One Thing Leads to a Lover (Love and Let Spy #2) - Susanna Craig Page 0,63
in the library wash over her with a wave of heat, as if someone had stoked a pile of glowing coals in her belly to roaring flame.
Belatedly, she clapped a hand over her mouth, the flush of her cheeks almost scorching her fingertips. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stanhope,” she began, the words muffled by her palm.
Rather than turn toward her, Langley redoubled his focus on his opponent. With a quick, subtle movement of his blade, too fast for the eye to see, he first countered Jacobs’s thrust, then swept the man’s sword from his hand. The fencing master was still attempting to parry before he realized his weapon had clattered to the floor.
“Well done, sir, well done!” Pip came rushing forward, his foil tucked beneath his arm, to congratulate his tutor. Amanda could not help but share in her son’s admiration.
Jamie, on the other hand, hurried to her. “Wasn’t it thrilling, Mama? Were you worried? Your face is red.”
“Oh, I—you know. Just your dear old Mama’s silliness. I do apologize, Mr. Stanhope,” she said again, for he was striding toward her, or rather toward Jamie, the boy’s foil held out to him, grip first. “I am relieved that my crying out did not cost you your victory.”
Langley swept a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, making it stand on end, and her fingers tingled at the remembered sensation of driving through those silky waves. Not just her fingers—every part of her was too aware of every part of him. His strong arms. The satisfied breathlessness of exertion. The gleam of triumph in his eyes. All of it took her back to last night, in the library—even the color that rose to streak across his cheekbones when he met her gaze, a hint that perhaps he too was remembering.
“It would have been my fault,” Jamie corrected, eyeing his foil as if it were some newfound treasure. “It was I who called out first.”
“A swordsman worthy of the name must be able to maintain his concentration at all times. Is not that right?” Langley asked, turning back to his opponent, who was bending stiffly to retrieve his foil from the floor.
“Indeed,” admitted Jacobs rather sourly. Defeat was almost always a bitter pill to swallow. “The feint is one of a fencer’s most valuable tools.” He withdrew a spotted silk handkerchief from his pocket to polish his foil, then mopped his brow with it instead. “Clever of you to use the opportunity to show them how effective such a maneuver can be.”
“Can you teach me?” demanded Pip with an erratic-looking flourish of his blade, so close she felt the air stir.
Amanda parted her lips to reprimand his carelessness, but Langley reacted first, catching the tip of the foil in the V between his thumb and forefinger. He wore no gloves and it must have stung, but he did not flinch. “I’m certain your fencing master must have trained you better than that,” he said sharply. “And it is for him to determine when you are ready for more advanced techniques.”
Though obviously crestfallen, Philip nodded his understanding. “Sorry, sir.” Langley released the blade.
Amanda had a mother’s heart, soft and easily broken. She gave in too often, she knew. And though it pained her to see Philip’s disappointment, at the same time she marveled at how quickly Langley had managed to earn her sons’ respect. Even they, it seemed, recognized the occasional benefit of a firm hand.
“I see no harm in a little additional practice with your tutor,” Jacobs offered magnanimously. “Having observed Mr. Stanhope’s swordsmanship today, I do not think you will pick up many bad habits from him.”
Both boys pressed forward with eager, pleading faces. “After luncheon, sir?” Jamie asked.
Langley wore his habitual stern expression, but pleasure at the request twitched up the corners of his lips. “Perhaps,” he conceded, “after luncheon. And after I hear your Latin.”
Pip groaned. “I don’t see why we should have to go on learning that old stuff.”
With a philosophical shrug, Langley set a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder and said, “You never know when a phrase or two might come in handy.” And then he lifted his face to Amanda and winked.
No, surely not.
Surely he was not making a teasing reference to last night? Surely what she had imagined to be a wink was simply light glancing off the steel rims of his spectacles?
“I don’t suppose you will join us for luncheon today, Mr. Stanhope?” she ventured, despising the girlish, hopeful note in her voice.