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He lowered his gaze to the swell of her breasts and an expression of hunger glittered in his eyes.
In short, he was a rake.
What on earth had possessed Tilly to usher him in? Mrs. Huntington couldn’t be aware, for she would have turned him away at the door—or, at the very least, insisted on accompanying him, so that Sophia wasn’t in danger of being compromised.
Again.
His smile widened, exposing large, even teeth, and she stepped back, lifting her hand to her neckline, as if to preserve an innocence she no longer possessed.
“Who are you, sir?” she asked. “What are you doing?”
“Standing in your doorway.”
The arrogance in his tone broke the spell he’d cast on her, and she frowned.
“That’s not what I meant,” she said. “How did you get in here?”
He let out a laugh. “With considerable more ease than I’d anticipated.”
“I would beg you to leave.”
“What, before we have even begun our lesson?”
“Lesson?” Her voice came out in a squeak and he straightened his body and took a step closer, like a panther that sensed its prey’s vulnerability.
He held out his hand. “Permit me to introduce myself.”
“I most certainly will not,” she said. “And you have no right to be here.”
“But I was invited.”
“Do you have any idea how improper it is for you to be here?” Sophia asked.
Of course he did. The wicked glint in his eyes told her that.
“You’re expecting a pupil by the name of FitzRoy, are you not?”
“Miss FitzRoy?”
He shook his head. “I ought to be affronted you’ve mistaken me for a young woman.” He gave her a smart bow, the heels of his boots clicking together.
“Colonel FitzRoy, at your service,” he said. “Though I very much hope to enjoy your services for the next hour, Mrs. Black.” His tongue curled around her name, as if he were relishing a sweetmeat.
Ignoring the little primal pulse of heat at his words, she shook her head.
“You’re mistaken, sir,” she said. “I cannot teach you. My time is precious and I choose to spend it only with those I deem worthy—those in possession of sufficient means, talent, and desire—to further the cause of music.”
“And how do you know I cannot be classified as such—particularly with regards to desire?”
Why did he have to be so maddeningly handsome when he smiled at her like that?
“At least shake hands with me,” he said. “As a businesswoman, you must understand the traditions that must be followed. This is, after all, a business, and not a social, situation we find ourselves in.”
What harm would it do? His hand was before her. Strong, smooth, and ready for the taking. How might it feel to have those fingers curl around her own?
“Only if you promise to leave,” she said.
“Very well,” came the response. Perhaps, at last, he recognized defeat.
