convince herself of this, but she didn’t care.
She simply knew this about him. I know him.
He reached up and, wrapping his fingers around her wrists, extracted himself from their embrace. Stepping back, he closed his eyes as though summoning strength.
Strength to resist her? Or his own urges? His own desires… and dreams?
“Work will begin in the warehouse tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll have contracts sent over for you to sign in the morning.”
When she didn’t say anything but only nodded, he took another step backward.
“Ollie is waiting for you,” she reminded him.
He made a quick bow and pivoted, his shoes echoing in the vast foyer as he strode toward the door.
He’d kissed her twice yesterday.
Not once, but twice, for God’s sake!
Jeremy leaned forward, urging the stallion he’d chosen to ride that morning faster as he raced along the nearly empty road that made up most of Rotten Row. Perhaps the speed could clear his head.