One Thing Leads to a Lover (Love and Let Spy #2) - Susanna Craig Page 0,49
meant.”
“I did indeed,” Langley said, standing abruptly. It wouldn’t do to wink at their antics, despite the rusty laugh building in his chest. “You meant to try to put me in my place, young man. But my place, whether or not you approve, is here.” He tapped the scarred wooden table with a fingertip, firmly enough that Philip flinched. “Now, finish your breakfast, wash up, and be ready for lessons to begin in a quarter of an hour.”
With a stern look for each of them, Langley turned and strode back to his little chamber to do battle with his beard over the icy water in the washbasin.
What—in—the—hell—are—you—doing?
The question pounded through his head with the rhythmic fwip-fwop of the stropping of his razor.
He’d played a hundred different parts in his time as an intelligence officer. Why should the role of tutor to two spoiled, smart-mouthed boys be particularly difficult? Time to conjure the memory of every sharp-eyed, sour-faced teacher he’d ever had.
When he went to practice a suitable expression, however, he discovered the looking glass had been hung either for or by a person of considerably shorter stature. Try as he might, he could catch a glimpse of no part of him higher than the scattering of dark hair across his chest.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Stanhope, sir. I’ve brought some hot water and come to fetch down the—oh!”
The voice, he discovered when he turned, belonged to Mary, the maid from yesterday, who had paused in her explanation of her task to ogle his bare torso.
Christ, it was as bad as having Fanny Drummond about. Well, a bit better than that, perhaps. Fanny’s glances never hinted that she liked what she saw.
Though to be fair, the maid was doing more than hinting.
“Thank you, Mary,” he said, gradually drawing her notice back to his face. “That will be all.”
“If you’re sure, sir.” She set the canister of steaming water on the floor, curtsied without lowering her eyes, and backed from the room, feeling behind her with one hand to avoid hitting the door with her backside. Before she disappeared entirely, she favored him with a saucy wink.
Langley wasn’t a vain man, though he knew women generally found his looks appealing. Certainly, he’d used that knowledge to his advantage over the years, both on duty and off. But catching the notice of a flirtatious maid and earning the respect of two young boys were vastly different things.
Then again…what he really wanted to inspire was their confidence, not their fear. In order to keep them safe, he needed them—and their mother—to trust him.
Perhaps a smile would go further than a scowl.
With the dull side of his razor blade braced against his thumb, he pried loose the two nails holding the looking glass in place, catching it easily on the palm of his other hand before it tumbled into the washbasin. Then, perching on the edge of the bed, he peered into the little rectangle.
Bloody hell.
Philip had not been far off. With that scruff and those dark shadows beneath his eyes, he looked more like a highwayman than a tutor.
Experimentally, he curved up the corners of his mouth. His lips stretched over an unfortunately lupine set of teeth. As if of its own volition, one brow bent in a skeptical arch.
Perhaps the Magpie had at last reached the limits of his gift for mimicry.
* * * *
“I must say, Amanda, when you asked me to join you in the morning room for breakfast, I did expect you might make some little effort at conversation.” Mama’s spoon rang against the edges of her cup, then clattered onto the saucer.
Amanda winced. How was it possible for her head to ache worse this morning than it had yesterday? Still, Mama was right. She had issued the invitation. Remembering Langley’s words of last night, she had hoped to concoct some excuse to keep her mother from going out today. She had also dreaded the thought of eating alone. “What would you like to talk about, ma’am?”
Mama leaned forward. In her loose-fitting morning gown of rose pink, and with her fair hair softly arranged, she looked youthful and lovely, despite the unforgiving brightness of the window-filled room and the relative earliness of the hour. “You still have not told me what you and Lord Dulsworthy discussed yesterday morning.”
Amanda’s mind had been so filled by the conversation of last night, she had almost forgotten George’s proposal.
She took a sip of coffee and grimaced when she discovered she had forgotten the sugar. “He