Page 105 of The Viscount Who Vexed Me

But now that his future had been seated across the table from him at supper, he felt the pressure to be himself, to be who he was. To be like Hattie, when he got right down to it. There was a woman who was unabashedly who she was. There was a woman who sparked his interest and enthusiasm and desire.Desperate desire, as she’d explained to him. She was far superior to any other person he had ever met, and yet, somehow, she was not up to the standards of the duchy. It was absurd.

He brooded all night.

The next morning, he and Rosa tackled the sponge cake once more—they had yet to discern the secret to the moistness. He took two pieces with him to the study—he and Hattie had made a habit of this lately: he brought what he’d baked, and she brought the latest confection from Mrs. O’Malley. They would taste and compare.

But when Hattie arrived that day, she looked a bit gray. And she was not carrying any pastries or sweets.

Mateo felt the change in her and stood at once. “What has happened?”

“What? Nothing has happened!” She brushed the hair from her face. “Except that something did happen. It wasn’t a bad thing. I think it might have been good. That is, for me.” She looked helplessly at him.

“What is the matter?” he asked, coming out from behind the desk. “You look stricken.”

She answered him by thrusting an envelope at him. The post hadn’t come, and it confused him—but when he saw his name in her handwriting, his stomach turned. “What is it?”

“Read it. Please, Teo.”

He didn’t want to touch that envelope. Whatever was in it would upend his world, he could feel it. But he made himself take it. He unfolded the note and read.

Please accept my resignation from the position of scribe. I have accepted employment elsewhere.

Sincerely,

Harriet Woodchurch

So formal. So dry. He looked up. “What is this?”

“Just as I said. I am leaving my position here.”

“No,” he said, the voice coming from somewhere deep inside him. “You can’t. I won’t allow it.” He read the few words again. “Hattie...you can’t.”

“Of course I can,” she said softly.

The world was closing in on Mateo. He was at a loss—he couldn’t let this happen. But how, exactly, did he stop it? He held out his hand to her. “Ven aquí.Come.”

“Where?”

He reached for her hand, taking it. She allowed him to pull her to him, and together, they strode quickly down the corridor, past the woman with the tall hair, through a morning room, then out onto the terrace and into the garden. She didn’t speak, didn’t ask as he urged her to run across the grass to the arch that led to the private garden. Once there, he seated her on the bench and proceeded to pace. So many thoughts raced through his head—in Spanish, in English, jumbling together, incoherent.

Hattie watched him warily, her hands clasped in her lap.

Mateo managed to get a grip on his emotions and thought what he wanted to say.Howto say it. “Forgive my English,” he started.

“Your English is perfect.”

“Not in this. Hattie, I—I never expected...” He paused and put his hands on his hips and looked skyward. He drew a breath to settle himself. “I neverwanted...” No, that wasn’t right, either. “I am...in love with you.Te amo.Do you understand?”

“I asked you never to say that again.”

“Why?” he demanded. “I want to express to you my devotion—”

“Teo! I don’t want to hear it because I loveyou. And it makes it all so unbearable!”

“Qué?That makes no sense. How does two people admitting love make anything unbearable?”

Hattie bowed her head with distress.

Mateo went down on one knee before her and took her hand. “Hattie, listen to me. You are my friend, my...confidente. You accept me as I am. You are the only one with whom I feel free to be exactly who I am. I have come to love you above all others.”