Coloring, she glanced about at the others. "Your love of verse. I suppose you made that up, too?"
"No, indeed. But the kind of verse I like isn't fit for ladies."
At a strangled sound from Miss Prescott, he looked over to see her fighting a laugh. "Did you have something to add, Miss Prescott?" he teased.
She blinked at him. "No, Lord Norcourt. Pray continue."
He gestured to Miss Bancroft's book. "I said I loved verse because I deduced from your spectacles and your collection of verse that
you
loved it." He began to pace again. "Remember, ladies, a rogue will seize on any clue to strike up a deeper acquaintance. If you carry a basket of cut flowers and your skin is tanned, he'll profess that he loves gardens more than anything. If your name is McBride and your ribbons are tartan, he'll extol the virtues of Scotland. He'll say whatever he thinks will make you comfortable with him."
A girl's hand shot up, and he nodded to her.
"What if the gentleman really
does
have a blind mother, sir? What if he really does like verse and such. Isn't it rude to assume he's a rogue from the first?"
"Don't assume he's a rogue. Assume he's a stranger. Because until you know him well, that's exactly what he is. A gentleman won't need to press his attentions on you. He'll let a friendship progress naturally. He'll be patient and allow you to learn something of his character by introducing his friends and family before he starts trying to get you off alone with him in a library."
"Mrs. Harris says that if he's a gentleman," Miss Seton put in, "he won't try to get you off alone with him at all."
"Even a true gentleman wants to be alone with the woman he's courting. That doesn't mean you should let him. But he will try."
"Would
you
try?" Miss Seton asked, wide-eyed.
"All men try."
"But— "
"What Lord Norcourt means," Miss Prescott put in, "is that everyone, man or woman, rogue or gentleman, is born with an animal's instinct to mate."
Instinct to
mate
? Casting her a sidelong glance, he smiled. "Leave it to the naturalist to express it so eloquently."
But she wasn't finished. "The difference between people and animals is that people can tame those instincts if they choose."
That depended on how powerful the instinct and how determined the person. He managed to hold his own voracious appetites in check by regularly letting the beast out to play during very controlled encounters. But God save him if he ever took the restraints off fully. He wasn't sure what he'd be capable of.
Of course, she wasn't talking about him. She was talking about the average man. And
that
he could address. "Miss Prescott is correct. A true gentleman will choose to govern his desires. If you refuse to go off alone with him, he'll accept your decision. And if you do happen to find yourself alone with him, you will still be safe, because he lives by the rules that society sets for his behavior."
Hardly aware that he did it, he scowled. "But the
beast
doesn't care about the rules. He'll keep trying to get you alone until he succeeds. Once he succeeds, there will be no controlling him. He will certainly not attempt to control himself. That's why you must learn to distinguish between the beast and the gentleman. Because it's the only sure way to protect yourself from harm."
For some reason, that provoked a flurry of whispers among the girls. At apparent prodding from the others, Miss Seton raised her hand again.
"Yes, Miss Seton?"
She rose, a serious expression on her face. "We were wondering, sir…well…you seem to be very good at acting sincere, and you have a great deal of knowledge about these matters and…" With a glance at her friends, she hesitated.
"Ask your question, Miss Seton. I promise not to bite."
With her friends' titters goading her, she met him with a forthright gaze. "What we'd like to know, sir, is which are
you
? A gentleman? Or a beast masquerading as a gentleman?"
Chapter Six
Dear Cousin,
In all your alarm I notice you don't reveal whether you know his lordship personally. Perhaps I shall ask him about the friends he invites to his parties. It could be a most enlightening discussion.
Your curious relation,
Charlotte
M
adeline had to smother a laugh at Lord Norcourt's flummoxed expression. Only her girls could render a viscount speechless. Taking pity on him, she said, "Since his lordship has been kind enough to instruct you girls in these matters, I don't think we should question— "
"No, no, I want to answer." He stared thoughtfully at the girls. "Mrs. Harris and your teacher asked me to provide this instruction because of my reputation as a rakehell. They've decided I'm a beast masquerading as a gentleman, and they figure no one knows better how a beast behaves than another beast. They may be right."
Leaning his hips against the edge of Madeline's desk, he regarded the girls with an oddly sober expression. "But you will have to decide for yourselves. Despite what I've told you so far, a man's character isn't always easy to determine. Over the days to come, I hope to offer you ways to do so, but in the end your decision on how to regard a man, any man, can only be yours."
What a clever dodge. Still, it wasn't a bad answer under the circumstances. If he came right out and said he was a beast, the girls probably wouldn't believe him anyway. Or worse yet, they'd be fascinated.
They were already fascinated, truth be told. As he described a rogue's sly techniques for touching a woman's hand or arm or even hair without alarming her, he made every female in the room, including her, yearn to receive those touches.
Madeline sighed. Who could blame them? Even dressed in mourning clothes, he managed to look fashionable. Today he wore black buckskin riding breeches with carved ebony buttons. His Hessian boots bore a high sheen, and his merino riding coat and waistcoat of black figured silk were excellently tailored. Even his hair was fashionably tousled, though probably from his ride, not a valet's care.
Unless he was intentionally trying to look unstudied.
Oh, how was a mere schoolteacher to discern such aristocratic whims? Why, the man had just happily illustrated a rogue's ploys. If she had any sense, she wouldn't trust him at all. Yesterday, when he'd admired her interest in natural history and professed to love mathematics, he probably hadn't even meant it. He'd merely been trying to soften her so he could gain her help.
And his kiss…
She swallowed. No one could call that hot, unsettling caress the act of a gentleman. It had kept her up half the night wondering how his lips would feel against her throat and shoulder and breasts.
Lord help her, she must be mad. He was driving her mad. She should heed his lessons and be careful around him until she knew him better. Or more importantly, until he arranged the nitrous oxide party.
Guilt stabbed her. She had no business dreaming about the viscount. He was necessary to her aims, nothing more, and she mustn't forget it.
The clock in the hall chimed the hour, and she started. Look how thoroughly he'd unnerved her— now she was forgetting the time.
Stepping forward, she broke into his recitation. "Thank you for your enlightening information, Lord Norcourt, but we'll have to save the rest for tomorrow." At the predictable protest from the girls, she frowned. "We're already forgoing instruction in natural history for these lessons— we shan't forgo your mathematics instruction, too."
"But couldn't his lordship stay during our lessons?" one of the girls chirped.
"I can't imagine why he'd want to listen to me teach mathematics."
"On the contrary," he put in, eyes gleaming, "I'd enjoy that enormously. And how better to improve my own instructional skills than to observe yours?"
"Oh, yes!" Miss Seton said breathlessly. "After that, he can help with our dance class! He can show us the proper way for a gentleman to hold us."
"Your instructor can do that, too, as you know very well," Madeline chided. "Besides, his lordship has only committed to be here for one hour a day, and probably has other matters to take care of."
"Miss Prescott is correct," he said in a faint Etonian clip that tip-tapped along her heightened nerves. "I've arranged to meet my steward this afternoon at my estate near Chertsey."
Relief coursed through her.
"But that leaves me a few hours free." His gaze bore a decidedly reckless glint. "If you ladies can convince Miss Prescott to dance with me during your lessons, I'll stay until they're over. After all, I'll need a partner for this demonstration, and partnering one of you would hardly be appropriate."
An instant clamor rose from her students, making her suppress a groan. The last thing she needed was to spend an hour twirling in the viscount's arms. But he clearly reveled in her discomfort, and that rubbed her raw.
She refused to let him think his sly tactics would make her waver from her demand for her party. Besides, it would be useful for the girls to see how a woman of sense responded to a rakehell. "Very well, sir. I shall dance with you."
As the girls let up a cheer, he winked at them. Devious devil.
"And if you insist upon staying to observe our class," she added, "you may take a seat." While he headed toward a vacant chair near the back, she cast the girls a stern gaze. "But if you ladies cannot concentrate on your studies because of our visitor, he'll have to leave, understood?"
They nodded and made a great show of settling in— laying out their pencils and paper and straightening in their seats. She drew her notes from her desk, then strode to the blackboard to write the problems they were to work.
Until today, she hadn't noticed how her gown hiked up to show a sliver of stocking when she lifted her arm to write. It was all she could do not to pull at her skirts. She swore she could feel Lord Norcourt's gaze on her as a doe felt the predator surveying her strengths…and her weaknesses.
She told herself she was imagining it, but when she faced the class, there was no mistaking the half smile playing over his lips. Oh, Lord,
had
he been staring at her bottom and ankles? Or had he merely guessed how his presence unsettled her?
Well, if he thought to change her mind about the party by turning her up sweet, he could think again. He would
not
get what he wanted by using his tricks on
her,
no indeed.
Unfortunately, he didn't seem to care that she ignored him as she began to teach. While she gestured and explained and asked questions of her students, his eyes swept her from head to toe in a slow, interested perusal. And to her horror, whatever part he scanned grew heated beneath his impudent glance.
Yet whenever she paused in her lecture to frown at him, he drew his gaze back to her face with the innocent expression of a lad who couldn't imagine what he was being chastised for.
Outrageous rascal. And she'd agreed to dance with him! How was she supposed to endure it without betraying his alarming effect on her?
Drat him, she'd had enough of his antics. He professed to like mathematics, did he? Very well, let him prove it.
She strode to the board and erased the problems they'd finished, then chalked one very long equation. The girls groaned. Every day for the past week, she'd offered it as a mental challenge. So far, they hadn't figured it out.
"I think we should let Lord Norcourt try his hand at it this time, ladies." She addressed them with a smile. "What do you say? Shall we see if he can solve it?"
As they loudly voiced their assent, he cocked his head. "I thought you didn't want me disrupting your class."
"It's no disruption. My pupils have puzzled over it for days— I thought it only fair we give
you
a chance. Of course, if it's too difficult for you— "
"No, indeed." A smile tipped up his fine mouth, and he raked her again with his gaze, as if to say,
Do as you wish, but you can't stop me from looking.
Then he unfolded his lanky form from the short chair and strolled to the front.
But instead of taking another piece of chalk, he reached for hers, deliberately brushing her fingers when he extricated it.
The light touch sent an electric current sweeping over her skin, and she swallowed. She should never have told him that attempts at seduction left her unaffected. For one thing, she'd begun to think it mightn't be entirely true. For another, it had presented him with a challenge that no rakehell worth his salt could ignore. Nor did she dare report him to Mrs. Harris until she got her party.
Fine. She would give him a taste of his own tactics. Let
him
be uncomfortable for a change.
So when he went to the board, she moved to stand where he could see her out of the corner of his eye. Then she proceeded to gaze blatantly at his bottom the same way he'd gazed blatantly at hers.