Page 45 of The Earl's Forbidden Governess
“No, please,” Edward said quickly, rising to his feet. “Stay. I... I would… please, do stay? I wish… to ask you something.”
Catherine hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Of course, My Lord. How can I assist you?”
Edward gestured to the pile of papers on his desk. “Well… I am reviewing some proposals for improvements to the tenant farms. I’d value your opinion on which projects should take priority.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Catherine’s face, quickly replaced by a look of determination. “Forgive me, My Lord,” she said, moving to stand beside him and looking up at him. “But I do not believe that this… fits in with my duties.”
“It does not,” Edward agreed. “But I value your opinion, Miss Winslow. Even when you do not believe I do.”
As they bent over the documents together, Edward was acutely aware of Catherine’s proximity. The scent of lavender enveloped him, making it hard to concentrate. He found himself stealing glances at her profile, admiring the curve of her cheek, the slight furrow of concentration between her brows.
“What do you think of this proposal for a new irrigation system?” he asked, his voice low.
Catherine leaned in closer to examine the document, her shoulder brushing against his. Edward’s breath hitched at the contact.
“I don’t know, My Lord,” she whispered. “I… I don’t know anything about these things.”
“But what do you think?”
She turned her head to look up at him and their eyes met. Edward could feel his heart racing wildly within his chest as his eyes moved to her lips. How he wanted to press his lips against hers, to kiss her and hold her in his arms in an attempt to feel whole once again.
Not for the first time, he desperately wished for only a moment to speak with his parents once more. His father, who had instilled duty and loyalty in him from a tender age. Would he understand?
Or would he believe that this desire made him weak?
Though a part of him wished, hoped that his father would have encouraged him to follow his heart, he knew the odds were low.
“My Lord…”
Her voice was quiet, and Edward tilted his head downwards. She was so close—close enough to kiss, to taste and his heart skipped a beat.
Then, within an instant, the spell was broken by a knock at the door. It was Mr. Harper who entered, his expression grim.“My Lord, Lady Isabella has arrived unexpectedly. She is asking to see you.”
Though she tried not to show it, Edward saw Catherine stiffen slightly at the mention of Isabella’s name. “Thank you, Samuel,” he said, his voice tight. “I will be there shortly.”
As Mr. Harper left, Edward turned back to Catherine, his eyes searching hers as he tried to regain some of the magic that had sparked between them. “Miss Winslow, I…”
But Catherine was already gathering her skirts, preparing to leave. “You shouldn’t keep Lady Isabella waiting, My Lord,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “Good day.”
Edward watched her go, his heart heavy with regret.
The next few days passed in a blur of stolen glances and stilted conversations. Edward found himself constantly aware of Catherine’s presence, his body attuned to her every movement. He caught himself making excuses to be in the same room as her, relishing even the briefest of interactions.
It was late one afternoon, he came across Catherine in the garden, tending to a bed of roses. The sight of her, cheeks flushed from the sun and a smudge of dirt on her nose, took his breath away. Strangely, he thought, she looked far more beautiful than ever before—seated on the ground in the mostunladylike fashion, dirtied by the ground and her hair out of its neat bundle.
“Miss Winslow,” he called out as he approached her. “I was not aware that you had an interest in gardening.”
Catherine looked up, seemingly startled. “Oh, My Lord. I... I find it soothing. And the roses needed some attention.”
Edward knelt beside her, inhaling the sweet scent of the flowers. “They are beautiful,” he said softly, though his eyes were fixed on Catherine rather than the roses.
She blushed under his gaze, quickly turning her attention back to the plants. “They remind me of my father,” she said, her voice wistful. “He always kept a small garden, even when times were hard.”
Edward felt a pang in his chest at the hint of sadness in her voice. Without thinking, he reached out and gently brushed a stray curl from her face. Catherine’s eyes met his, wide with surprise and something else... longing?
The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words and repressed desires. Edward leaned in slightly, drawn by an irresistible force.
“Catherine,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.
