Page 50 of One Thing Leads to a Lover

She started to nod her assent, then clawed back the gesture by twisting her neck in an awkward manner. She had reassured herself with the knowledge that his presence in their lives was only temporary, had seen it in truth as an advantage. By design, theirs could be nothing more than a temporary liaison. Her heart need not be involved.

But her sons’ hearts were another matter.…

She shook her head. “I don’t want you to miss luncheon, Jamie. A growing boy needs food.” That stubborn lock of hair fell over the boy’s eyes, not quite soon enough to hide his frustration at her answer. Langley’s frown deepened. Her heart gave a fearful twinge. “I will tell Mrs. Hepplewythe to hold the meal until you arrive.” A compromise—the best she could offer.

She’d given Langley her body. She could not afford to give him everything.

“All right, Mama.” A rare smile lit Jamie’s face. “I shan’t be long.”

He turned toward the door, while Philip slipped from beneath Langley’s hand to say something to a departing Mr. Jacobs.

For just a moment it was only the two of them again, meeting one another eye to eye, standing closer together than was wise. Awareness zinged through her like the flash of a fencing foil, and when he drew a sudden, sharp breath, she knew he felt its danger too.

“Amanda,” he murmured, so quietly that she saw her name on his lips rather than heard it.

Before either of them could say more, however, Jamie called over his shoulder. “Are you coming, sir?”

Just like that, the Magpie’s bright eye darted to focus on a new object. He shook out his feathers, smoothing them into their usual order, and spoke in the tutor’s clear voice to her elder son.

“Let me fetch my things, and I’ll be right behind you.”

But for just a moment, she had caught another glimpse of the man who lurked behind all those layers of masks. The vulnerable one. The passionate one.

The man she’d met last night.

The man, God help her, she longed to have an excuse to meet again.

* * * *

At least I didn’t kiss her.

Small consolation, given how close together they had been standing, how easy it would be for even two not-so-young boys—to say nothing of the fencing master—to notice the hungry way they’d been eyeing one another.

No consolation at all, given how much Langley had wanted—still wanted—to cup the back of her head in his palm and bring her lips to his to put the seal on his victory.

Instead, he found himself dutifully following the young earl up two flights of stairs to the schoolroom, trying not to imagine the sort of questions a boy of that age might have for him.

He very much doubted they involved either algebra or Latin.

“Well, Lord Kingston?” he asked when he reached the top step and found the boy staring out a window overlooking the front of Bartlett House and the green promise of Grosvenor Square beyond.

Kingston said nothing for a long moment. Langley was just on the point of repeating his question when he noted the inward curve of the lad’s shoulders, a familiar, self-protective hunch. So, instead of speaking, he merely stepped forward to take in the same view, crossed his arms behind his back, and waited.

“Is it awful, sir, that I don’t like to be called ‘Kingston’?” he asked a few moments later, without turning. “I always knew the title would be mine, one day, of course, but…”

“But you didn’t expect to inherit it when you were only—”

“Nine. No, sir. And even after all this time, when people speak to ‘Lord Kingston,’ I find myself hoping my father will answer them.” He shot a sudden glance Langley’s way. “Don’t, please, think I’m mad. It’s only—”

“Only natural, I should say,” Langley reassured him. “And even if it isn’t, you’ll get no judgment from me. Names are a tricky business.”

The boy’s shoulders eased into a more natural posture, as with the exhalation of a long-held breath, relief at hearing words of understanding. “Yes, sir.”

“How do you wish to be addressed? In private, I mean. In public, I’m afraid, I will be bound to observe the usual proprieties.”

A wry sort of smile lifted the boy’s mouth. “That’s all right, then. We never go anywhere.” He turned and extended a hand, as if they were meeting for the first time. “I’m James, sir. Mama and Pip call me Jamie, and you may too, if you’d like.”

Langley wasn’t sure whether the invitation to use a familial nickname was precisely a gesture of trust, not when the lad’s title so obviously pained him. Then again, perhaps it was only Langley’s own occasional twinges of guilt that made him hesitant to claim something he’d not earned.