“Roguish. Rakish. Scallawaginous. Scoundrelly.”
“I’m certain that some of those words are not words.”
“Now you’re angling for a position as governess?”
“If the boys are learning words like scallawaginous, it might not be the worst idea.”
Mara turned to Lydia. “He is leaving.”
“Mara,” Lydia said. “He’s ideal. He’s a duke, and, I imagine, was trained as a gentleman.”
“He’s a fighter for heaven’s sake. He owns a gaming hell. He’s no kind of tutor for young, impressionable men who must be models of gentlemanliness.”
“I was quite skilled in the gentlemanly arts, once.”
Mara cut him a look. “You, sirrah, could have fooled me.”
The words were out before she could stop them—knowing instantly that she’d reminded him of the night that had caused all this difficulty, that had set them on the path to this moment, where he appeared destined to overtake every aspect of her life.
His gaze darkened. “I might remind you that I was the one who was fooled that evening, Mrs. MacIntrye.” The emphasis on the false name had her pressing her lips together as he addressed Lydia. “I am free for the day and happy to tutor your young charges in any aspect of gentlemanliness required.”
The entire situation was out of control.
She did not want him here. Close. Anywhere near her. The man was plotting her demise. She didn’t want him near her boys or her friend or her life.
She didn’t want him. Full stop.
It did not matter that she’d spent much of the night tossing and turning in her little bed, thinking on the kiss they’d shared. And the way he’d handled the boys, clamoring in and out of his coach yesterday.
It did not matter that when she forgot about their past, she rather liked him in the present. None of it mattered. Not when he held her future and the future of this orphanage in his hands.
“Has it escaped both of your attentions that I am the mistress of this orphanage? And that I have no intention of allowing this man to stay for the day?”
“Nonsense,” Lydia said. “You wouldn’t limit the boys’ access to a duke.”
“Not exactly the most in-demand duke of the ton.” The words were out before she knew they’d formed. Temple stiffened. Lydia’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. And Mara felt like an ass. “I did not mean—”
His gaze found hers, guarded. “Of course not.”
“I know better than any that—”
He did not speak. She turned to Lydia, hoping for help, and the governess simply shook her head, wide-eyed. And guilt spread through Mara, hot and unpleasant. She had to repair the damage. She returned her attention to Temple. “You are schooled in the courtly arts?”
He met her gaze for a long moment before executing a perfect bow, and looking more ducal than Mara had ever seen him. “I am.”
A truce.
“And appropriate conversation with ladies?” Lydia was grateful for the détente, her gaze flickering to the paper in Mara’s hand. “We may need a bit of that.”
“I have had few complaints.”
He was an excellent conversationalist. Mara had no doubt.
Lydia continued. “And sport? I think sport has been neglected from the boys’ education for far too long.”
Mara huffed at that. “The man is built like a Greek god. I think sport is the one thing he can teach them.”
The words rattled around the room, shocking everyone. Lydia’s eyes went wide. Temple went still.
Mara’s mouth dropped open.
She hadn’t said it.
A Greek god?
It was his fault. He’d scrambled her thoughts. And he was interjecting himself into every aspect of her life—every bit for which she’d worked so hard and fought so long. Surely that was what had made her say it.
A Greek god??
She closed her eyes and willed him to lose the power of speech. Immediately and irreversibly. “Obviously, I didn’t mean—”
“Well. Thank you.”
In the entire history of time, had willing ever worked?
She straightened. Soldiered on. “I would not take it as a compliment. The Greek gods were a strange bunch. Always turning into animals and abducting virgins.”
Dear God. Could she not keep her mouth shut?
“It’s not such a terrible fate, that,” he said.
Lydia snickered.
Mara glared at her. “You just asked him to teach the boys to be gentlemen.”
Lydia turned enormous eyes on Temple. “Your Grace, you do realize you cannot speak to the boys in such . . . innuendo.”
“Of course,” he said. “But you do realize that your employer started it.”