Startled, Jamie tilted his chin down enough so that he could look into Seton’s face. He opened his mouth to ask how his son had learned that particular skill, but something in the countenance of the lad before him made Jamie pause.
Seton’s eyes were narrowed in concentration, his lower lip caught between his teeth, and his cheeks flushed, making him seem even more youthful than usual, but despite that, it seemed exactly the same face he remembered from two weeks ago—the same intense hazel eyes and straight brows, the same square jaw and pointed chin, the same mop of hair that looked, as always, in need of a trim and some pomade. And yet, with the other man’s face so near to his own, Jamie couldn’t help feeling that something about what he was seeing was different. Or wrong. Or . . . something.
He felt as if he was looking at one of those modern paintings where the artist had deliberately skewed the perspective, making it impossible to discern at close quarters what one was really looking at. He had the sudden desire to retreat a step or two, assume a proper distance as one did in galleries to gain a better view, but he couldn’t, for Seton still had hold of his tie.
Unable to move, he slid his gaze down a notch to the hands at his throat. They were at the edge of his vision, but even on the periphery, they seemed absurdly small. He noted the slender wrists, the faint, delicate trace of the veins, the soft, pale skin.
Seton pulled the loops of the bow taut, knuckles brushing the underside of his jaw, and at the skin-to-skin contact, Jamie felt an unexpected sensation, a rush of heat that caught him low in the groin, a sensation that no valet, no man, had ever evoked in him.
Startled, appalled by his own body, he jerked, sucking in a sharp breath as an insane realization flashed into his mind, and as Seton’s hands fell away, he knew with sudden, awful clarity just what was wrong and what he was really looking at.
“Good God.” He jumped back, staring at the face before him as if he’d never seen it before, the truth hitting him like a splash of freezing water, even as the heat of arousal flamed in his body. “You’re a woman!”
“Well, I can’t help that!” Seton countered crossly. “It’s not like I had a choice.”
It was such a nonsensical reply that Jamie laughed in disbelief. He shut his eyes, rubbing his hands over his face, trying to get his bearings. Maybe this was a dream, he thought desperately, one of those bizarre dreams akin to the vicar’s wife wearing scarlet silk for Sunday service and no one noticing, or bears in ballerina tutus pirouetting through the drawing room while a party was in progress.
But even as his mind tried to persuade him he was dreaming, he very much feared that he wasn’t, for in Seton’s absurd reply and defensive voice, there had been no denial.
Seton a woman? Dressing as a man à la George Sand? It was too ludicrous for words. He’d have known. He’d have seen. For God’s sake, he thought, had it really been so long since he’d had a woman that he couldn’t even recognize them anymore?
He opened his eyes and lowered his gaze to scan the slim frame in men’s clothes that stood before him. He could see no sign of feminine curves, but given that ghastly double-breasted jacket, it was hard to tell. And the figure before him was tall, nearly as tall as he, a rare height for a woman, for he was over six feet.
He lifted his gaze a notch, but that did little to help him, for Seton’s high collar would conceal the lack of an Adam’s apple quite well. Perhaps, Jamie thought, still searching desperately for explanations, his failure to see the woman beneath the clothes was somewhat understandable.
But then, he looked again at Seton’s face—the fine, pale complexion, the delicately molded nose, the lack of a beard—and his attempts to justify his woeful lack of observation crumbled. The femininity of the face before him seemed painfully obvious now, as obvious as the proverbial elephant in the drawing room.
His body had perceived the difference before his brain. With a single touch, his body had recognized that there was a woman in those masculine clothes and had responded accordingly. Jamie could take little solace in that, however, for arousal was still coursing through him, making him hot, embarrassed, and randy as hell.
He had to get clear. He took another step backward, shaking his head, staring into those extraordinary, multicolored eyes, eyes that now seemed so utterly feminine, and he felt like a complete idiot.
“A woman.” He laughed again, this time at himself. “My God.”
“My lord,” Seton began, “I’m sorry. I—”
“Get out,” Jamie ordered. “Get out of my room.”
Seton hesitated a moment, then gave a nod, turned away, and started out of the room. At the door, however, the tutor paused and looked at him over one shoulder. “You can sack me, but—”
“Rest assured, I just did.”
“It won’t change anything. Hire another tutor, hire a nanny, ship your sons to school—do whatever you like, but nothing will change until you give them the affection and attention they need and deserve. You’re their father. Don’t be content to watch them play from your window.”
Her words were like paraffin on flames, coalescing rage, frustration, arousal, and pain into a white-hot fire, but when he spoke, his voice was controlled, calm, and stone-cold. “You will stay away from my sons, pack your things, and leave first thing in the morning. Now, get out.”
Seton departed, and as the door swung shut behind her, his friend Rex’s words of a month ago rang loudly in his ears.
You need a woman, my friend, and badly.
At the time, he’d dismissed that notion, but now, he was forced to appreciate how brutally true his friend’s wicked remark had been.
Seton’s masculine clothes and short hair aside, Jamie knew that if he couldn’t recognize a woman the moment she walked through his door, he’d gone too long without one in his bed. Perhaps, he thought grimly, he should invade a brothel and rectify that situation.
A pity he couldn’t do it now, for he was still fully aroused, a painful reminder of what he’d been missing the past three years. Unfortunately, however, he didn’t have time for brothels and courtesans, not tonight anyway. He moved to undo his trousers, thinking to relieve the unbearable tension the way he always had in the past, but the clock on his mantel began to chime the eight o’clock hour, and he knew that the short walk from here to Grosvenor Square in the cool night air was the only means of relief he had time for.
Swearing like a sailor, he buttoned his trousers back up, grabbed his evening jacket, and followed Seton out the door.
Chapter 10
Of all the things Amanda might have expected to feel should she be discovered, relief had never been among them. But as she went down the servants’ staircase, amid the keen disappointment of losing a job she loved, melancholy at the idea of leaving the twins of whom she’d grown terribly fond, and fear of the grim future that awaited her, there was an undeniable hint of relief.
She felt no surprise at having been found out; indeed, she’d known all along that eventually that would happen. But as she had explained to Mrs. Finch, she’d hoped it would take longer than this, long enough for her second plan to come to fruition.
But the future in America that she’d envisioned, where no one knew what she’d done, where she was no longer an object of scandal and shame, wasn’t going to happen, at least not for a long, long time. Amanda went down to the kitchens, and as she tried to accept that her foreseeable future was to be a parlor maid in her former landlady’s lodging house, her momentary relief evaporated, replaced by a sense of hopelessness.
There was nothing wrong with being a maid, she reminded herself sternly. It was a respectable post in a respectable household, and given her circumstances, she was fortunate to have even been given such an offer. But in taking it, she knew she would be turning her back on the only thing in the world she had ever wanted to do. Other than weekly lessons with Mrs. Finch and Mr. Mackenzie, she would not be able to teach again for a long time. Perhaps never.
Amanda paused at the bottom of
the staircase. At least she wouldn’t have to live on the street, she thought, her hand gripping the round knob of the newel post as she strove to look on the bright side. She ought to be grateful.
Without warning, a tear slid down her cheek, efforts at optimism and gratitude went to the wall, and she sank down onto the stairs with a sob, overwhelmed by despair.
“Mr. Seton? Is that you?”
At the sound of Mrs. Richmond’s voice echoing along the corridor, Amanda jerked upright, brushing away tears with her fingertips. She opened her mouth to answer, but she couldn’t seem to make her mouth form words.
Mrs. Richmond came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron as she emerged into the corridor, and Amanda ducked her head, blinking hard.
“Mr. Seton?” The little cook’s voice held lively surprise at the sight of her. “Whatever are you doing sitting on those hard stairs?”
She hastily invented an excuse. “Shoelace,” she said, bending over one of her oxfords and making a great show of retying the lace, but Mrs. Richmond didn’t seem convinced.
“What’s wrong, lad?” she asked gently.
Amanda took a deep breath and forced herself to look up. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow. I’ve been sacked.”
“You never have! I don’t believe it.”
“Nonetheless, it’s true.”
“He didn’t sack you because you didn’t prove a good enough valet, surely?”
“I’ll go first thing in the morning. My termination was effective immediately, so you shall have to put me in a servant’s room tonight.”
“Of course, but—”
“When Samuel returns tonight, he’ll need to move his things into the nursery and sleep there until a new tutor can be found.”
“But what’s happened, lad? Won’t you tell me?”
“I . . . he . . . ahem . . .” She paused and gave a cough. “It’s complicated. But his lordship was quite justified in his action.” As she spoke, Amanda didn’t bother altering the pitch of her voice to the low, masculine-sounding one she’d been so careful to maintain during the past month. “I deserved to be fired, I assure you.”
Mrs. Richmond noticed the change in her voice at once, but her next words proved she didn’t yet appreciate the truth behind it. “You sound quite strange, Mr. Seton,” she asked, frowning. “Are you ill, is that it? But his lordship would never sack someone for illness—”
“I’m not ill.” Not physically anyway, she added to herself, and she felt a sudden wild desire to laugh, because her mental stability was clearly in doubt. Didn’t one have to be a bit mental to think different clothes and a new job were all that was needed to erase past mistakes? That replacing a skirt with a pair of trousers could transform one into a different person with a different life?
“Then what is this about?” the little cook demanded, frowning, her round, current-bun face scrunched up with bewilderment and concern. “Tell me this instant, Mr. Seton,” she ordered gruffly. “What the bloody hell is going on?”
“It’s difficult to explain.” Amanda looked down at her masculine clothes, thought of her chopped-off hair, and reminded herself that the farce was over. Time for Adam to go and Amanda to return.
She stood up. “It might be easier to explain things if you could find me a maid’s dress,” she suggested. “And perhaps a corset?”
“A maid’s dress and a corset?” Mrs. Richmond stared, her frustration fading back into confusion. “What for? Why on earth does a man require a maid’s kit?”
“Well, that’s just it, you see.” Amanda bit her lip, giving the other woman a look of apology. “I’m not a man.”
During the walk to Grosvenor Square, Jamie was able to bring his wayward body back under his stern regulation, but his mind still reeled with the shock of his discovery.
Seton a woman?
He stalked rapidly through the foggy autumn night, appalled by his discovery and astounded by his blindness. Why hadn’t he seen the truth straightaway? Granted, one didn’t expect a woman to come strolling in bold as brass to apply for a man’s job, especially one who’d gone so far as to chop off her hair, don a man’s suit of clothes, and claim in a convincingly deep voice to actually be a man—or boy, in this case.
One took things at face value far too often, he realized. That was how confidence swindlers plied their trade, convincing poor sods they could talk to dead relations or make a profit of thousands of pounds in a month off a hundred-guinea investment. And he hadn’t been the only one fooled here. All the other members of his household had been equally taken in. But these were cold comforts in the aftermath of his discovery, and he could only deem himself a first-class chump.
He had no time for further contemplations on the matter, for the walk to Weston’s house in Grosvenor Square was a short one, and because of his tardiness, his steps had been hurried. Nonetheless, he was a quarter hour late, and his tardiness set the meal back half an hour. This earned him no small degree of resentment from his host and colleagues, ruined the fish course, and threatened to put the discussions that would come over the port on very shaky ground.
The meal was a long one, however, and by the time all seven courses and several fine wines had been consumed, the mood had lightened, the other gentlemen had forgiven his faux pas, and Jamie had managed to put the Seton debacle out of his mind. Over some of Weston’s fine vintage port, questions regarding the education bill and various other pieces of legislation important to Jamie were put forth, and the discussions regarding them were far less contentious than he had anticipated.
Still, there were strong differences of opinion among the men present, and it took several hours of discussion to hammer things out. By the time he returned to Upper Brook Street, it was nearly midnight.
He had his own key, so there was no need to ring for Samuel to let him in, but he found the footman was still awake when he went upstairs.
“My lord,” Samuel greeted, setting aside the book he was reading and rising to his feet as Jamie entered the nursery.
“Samuel,” he answered, glancing at the darkened doorway that led into the bedrooms beyond the nursery. “Boys get to sleep all right?”
The footman nodded. “It took a while to settle them after they heard that Seton—Miss Seton,” he corrected at once, “is leaving.”
“It had to be, Samuel.”
“I suppose,” the footman acknowledged, looking doubtful. “It seems a right shame, though, my lord, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“So, the boys were excited by the news of Seton’s departure? I’m sure they’ve been crowing ever since they heard, knowing another tutor’s gone the way of Mr. Partridge.”
“But they weren’t,” Samuel denied, much to Jamie’s surprise. “In fact, they seemed quite put out about the whole thing.”
“They didn’t appreciate being tricked either, I daresay.”
“Well, they were amazed they didn’t tumble to her game sooner, but they also admired her for pulling one over on us all.” He paused and shook his head. “I still can’t quite believe it though. Seton a woman? It seems obvious now that I think about it, but it makes me feel a right fool that I didn’t see it for myself.”
Jamie set his jaw, feeling grim. “You’re not alone.”
“Yes, sir, but you’ve at least got an excuse. You’ve hardly seen her. And the boys . . . well . . . you wouldn’t expect them to guess, would you? But Mrs. Richmond and I have seen her every day. We should have known.” He paused again, giving a sigh. “Now you’ll have to start the search for a tutor all over again.”
“He wouldn’t have to,” said a voice from the doorway into the bedrooms, “if he’d let Seton stay.”
Both men turned to find a pajama-clad Colin in the doorway, his twin right behind him. “Really, Papa,” he went on, frowning at Jamie. “We finally find someone we like, and you have to go and ruin it.”
As surprised as he was to hear that his sons liked Seton, he refused to be drawn into an argument about her d
eparture. “Aren’t you two supposed to be asleep?”
“How can we sleep when you two are talking out here? You woke us up.”
“So, Seton’s a girl,” Owen said, pushing his brother into the room and following him through the doorway. “So what? Why does she have to leave just because of that?”
“That’s not why she’s leaving, and you know it. She’s leaving because she lied.”
“It was just a joke, and a jolly good one, too,” Colin said with obvious admiration.
“Better than any we’ve pulled,” Owen added, sounded envious. “Bit nauseating though, that we got tricked by a girl.” Turning to his brother, he added, “We’ll have to up our game.”
Colin nodded agreement, but before Jamie could take issue with that ghastly prospect, the boy turned to him and said, “Samuel says a girl can’t be a tutor. Is that true?”
“Female tutors are called governesses,” Jamie explained. “And they only teach girls.”
“But what’s it matter?” Colin said impatiently. “We don’t care.”
This was certainly a night for surprises. “It doesn’t bother you that Seton’s a woman?”
“Why should it?” Colin countered with a shrug. “We’ve had plenty of nannies, you know.”
“Yes, and you’ve driven every one of them off.”
“Seton’s different. He—she,” the boy amended at once, “knows some smashing things, and she doesn’t giggle. And Oscar likes her.”
“I’m so glad she meets with the cat’s approval,” Jamie said.
Colin missed the sarcasm. “She promised to show us how to walk on water. That’ll never happen now,” he added mournfully.
Jamie blinked. “Walk on water?”
“She said there was a way to make water so you could walk on it, and she promised to show us how.”
Jamie had no time to consider how a biblical miracle might be achieved by the use of science, for Colin went on, “We finally find someone decent to watch us,” he said, frowning at his parent, “and you sack her. Really, Papa, you’re impossible!”
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