It was everything. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “Won’t you open it? I gather from my contacts that your father has a proud record.”
“Yes.” She placed the packet on her lap, smoothing where she’d crinkled it in her excess of gratitude.
He stood and moved around the desk. “Ah. You’d like a moment’s privacy.”
She did. She had an awful feeling that if the marquess stayed, she’d fling herself into his arms. “I’ll go to my room.”
“No need.” He bowed as though she was his equal and left.
Clumsily Nell opened the package and spilled the contents onto the desk. Official-looking documents listing her father’s deployments. A tangle of glinting medals, proving her mother’s stories of Robert Trim’s heroism. And, most precious of all, a bundle of her mother’s letters. The sight of that elegant, slanting writing made her heart clench with love and grief.
She should wait to read them. She was supposed to be working, and the marquess had been considerate enough to grant her this time alone. But she couldn’t resist opening the top letter. She’d look at one, then pack everything away to examine at leisure.
“Miss Trim!”
Blearily she looked up from the last letter, written after her father’s death but before her mother learned of his fate. Nell had been the first to break the seal. The love and trust in her mother’s words had split her heart. Like the other letters that her father had clearly read and re-read, it was full of daily details of Mearsall life, including fond descriptions of young Nell. It was like having her mother whispering in her ear.
“My lord…” She struggled to rise, clutching the poignant letter. “I’m sorry I’ve taken so long.”
“For God’s sake, there’s no need to apologize,” he said gruffly.
“I should have waited.” She set the letter on the desk with the others, and wiped her eyes. She’d told herself not to cry, and she’d been crying like a drain for the last hour.
“No,” he said.
“I’m ready to work now,” she said faintly, fumbling in her pocket for a handkerchief. “After you did this wonderful thing, I mustn’t inconvenience you.”
“Damn it—” He bit off whatever he’d meant to say and seized her in his arms. “I hate to see you cry.”
“I’ll stop,” she said, eyes overflowing.
“Miss Trim…” His grip tightened and he drew her against his chest. Immediate warmth and security surrounded her.
“I shouldn’t give in to my feelings,” she mumbled into the white front of his shirt.
He settled her more firmly. “Don’t be a goose.”
His rough affection was her undoing and she started to sob in earnest. She’d always recognized the tragedy that her parents had loved each other so deeply and had lost each other too soon. But those brave letters revived her sorrow with the added sharpness that now, as a woman, she knew the pain of loss in a way that her childhood self hadn’t.
She had no idea how long she cried, but eventually the edge of her reaction blunted. She realized that she rested against Leath on the couch near the fire. She sucked in a shuddering breath and sat up, or at least tried to.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered, too embarrassed to look at him.
“Dear Lord, Eleanor, you break my heart,” he growled and drew her close once more.
Hearing him call her Eleanor devastated what little composure she’d gathered. But this time as she wept, he was more than a purely comforting presence. This time, she was aware of his clean masculine smell, the broad, powerful chest beneath her cheek, and the strong arms holding her.
When she realized that her hands ran up and down his back in a way that had little to do with solace, she stiffened and drew away. This time he released her. She slid back to establish some space between them.
He watched her with an unreadable expression before his mouth quirked with characteristic humor. “Should I risk telling you that the War Office is sending his belongings? They should be here within the week.”
Nell wiped her eyes again and gave a choked laugh. “You’d be a brave man to chance that, my lord.” And caught a flash of disappointment at her use of the formal address.
Shock shuddered through her. She’d been so wrong. So very, very wrong. Leath’s desire hadn’t died. He hadn’t forgotten kissing her or asking her to be his mistress.
Thrilled, uncertain, she met the hunger blazing in his eyes.