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Honoria blinked. “I can’t?” She couldn’t remember a single time in the past three years when he’d looked into her eyes for such a long moment.

“No. Absolutely not.” He stepped toward her. “Is it the wage? Because I can raise it, just say the word.”

“It’s not about money,” she said softly, craning her neck back to hold his gaze.

“Is it the workload, then? I’ll hire more help. How many people do you need?”

She stared at him, stunned by his reaction. His hair wet and tousled, his eyes burning with intensity, the water rendering his shirt at his shoulders semi-transparent, he looked… almost feverish. Wild.

“Then what is it?” he asked. “Why the sudden urge to leave?”

“I… um…” She was the first to break eye contact. Somehow, she hadn’t thought he’d fight her on this. She’d expected quiet indifference, perhaps a nod, a polite thank you for her service. Not this… frantic urgency. Not him, standing there with water drying on his skin, looking at her like she was about to set fire to something precious.

“I have a family member,” she lied, her voice too high as she took a step back, “to look after. M-my grandmother, yes. She’s gotten quite ill.”

“Then bring her here,” he insisted. Honoria looked away, but his hand shot out and caught her sleeve, the heat of his fingers scorching her through her dress. “You can still look after her here. I will pay for the best doctors and nurses to check on her—”

“She’s very old,” Honoria rushed, pulse skittering in her throat. “Too old to move. And she’s… in France.”

There was a pause. He didn’t let go, but looked away, brows pulling tight in thought. “What kind of ailment does she have?”

Unable to come up with a lie, Honoria grimaced. “I don’t know.”

A heartbeat passed between them. His fingers still held her sleeve, and she could feel the tremor in his grip.

He stepped closer—close enough that the heat from his skin cut through the chill in the tiled room, close enough that she felt the breath he exhaled when he spoke.

“Well, if she gets better,” he said, his voice rougher now, “when she gets better… you will return. Yes?”

Honoria couldn’t speak. Her throat had closed, sealed tight by what felt like a boulder with jagged edges.

“Elise has her season next year,” he continued, the words tumbling out now. “She’ll need your help. Robbie—he listens to you in ways he won’t listen to anyone else. And Rosie…” His voice broke, and Honoria squeezed her eyes shut. What was going on?

She was already on the verge of tears whenever she thought of leaving the children behind. She couldn’t even imagine not seeing them and Lord Caldwell every day. But now, hearing that crack in his voice, seeing the desperation in his eyes, she wondered how she had not crumpled on the floor at his feet.

“Please,” she interrupted in a whisper. “It is difficult enough for me as it is.”

Her words worked like magic—as if breaking the spell and finally making him realize what he’d been doing. He abruptly let go of her sleeve, then swallowed and stepped away, confusion clouding his eyes. “I realize that. I apologize for my actions there—I…” He paused, a frown darkening his features. “Have you told the children yet?”

Honoria didn’t know how he composed himself so quickly; she was unable to do the same. So she just shook her head.

“Do you want me to tell them?”

That made Honoria meet his gaze again. “Please, no. Let me do it in my own time.”

They stood for one long moment, in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Then he finally looked around the room and wiped at his forearms with the towel Honoria had brought him. “I need to clean myself up, excuse me.”

He walked away, leaving Honoria cold and alone in the tiled room.

What had just happened?

* * *

What the devil just happened? Caldwell wondered as he closed the door behind him, locking himself in his dressing room. He peeled his wet shirt off his shoulders and pulled it over his head. What was that overwhelming reaction to his housekeeper’s words?

It was his inability to process change, surely. He loved order and routine. It was similar to a time when the children had just arrived at his house, ruining his perfectly ordered life. Yes, that was it. It was not because he was going to lose Hart in a month. It was his carefully constructed routine that was tumbling down, thus the severe reaction.

He fell into his armchair, feeling completely exhausted. Then what was that persistent ache in the region of his heart?