Once they were both seated, Samuel served them a clear soup and poured white wine. “Will there be anything else, my lord?” he asked. “Or shall I prepare to serve the fish?”
“Nothing else, Samuel, thank you,” he replied, but as the footman started for the door, Amanda gave a cough.
“Samuel?”
The footman turned at the door to look at her. “Sir?”
“If you could check on the boys a few times while we dine, I would be grateful. I don’t trust them on their own.”
Samuel gave her a look of understanding. “Of course, Mr. Seton.”
With a bow, the footman departed, and remembering her plan to keep the conversation away from herself as much as possible, Amanda turned to Lord Kenyon and spoke before he could.
“Speaking of the boys,” she said as she picked up her soup spoon, “I’m sure you want to know how close they are to being ready for Harrow.”
“I wasn’t planning to ship them off next week, obviously,” he replied as he picked up his own spoon. “But, yes, I would like to know where they stand.”
“It’s early days yet for a full assessment. But,” she added hastily, “I can present you with the curriculum I’d like to implement, and you can tell me what you think of it?”
“By all means.”
She gave an outline of her lesson plan for the twins, and she successfully managed to keep the conversation on the boys throughout the soup course and the fillet of sole that followed it.
“You are placing a great deal of emphasis on math and the sciences,” Lord Kenyon said as Samuel cleared away the fish plates and replaced the wineglasses with fresh ones. “Particularly chemistry, I assume, from what I saw this afternoon?”
“This afternoon wasn’t really a lesson. My main purpose with the volcano was merely to gain their interest. Until I do that, and establish my authority, of course, any lessons will have limited value.”
“With the former, I’ve seen how you intend to accomplish your goal. But what of the latter?”
“It’s a matter of consistency more than anything. Rules and the consequences of breaking them, establishing a routine . . . these things are vital to order and discipline, which are vital to learning.”
To her surprise, he sighed. “Shades of Mr. Partridge.”
Amanda frowned, uncomprehending. “Sorry. Who?”
“Never mind.” He shook his head. “It’s just that I’d hate the boys to be bored by too much regimentation.”
“What do you take me for?” She sat up straighter, pretending to be affronted. “I’ll have you know, I am not a boring teacher.”
“Well, no,” he agreed dryly. “I’m sure they find tricking you all the time vastly entertaining.”
She grimaced, thinking his words a reproof, but as Samuel came to the earl’s side with a dish of beef fillets, the footman’s conspiratorial wink over his head bolstered her spirits.
“I suppose,” Lord Kenyon said as Samuel moved to serve Amanda, “you’ll get the hang of their tricks eventually.”
“My idea is to stop their tricks altogether,” she replied.
He looked doubtful, but didn’t say so. “I’m heartened that you aren’t ready to wave the white flag just yet, Seton,” he murmured.
“After one day?”
“You wouldn’t be the first,” Samuel muttered, earning himself a pointed look from the earl. Abashed, he withdrew and fetched the sauce for the beef.
“I must say, I was surprised by what I saw in the garden,” Lord Kenyon commented. “I didn’t expect you to be launching straightaway into a subject like chemistry.”
“You think it beyond their abilities?”
“On the contrary, I expect they’ll take to it like ducks to water. It’s what they’ll do with the knowledge that worries me.”
Amanda smiled. “I’ll be there to ensure they don’t make their own itching powder or light up any firecrackers.”
His answering look was wry. “You can’t blame me for being concerned, considering I lost a valet due to the former, and they almost set the whole bloody house on fire due to the latter.”
This was her chance. “You realize why they do things like that?” she asked. “Why they cause trouble and play pranks on the servants?”
If there was any trace of amusement in his face, it vanished. “Of course,” he answered stiffly. “They want attention.”
“Not just anyone’s,” she corrected. “Yours.”
“Yes, I quite realize that,” he said, his voice cool. “When I’m in town, I give them a bit of my time each day.”
He clearly thought that an adequate dispensation of his father duties, but Colin’s face earlier told a different tale. “It’s not enough,” she said. “They are two lonely little boys, and they need their father. They’ve already lost their mother—”
She broke off at the sight of his icy green eyes staring her down, and she knew she’d gone too far.
“You have been in my home just over twenty-four hours, Mr. Seton,” he said. “By your own admission, that is too early for you to assess the twins’ academic knowledge. Don’t you think it’s also a bit too early for you to determine their emotional needs?”
Some needs are plain enough, she wanted to retort, but as much as she wanted to offer a strong lecture about the quality of his parenting, she knew if she gave it, she’d probably get fired. Perhaps once she’d proven herself and gotten the twins under control, her opinions would have value, but until then, she had to tread carefully.
“You asked for this meal to hear my assessment of the boys,” she said quietly. “Neither they, nor you, would be served by one that is less than honest. It may have been impertinent of me to speak as I just did, perhaps, but tact is not in my nature.”
“So I’m discovering,” he agreed, his voice dry.
At that moment, Samuel reentered the room, sparing Amanda any further reprimands, but she couldn’t say that was much of an improvement, for as the footman moved around the table, placing spears of asparagus on their plates, the silence between her employer and herself seemed stifling. When the footman departed again, Amanda watched him go with a hint of envy, wishing she could escape as well.
“Still,” Lord Kenyon went on, forcing her attention back to the conversation at hand, “I cannot deny the truth about my sons, however bluntly it is conveyed. Once the Commons is back in session, I will try to arrange my schedule so that I can give them more of my attention.” He reached for his glass and lifted it, meeting her eyes over the rim. “Truce?”
This concession was so unexpected, it took Amanda a moment before she was able to set down her knife and fork and reach for her own glass. “Truce,” she agreed.
They each took a sip of wine, but as they resumed their meal, she appreciated that one concession on his part did not mean she could let down her guard, and she opened her mouth to launch a new subject, but he spoke before she had the chance.
“Watching your experiment with the boys this afternoon gave me some insight into your methods. A bicarbonate and vinegar volcano for a chemistry lesson, a little physics along with the kite flying—all meant to gain and keep their interest. It’s an unusual way of teaching.”
“You prefer something more orthodox?”
“On the contrary, I’m glad that you intend to keep their lessons interesting. And besides . . .” He paused, staring down at his plate for a moment. “My wife would have approved of your lesson today,” he said at last. “Education was very important to Pat, and she was especially keen on chemistry.”
“That’s an uncommon thing for a woman.”
“Yes.” With an abrupt move, he began slicing his beef. “She wanted to be a doctor, but of course, that wasn’t possible.”
“There are women doctors,” Amanda couldn’t resist pointing out.
“I doubt any of them are the sisters of dukes.”
“She could have been the first.”
“She wanted to be, but her father did not approve
, and he refused to stand the fees. That was before we met, but I know it was a great disappointment to her, always.”
“How would you have felt about that?” Amanda asked, curious. “Would you have married her had she been a doctor?”
He shrugged, set down his utensils, and leaned back with his wine. “I’d have married Pat—doctor, or debutante, or Gaiety Girl—it wouldn’t have mattered to me what she was.”
“Yes, but in general terms,” Amanda persisted, “would you have married a doctor?”
“If not for Pat, I’d never have married at all.”
Silence fell between them again, and Amanda searched for another subject. It wasn’t easy. They’d rather exhausted the topic of the boys, and she found him unbearably difficult to talk to about anything else. “Making your home with your in-laws is a bit unusual, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
Desperate, she tried again. “Don’t your own relations have a house in town?”
His face did not change, not a muscle moved. His countenance seemed frozen, and it was a moment before he spoke. “My father,” he said slowly, “lives in Albermarle Street.”
“That’s quite near Westminster. Given that you’re in the Commons, wouldn’t living there be more convenient than here?”
“Only in some ways.” Unexpectedly, he smiled, and Amanda sucked in a sharp breath, for she’d never seen a smile like that—brilliant, dazzling, and devoid of any shred of feeling.
God in heaven, she thought, the man’s a glacier.
Swallowing hard, she tried again. “And you have no desire for your own household?”
“The duke has a large family, and I prefer that the boys have family around them.”
“But not your own family?”
The smile vanished. “The Cavanaughs,” he said, his voice hard, “are my family.”
Samuel reentered the room at that moment, and Amanda looked away, heartily relieved by the interruption. This dinner was beginning to give her frostbite, and as the footman began to clear the plates, she had no choice but to resume the only topic she could seem to discuss with him.
“As I told you, it’s early days, but perhaps I ought to give you my initial impression of where I think the boys stand at present. If you’d like to hear it?”
He seemed to relax, and Amanda had the curious feeling a danger had passed. “Of course.”
Deciding the remainder of the evening would go much better if she could somehow manage to lighten the mood, she said, “For one thing, your sons have a sincere appreciation for the animal kingdom. Slugs,” she added, “seem to be of particular interest to them at present.”
She was rewarded with a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Yes, I believe I heard something about that. Perhaps outings to collect insects should be on your agenda?”
“Only if I can keep the specimens under lock and key,” she quipped.
His smile widened a fraction, giving her a hint of hope the glacier could be thawed. “A wise precaution. Are there any other subjects for which they seem to have an aptitude?”
“Oh, yes,” she said at once. “Engineering. Specifically buckets, and how best to make them tip over.”
A choked sound from by the sideboard had them both glancing at Samuel, but the footman merely pressed a fist to his mouth and gave a cough. Mumbling something about dessert and port, he departed the dining room.
Though it was clear Lord Kenyon knew about the slugs, he seemed unaware of the twins’ other little prank, for he gave her a dubious look. “Dare I ask what my sons have been doing with buckets?”
“It’s probably better if you don’t. Suffice it to say, I’m adding lessons in engineering to their curriculum. I must say, I was quite impressed by their knowledge of military history. They seem to know a great deal about the Battle of Waterloo, for example.”
“That’s Samuel’s influence. He’s mad about history.”
“And do I have Samuel to thank for their knowledge of Cowboys and Indians?”
“No. I fear I’m the one responsible for that. But in teaching them that game, I never thought—” He broke off, making a smothered sound, and then, suddenly, he began to laugh. “It never occurred to me they’d play that game quite the way they did today.”
His laughter deepened, seeming to fill the room, and Amanda could only stare. She’d never heard him laugh before, and the change it wrought to his countenance was stunning. The glint of humor in his eyes warmed their pale green depths. His smile, unlike the earlier one he’d given her, was wide and genuine, softening the hard planes of his face and the carved edges of his mouth instead of freezing them in place.
Amanda watched in amazement as the hard shell of her employer shattered into pieces and revealed a man of flesh and blood, a man capable of humor and perhaps other, deeper passions, a man who seemed no longer coldly handsome, but devastatingly attractive.
The transformation was so earth-shattering that Amanda could not move or speak; she could only stare, and as she did, her body instinctively responded. Beneath her masculine evening suit, tingles danced along her spine. Under her high gentleman’s collar and silk bow tie, her throat went dry. Within manly oxford shoes, her toes curled. Every nerve within her pulsed with a new, fully feminine awareness.
She’d thought she couldn’t feel this sort of thing anymore. She thought desire was dead in her, killed by the heartbreak, betrayal, and shame that had followed in its wake. But now, looking at the man across from her, she realized all the gloriously feminine yearnings that had once destroyed her life were still within her, waiting to be reawakened.
Think like a man.
Amanda swallowed hard, striving to remember that vow and the role her new life required, but as she looked at Lord Kenyon across the table, her entire body awash in sensations she hadn’t felt for over two years, it seemed impossible and absurd. How could she possibly think like a man when everything in her was remembering how it felt to be a woman?
Oh God, Amanda thought, sick with dismay, what the hell am I going to do now?
Chapter 8
Riveted by her discovery, dismayed by her body’s traitorous reactions, Amanda couldn’t seem to move, or think. She could only feel as arousal awakened within her for the first time in years, opening within her like a flower unfolding its petals.
She’d tried so hard to forget all this—the sweet, piercing pleasure that could come from something as simple as an attractive man’s laugh or the sight of his smile. The warmth pooling in her belly and spreading to every cell and nerve ending, the exhilarating pump of her blood through her veins, the intoxicating glory of romance—how could she ever have thought to forget all this?
No, she shouted silently, her mind appalled by her body’s sudden treachery. No, no, no.
Lord Kenyon seemed to sense the change in her, for his laughter faded away, and a slight frown of puzzlement creased his brow. “Mr. Seton? Is something wrong?”
The masculine address penetrated her dazed senses, and Amanda forced herself to say something.
“No.” The word that had been pounding through her brain moments ago came out of her mouth as a strangled sound, woefully unconvincing. “No,” she said again, more emphatically, remembering too late that she’d never had a great talent for concealing her emotions. With him watching her, however, she knew she’d better learn that trick, and learn it fast.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she lied, working to don the mask of cool indifference he seemed able to put on so effortlessly. “It’s just . . . it’s only . . .” She paused, trying to suppress the feelings rushing through her. “That’s just the first time I’ve heard you laugh.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized they sounded nothing like what a man would say.
Think like a man.
She took a deep breath and tried again. “You’re not what I would describe as a merry sort of chap, so hearing you laugh was rather a surprise.”
“Yes, well . . .” He paused, a fa
int smile still curving the corners of his lips. “It’s not often a man sees his children’s tutor trussed up like a chicken.”
“You don’t seem to find the fact that your sons tied me to a desk and left me there particularly distressing,” she said, trying to sound severe, but she feared she merely sounded out of breath. “I begin to see just why you’ve been through so many nannies.”
“Forgive me,” he said, not seeming the least bit repentant. “But in hindsight, it seems so absurd, you tied up, the bellpull cut, the scissors on the floor. Who wouldn’t laugh?”
Amanda latched onto the subject of the boys’ trickery like a lifeline. “I was a mug. I can’t deny it,” she said, making a face at him. “I’m surprised you didn’t sack me on the spot for being so gullible.”
“You wouldn’t be the first person my sons have taken in.”
“Perhaps, but I was sure I’d be able to see through any of their tricks. Their nannies, I thought, may have fallen by the wayside left and right, but I would be different. Arrogant of me, I suppose.”
“Well, you were a bit overconfident, perhaps.” He paused to consider, leaning back with his wine, still smiling. “No doubt you thought that, being a man, you’d have better luck with them than their nannies had.”
“Quite,” she agreed at once, with perhaps too much fervor. “Absolutely.”
Feeling in need of a drink, she reached for her wine, but then paused, struck by a thought. “Is that why you didn’t hire me straight away? You thought I was too cocky?”
“Partly. I thought you were far too young to be so confident of your abilities. It had to be a pose. And—” He broke off, frowning a little. “I thought you far too impertinent for a lad your age. It flicked me on the raw.”
She studied him thoughtfully for a moment. “You don’t like it when people speak their minds, do you?”
“I’m not used to it—at least, not now that I’m in politics. No man in politics can afford to say what he really thinks about anything, or he’d never be elected. But you would be wrong to think I don’t value honesty. I do value it.” He paused, looking at her steadily. “Very much.”
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