Now what was she to do? She hated to disturb either of them, but Drue needed to get into bed, and Lord Bryant couldn’t stay.

In the end, she decided to do nothing, at least for a few moments.

Minutes ticked by, and she watched the two of them. Shadows from the candlelight flickered on Lord Bryant’s face. Who was Lord Bryant exactly? Even with all the time she had spent with him—more than she had with any other man except, perhaps, Nate or Mr. Richardson—he still remained a mystery to her.

A mystery whose face she could now draw in her sleep. She knew every curve of his cheek, his flashing eyes, and his eyebrows that seemed to only settle while he slept—like now.

With a sigh, she stepped forward. She needed to put Drue to bed. She bent down to scoop Drue from Lord Bryant’s arms, but somehow, her hand went to that lock of hair falling over Lord Bryant’s forehead first. She brushed it aside and quickly pulled back her hand. What was she thinking? His hair flopped back down, it’s downy strands—as soft as Drue’s baby locks—taunting her.

With a shake of her head, she carefully put one arm under Drue’s neck and the other under his little boy legs. Her left arm wedged between Drue and Lord Bryant’s chest, and as she pulled away, Lord Bryant’s eyes flew open, and he grabbed her wrist.

Their faces were only inches away from each other, his eyes cloudy and confused. “What happened?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. Something stirred within Diana’s chest. The two of them, so close with a child between them, whispered of long-lost desires and budding youthful dreams from a lifetime ago.

Foolish heart.

“You fell asleep. All of that reading must have tired you out.” She smiled as if it were a normal part of her day to wake a gentleman.

“That has never worked before. It didn’t work last night, and it most definitely didn’t work this afternoon.”

She scanned his eyes for deceit, but if it was there, he hid it well. Could it be that his cravat was actually only loose because he had been reading at home? Alone? The few candles they had in the room seemed to brighten. She scarcely felt the weight of Drue in her arms. “You were actually reading before you came?”

“Yes.”

She tried to picture it: Lord Bryant sitting in his office with a book open before him. His hair would fall over his forehead like it just had. All the energy of those piercing green eyes would be focused on the story as it unfolded in front of him. She quickly closed her eyes in an effort to remove the image from her mind. Lord Bryant reading was much too potent a vision. She wanted him to be that man, one who didn’t flit from one thing to another but who could spend hours with one topic in mind.

With one woman in mind.