When Mara entered her office the following morning, it was to discover that Lydia was a traitor.
Lydia was perched on the edge of a small chair on one side of Mara’s desk, in casual conversation with the Duke of Lamont, as though it was perfectly ordinary for a man of his size and ilk to loiter in an orphanage, and equally ordinary for a governess to keep him company. Lydia was tittering, fairly hanging on every one of his words, when Mara shut the door behind her with a snap.
Temple stood, and Mara ignored the warmth that spread through her. It was December. And bitterly cold, as the coal delivery had not yet arrived. This man was not warming. She redirected her attention to Lydia. “We’re allowing just anyone in these days?”
Lydia had worked alongside Mara for long enough not to be cowed. “The duke indicated that you had an appointment.”
“We don’t.” She rounded her desk and sat. “You may leave, Your Grace. I am quite busy.”
He did not leave. Instead, he returned to his chair and overflowed the delicate piece of furniture. “Perhaps you don’t remember. We agreed that I would return today.”
“We agreed you would return this evening.”
“Miss Baker invited me in.”
“He was outside when I woke,” Lydia explained. “It’s bitterly cold, and I thought he might like tea.”
Temple had clearly addled the other woman’s brain.
“He does not want tea.”
“Tea sounds lovely.” There was perhaps no word stranger on this enormous man’s lips than lovely.
“You don’t drink tea,” Mara pointed out.
“I’m thinking of starting.”
Lydia stood. “I shall ring for it.”
“No need, Miss Baker, I can’t drink it.”
Lydia looked crestfallen. “Why not?”
Mara answered for him. “Because he’s afraid I’ll poison him.”
“Oh,” the other woman said. “Yes, I can imagine that is a worry.” She leaned toward Temple. “I would not poison you, Your Grace.”
He grinned. “I believe you.”
Mara huffed her disapproval, glaring at Lydia. “This is a betrayal.”
Lydia seemed to be enjoying herself entirely too much. “It’s only fair, considering we are putting him to work today.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mara could not help her exclamation. Nor the way she shot to her feet.
Temple stood, as well.
“He’s offered to help with the boys.”
Mara sat. “He cannot.”
Temple sat.
She looked to him. “What are you doing?”
He shrugged. “A gentleman does not sit when a lady stands,” he said, simply.
“So you’re a gentleman now? Yesterday you were a self-professed scoundrel.”
“Perhaps I am turning over a new leaf.” One side of his mouth rose in a small smile. “Like tea.”
A smile that brought attention to his lips.
Those infuriating lips about which she had no intention of thinking.
Dear God. She’d kissed him.
No. She wouldn’t think on it.
She scowled at him. “I highly doubt that.”
He was infuriating. She stood again.
As did he, patient as ever.
She sat, knowing she was being obstinate, but not much caring.
He remained standing.
“Shouldn’t you sit, as a gentleman?” she snapped.
“The standing-sitting rule does not hold true in reverse. I think it might be best if I remain standing while you—frustrate.”
Mara narrowed her gaze on him. “I assure you, Your Grace, if you wait for me to cease frustrating, you may never sit again.”
Lydia’s blue eyes gleamed with unreleased laughter.
Mara glared at her. “If you laugh, I shall set Lavender loose in your bedchamber in the dead of night. You shall awake to pig noises.”
The threat worked. Lydia sobered. “It is simply that the gentleman offered, and it occurs to me that the boys could benefit from a man’s tutelage.”
Mara’s gaze went wide. “You must be joking.”
“Not at all,” Lydia said. “There are things the boys should learn for which we are—not ideal.”
“Nonsense. We are excellent teachers.”
Lydia cleared her throat and passed a small piece of paper across the desk to Mara. “I confiscated this from Daniel’s reader yesterday evening.”
Mara unfolded the paper to discover a line drawing of— “What is . . .” She turned the paper and tilted her head. Temple leaned over the desk, his head now dangerously close to her own—and turned the page once more. At which point everything became clear.
She folded the paper with military efficiency, heat spreading furiously across her face. “He’s a child!”
Lydia inclined her head. “Apparently, boys of eleven are rather curious.”
“Well, it is entirely inappropriate for him to address their curiosity.” She waved a hand in Temple’s direction, refusing to look at him. Unable to look at him. “Not that he isn’t well qualified to serve as an expert, I imagine.”
“I shall take that as a compliment,” he said, far too close to her.
She turned in her chair to look up at him. “It was not meant as one. I was merely pointing out your libidinous ways.”
His brows rose. “Libidinous.”