Amanda McCabe Read Online Free Page B

his arm a tiny, nearly imperceptible squeeze before moving away.
    Oh, really
, Rosalind thought wryly. Her school was not a place of assignation for Lord Morley! It was not a
harem.
    She turned away to place her empty cup back on the table. As she did so, she remembered that she had a small gift for Lady Violet in her office, and she should fetch it before the Bronstons left. She excused herself to the parents and teachers around her and left the drawing room.
    Her office was quiet and peaceful after the milling throng of people, the early afternoon light a pale gold where it fell from the high windows. Rosalind fetched the little package from her desk drawer, but then, rather than return immediately to the drawing room, she sat down in her chair. Her earlier headache was still there, lurking behind her eyes, and she rubbed at her temples and closed her eyes.
    She loved the girls who went to school here; she loved teaching. But she was also so glad when theyall left for their holidays, and she had days and nights of perfect quiet all for herself. It was—peaceful.
    Peaceful, except for worrying about Allen.
    She groaned at the reminder of Allen and his debt, and a new pain stabbed above her left eye.
    “Mrs. Chase?” someone said. A
masculine
someone.
    Rosalind pressed hard one more time at her temples, before she dropped her hands and opened her eyes, a polite smile automatically forming on her lips.
    The smile died before it had even truly been born when she saw the man that voice belonged to. Lord Morley stood in the doorway, watching her with a concerned frown.
    “Lord Morley,” she said, lacing her fingers together atop the desk.
    “Mrs. Chase, are you quite all right?” he asked, moving farther into the room. He stopped in the middle of her lavender and cream carpet, and glanced about almost as if he was surprised to find himself there. He totally ignored the mess of dried mud Allen had left behind. “You look pale.”
    Rosalind stared at him, her voice frozen in her throat. He seemed a mirage here in her frilly, feminine sanctuary. He was tall and dark, overpowering the dainty gilded furniture, his deep blue greatcoat spreading like the wings of some bird of prey.
    He
was
handsome, she had to admit, even if he was a blackguard. Worthy of the stares and simpers of Lady Clarke and Lady Stone-Smythe—worthy in a physical sense, anyway. He was tall, slim but not emaciated. Lean, in the way horsemen and swimmers were. His black, curling hair, overlong in the poetical tradition, was brushed back from his forehead and tumbled over the collar of his coat. His nose was a bit crooked, as if it had once been broken, but his jaw was firm, and his eyes—his eyes were dark as a starless night, dark as sin.
    Rosalind almost groaned, and she closed her eyes again. What was wrong with her? She had drunk nospirits today at all, yet she was staring like a wide-eyed, moonstruck schoolgirl. Staring at the man who was leading her brother to perdition! Was there a rule against this? She was too tired to recall for certain, but if there was not there
should
be.
A lady will not stare at the rogue who is intent on ruining the prospects of silly young men.
    She opened her eyes and stared down at her hands.
    She realized she had not said anything for too long when he took another step toward her and said, with mounting alarm in his voice, “Mrs. Chase! Do you feel faint?”
    “I am quite well, thank you, Lord Morley,” she managed to say. She reached up to make certain her cap was firmly in place.
    “Nonsense! You are as white as milk. I will be right back.”
    Rosalind opened her mouth to protest, but Lord Morley had already spun around on his heel and left the room.
    Oh, now where had he gone? Rosalind stood up, bewildered and even a bit frightened. This situation was spinning beyond her control, and she did not even know how it had happened.
    And if there was one thing Rosalind
hated
, it was not being in control of every