Page 20 of To Resist a Scandalous Rogue
Charlotte watched in exasperation as her five students blushed, preened, and tittered over the viscount’s comment. When he situated his chair between Polly and Meg, both girls smiled adoringly at him in return.
Apparently, any female between the ages of seven and seventy was susceptible to his charms.
Fanny jumped from her chair with an eagerness Charlotte had never witnessed to pour Finlay a cup of tea. “How do you take your tea, my lord?”
“No cream. No sugar.” He lifted his broad shoulders. “I’m sure some would say my preference is boring, but I don’t like to mask the tea’s taste.”
The girls were quick to echo their agreement, although the vat of sugar and cream had disappeared into their teacups.
Finlay accepted his cup from Fanny and selected a biscuit from the tray. Leaning back in his chair, he surveyed the group assembled. “Mrs. Taylor, would you be so kind and introduce me to your students.”
How could she have forgotten introductions? A grimace contorted her lips. How was she to teach her students deportment when evensheforgot it at the first glimpse of a handsome face?
“Your Lordship,” she began, taking a moment to clear her throat, “may I present to you the Misses Agnes, Meg, Polly, Fanny, and Elspeth. Ladies, this is His Lordship, Viscount Firthwell.”
When the girls made to curtsy to him properly, Finlay held up a staying hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ladies.”
The girls melted back into their chairs, and Charlotte grasped for some control. Regardless of their new guest, she had a lesson to conduct. The girls needed to learn now that a perfect face and pleasing words shouldn’t make them forget themselves. Especially when the perfect face could mask dubious intentions.
She hoped she could get through the lesson without letting her reaction to him slip into her gaze. She needed the reminder of how dangerous Finlay was as much as they did.
…
“What were you discussing when I arrived?” Finlay asked, suddenly feeling awkward.
The room had grown abnormally quiet. The children stared at him with unabashed curiosity, their eyes large. Charlotte, however, studied her teacup, slowly stirring it. Round and round, thetingof her spoon against the porcelain cup creating a pulsing sort of beat. With her lips pinched, Finlay suspected she was unhappy with his company. But why?
“We had only just poured our tea, my lord. Perhaps you’d like to choose a topic for us?”
With a guilty flush threatening to steal across his cheeks, he could admit that perhaps he’d overplayed his hand by coming.
His mind grappled for conversation topics while the ladies at the table waited patiently. He’d sat through his fair share of teatimes, yet his mind was drawing a blank. He wasn’t prepared to direct the topic of conversation, but then, as the highest-ranking peer at the table—as theonlypeer at the table—it was his job to introduce a line of discussion. Bloody brilliant.
He had thought his excuse of seeing Inverray again had been perfection. The upcoming meeting with Earl Matthews should have been first on his mind. Questions regarding party stances on key issues should have occupied his thoughts. Convincing the man to support him, regardless of his father’s past deeds, was paramount.
But all Finlay could think about was Charlotte’s cesious blue eyes.
Though he was so stressed he had trouble sleeping, Finlay had thought of Charlotte. Longed to ask her how she’d spent the last year. Somehow, the memory of her reluctantly given smiles, her exasperated yet diverted eyes, her pillowy pink lips took precedence over the many things he had to accomplish. With a clarity that alarmed him, Finlay remembered her taste. Remembered how she emitted a soft sigh when he pressed his mouth to hers.
That’s why he’d come. He could easily find Inverray at Westminster, but Charlotte had proven to be more elusive. Now that he knew she was a teacher at the home, the bloody one his sister had been encouraging him to visit for the last year, he was determined not let her slip from his grasp…and his arms…again.
ChapterEight
“If you could spend one day doing whatever you’d like, what would you do?”
“Our definition of a perfect day?” Charlotte clarified, her teacup suspended in the air as if his question surprised her into stillness.
“Yes. I want to hear your version of a perfect day.”
Finlay watched in amusement as five—well, make that six—feminine foreheads crinkled in thought.
He especially delighted in watching the stiff curves ofCharlotte’s face ease. He could almost hear her brain formulating a response, even as the wary expression remained on her lovely face.
Giving himself a mental shake, he turned to the brunette by his right elbow. Polly, he believed. “Will you start for us, Miss Polly?”
With her hazel eyes sparkling, obviously relishing the fact he asked her to begin, she squared her shoulders. “Well, I think I’d enjoy a breakfast of Cook’s warm scones with raspberry jam and lots of cream. And bacon.” He bit back a laugh when the sprite’s eyes rolled back into her head. “At least three rashers of bacon. Maybe four.”
“Four rashers of bacon?” The redhead across the table wrinkled her nose. Finlay thought her name might be Elspeth. “You’d cast up your accounts if you tried to eat so much bacon. You’d be hunched over a bedpan all day, I tell you.”
