“What book?”

He shrugged as if the title wasn’t important. “Books,” he said. “I was skimming through about twenty, trying to find one that could make me . . . forget.”

Ah. She tightened her grip on Drue and pulled away from Lord Bryant. Even in his reading, he couldn’t be constant. “I hope someday you find the book you are looking for.”

She strode toward the bedroom where Charlotte still hummed to her children.

Chapter 13

Sleep still clouded Everton’s eyes, but he blinked what he could of it away so he could watch Miss Barton while she walked away. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was her voice wrapping around him. His chest still held the warmth of the little boy he had rocked.

Drue.

In another life, this could have been his world. He closed his eyes, willing sleep to return to him. Even sitting in a wooden chair, he would take it. Something about this room stilled him.

“Lord Bryant?” Miss Barton’s voice floated above him, and he dragged his eyes back open.

Miss Barton was leaning over him, her eyes wide, peering back and forth between his. “Are you feeling well?” Her hand reached for his forehead but pulled back before touching him.

Without processing what he was doing, he reached for her hand and held it to his face, just above his eyes. Her fingers were soft and warm against his skin. She pressed her palm softly against him and bit her lower lip. “You don’t feel feverish.” With her other hand, she pushed away his hair and pressed her hand against his forehead more firmly. He counted her breaths while she assessed his temperature. How long had it been since someone had checked on him in such a manner?

Not since he was a child.

He wasn’t sick, but if he had been, what would Miss Barton do for him? Would she care for him somehow? Tuck his blankets around him like his mother had?

He placed a hand on her elbow, then slid his fingers down her arm and wrapped them around her hand, pulling her hand away from him. Miss Barton shouldn’t play nursemaid with him. The only person who would care for him if he was actually sick was Nelson, and for some reason, that didn’t quite bring the desired effect. His fingers weren’t so delicate. Nelson’s eyes, although Everton had seen them filled with concern, didn’t make him feel quite so at home and protected.

Which was ridiculous. Everton didn’t need anyone to protect him. Especially not a young slip of a girl. He stood fast enough to leave the chair rocking behind him. He still wasn’t quite awake, and the room tilted oddly. Only when he tightened his grip on Miss Barton’s hand did he realize he hadn’t dropped it yet. She tightened her grip in his and placed her other hand on his shoulder. “Are you certain you are all right?”

He wasn’t. This room, the children, Miss Barton. All of it was bringing back visions of something he could never have. Something deep inside of him, buried since his third month of marriage, burst out of him. He wanted this. He wanted all of it. The children, the laughter, reading silly books. The last time he had wanted these things, nothing had gone right. And as hard as he tried to fix it, he never could. If Miss Barton had any idea what her touch felt like to him, the longing and desire it sparked in him, she would pull away. It was one thing to dally about with a baron like him. Quite another to be serious. The pull he was feeling toward her now was serious and terrifying.