Nightingale by Sharon Ervin Page A

fresh air and pine, Nightingale. I was taking advantage of a quiet moment to breathe you. Surely you don’t begrudge me the pleasure of your scent.”
    She shivered. There was something suggestive in the statement and in his manner. “No, Your Grace, of course not.” The tenor of his voice puzzled her. Was he grieving, suspicious that the damage to his eyes might be permanent? Or frightened, perhaps?
    No, not this marvelous man with his great house, vast expanses of land, family and staff to provide his needs and wants whether he could see or not.
    He exhaled as he leaned back against the pillows, but maintained his grip on her arm. When she attempted to withdraw, his fingers tightened. “Stay.”
    “I am not a pet to answer to one-word commands, Your Grace.”
    He puckered and frown lines deepened at both sides of his mouth as his jaws flexed giving him a defiant look. “You will do as I say for as long as you are in this house.”
    She jerked the captive arm free. “Then I shall not remain in this house, Your Grace.”
    Heaving forward, he flailed at air and almost threw himself out of bed in his effort to retrieve her. She started for the door, and then looked back. She did not like seeing that big, beautiful man floundering.
    Soundlessly, she eased back to position herself within easy reach.
    His flailing hand found her shoulder and clamped it.
    “I thought you had left me.” The arrogance was gone from his voice as he lowered it to a whisper. “Nightingale, you must promise not to leave me. Not in this awful darkness.”
    “Is that a command, Your Grace?”
    The stiffness leached from his back and shoulders as he wilted against the pillows. “A request. Please. Stay within my reach. Allow me the use of your eyes until mine are restored.” His face etched with pain, he spoke softly, making her heart ache. “Promise me, Nightingale, that just as you did not abandon me on the road, you will remain with me until this nightmare has passed.”
    “Your Grace, I would stay gladly had I only myself to consider. However, others depend on me. I have responsibilities.”
    His open eye, the color as blue as the deepest sea on a cloudy day, fixed on her, as if he could see. “I will hire someone to take on your other duties.”
    She gave a mirthless chuckle.
    Obviously hearing the derision, he said, “Where are your charges, my child? What are your responsibilities?”
    “I am the sole provider for my widowed mother.”
    “Are you an only child then?”
    “No. I have an older brother and sister, but they are otherwise obligated. I see to our mother: provide her meals and bathe her, change her clothing and her bed, take care of her personal needs, duties no one else cares to perform.”
    He snorted his disdain. “For the right sum of money, I can hire a dozen to tend your mother’s needs while you remain here.”
    Jessica had never considered hiring anyone else to care for her mother when her own sister and brother refused to share the responsibility.
    “Perhaps, Your Grace, we could hire that same dozen to see after you. The accommodations here are far more compelling than those in my mother’s home.”
    He smiled. “I want you here with me and, because it is my wants I desire to satisfy, I am willing to pay to keep you here. Do we have an agreement?”
    She wanted very much to remain in this grand place with the handsome, doting duke and his mother, yet her conscience gave her little choice. “No, Your Grace, I’m afraid not. Others also depend on me as well.”
    “What others?”
    She was reluctant to say, thinking he might take offense or ridicule her, but he prodded her with his silence.
    “Ten months ago, a fox got into the hen house at Maxwell Manor, where I work in the scullery. Cook ordered the injured hens killed and buried, afraid to serve them at table for fear the fox might have been diseased and infected the birds.”
    “I interceded on their behalf. My work day was over and I volunteered to