One Thing Leads to a Lover (Love and Let Spy #2) - Susanna Craig Page 0,50

came to talk about the boys, as I said.”

“Nothing…else?” The pause was filled by an artful, suggestive twirl of one wrist. Her mother’s flowing sleeve danced over the edge of the table, flirting with disaster in various guises—the butter dish, a knife handle, three neat stacks of carefully sorted correspondence—but always eluding catastrophe. At present, Amanda almost envied her ability to avoid getting into messes.

“Our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the new tutor.” Thank God. Otherwise, Amanda would have had to make George some sort of answer on the spot.

“Ah, yes.” Mama fixed her with a look of disapproval. “The tutor. You might at least have mentioned to me that you were thinking of hiring such a person. I could have—”

“I assure you, he comes well-recommended, ma’am.”

He’s a high-ranking intelligence officer, she was perversely tempted to add, just to see Mama’s reaction. A spy sent to guard me from other spies who are desperate to get their hands on a French cookbook.

In the light of day, it all sounded perfectly ridiculous.

And far less frightening than the cold reality of having to make a devil’s bargain with George.

Perhaps her mother had been right to worry about her.

“I never imagined otherwise, my dear,” her mother said coolly. “Still…” She plucked up an invitation from one of the three piles, peered at it for a moment through her lorgnette, and laid it a different stack. “I should like to meet him.”

Amanda started to suggest that her mother could go up to the schoolroom at any time, knowing it was highly unlikely she would make the effort.

Two thoughts gave her pause. The first was the possibility that her mother might insist on Amanda accompanying her on such a visit. The second was Langley’s imagined reaction to being observed and inspected by his supposed employer.

That mental picture of his disapproving expression, delivered over the top rim of his spectacles, sent the most delicious—and dangerous—quiver through her.

He was here, now, and entirely at her disposal, he had said.

And despite what he’d told her in the garden last night, he wanted to kiss her at least as much as she wanted to be kissed.

She blew out a breath and reached for the little silver bell on the table. “Very well, Mama. I’ll ask him to join us for luncheon.” Luncheon was surely safe. No one disapproved of luncheon.

When Lewis appeared in the doorway, she called for pen and paper. “A note will be less disruptive to lessons,” she reasoned aloud.

It took longer than it ought to have done for her to write out the request, but when she was done, Lewis took the note with a bow and disappeared. Amanda prepared to resume her breakfast in peace.

A few moments later, Lewis returned and held out the folded paper on a tray. She had not expected a reply and did not know what to auger from it. Though she gave Lewis a searching look, his face remained impassive, as any good footman’s should be.

At least as far as her mother was concerned. In the present moment, Amanda would have been glad of a hint.

Cautiously she took up the note and unfolded it. Beneath her carefully worded invitation, a bold masculine hand had scrawled

I never eat luncheon.

Amanda bit her lip to keep a most inappropriate bubble of laughter from escaping.

“What it is, my dear?” Her mother craned her neck slightly and fingered the handle of her lorgnette.

“He begs leave to say that it will not be quite convenient for him to join us at midday today, given the schedule he has already set.”

Amanda picked up her quill, brushed the feather over her lips, smiled to herself. She knew he liked to fancy himself in charge. But perhaps he had forgotten that she was the Countess of Kingston?

She wrote a few words beneath his. “If you would, please, Lewis,” she said, once more extending the folded paper to the footman.

Two could play at this game.

* * * *

For the first hour of the morning, Langley had invited the boys to show him their best work. He’d heard conjugations in three languages, listened to speeches from the great orators, watched them solve equations. Most of what he had observed had only confirmed his first impressions.

Philip was a brash, handsome lad. Impatient, and consequently a little careless. Athletic. He had boasted of his fencing ability and pranced about the schoolroom waving an imagined sword to demonstrate. At a place like Harrow, he would be chosen by his peers to lead