Most Improper Miss Sophie Valentine Page 8

  He walked over and tried to extract the broom from her grasp. “I think we might dispense with this,” he said.

  “Oh…but…”

  He smiled and leapt onto one of the desks.

  “Do be careful, Mr. Kane.”

  He looked around at the children, one finger pressed to his lips. At once they all nodded and then fell silent and watched in awe. Sophie crossed her arms, slightly miffed.

  The bird fluttered back and forth, singing happily. He whistled back at it.

  She scowled. What was he doing? Of course, he had the recklessness of youth on his side. She had not asked his age. It would surely be improper to ask such a personal question. It would also probably give him encouragement to tease her. But he was young. As she saw him today, surrounded by the schoolchildren, and the way he’d formed an immediate alliance with them, his youth was more evident than ever before.

  She was holding her shoulders stiffly, and they began to ache. She would not relax. She was too determined to disapprove the brazen young fool’s antics. He was no better than the troublesome Finchly boys, and not far advanced in years, it seemed.

  He stepped across to another desk to move closer to the bird. It swooped, and he ducked.

  Again she warned him, this time with a slight edge to her tone. “Do be careful, young man. An ounce of caution is worth a pound of cure.” He glanced down at her, and she quickly added, “I wouldn’t want you breaking anything. In my schoolhouse.”

  The bird came back again, crisscrossing the room, almost as if it were taunting him. Lazarus whistled softly. He raised one hand. As the errant bird circled his head, Molly Robbins shuffled close to Sophie, hugging her legs and hiding her face in her teacher’s skirt.

  Lazarus moved suddenly. The schoolroom held its breath. All was still.

  Stunned, Sophie watched as he climbed down from the desk, his large hands cupped gently around the bird. He grinned at her with supreme arrogance and then carried his prize to the window. The children followed him as if he were the Pied Piper. There he lifted his arms and released the bird into a cornflower-blue sky, much to the cheering delight of his little followers.

  Sophie’s heart finally found a more even pace, although it was still not, by any means, calm or slow. He was watching her, waiting no doubt for her astonished praise and dutiful swooning. She’d turned him down once, yet he still bothered to smile and flaunt himself before her. The secret ache grew inside, but those heated yearnings must be suppressed. It would do neither of them any good. She was not the woman he needed, and he was, most certainly, all wrong for her—too young, brash, and forward. What she needed was someone quiet, placid, and respectable, not a man bent on turning the world upside down. Certainly not a man capable of reading her filthy, shameful thoughts. A woman had to have some secrets.

  When nothing came out of her mouth, he prompted her. “It was a good thing I came to your rescue again, Miss Valentine. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  As she briskly set the room back to order, she finally allowed a small nod. “Thank you, Mr. Kane. I’m sure we’re all very grateful. Are we not, children? Now back to the lesson, please.”

  While the children complained and slouched back to their benches, Lazarus slowly crossed the room to where she stood. He had a very powerful frame, an overwhelming presence when he was near.

  “Miss Valentine?”

  He was standing too close. Did he have no sense of propriety? Every pore on her body felt his heat; every lock of hair sprang to life, tempted to curl itself.

  “I was not passing by chance today,” he said. “There is a matter I wanted to discuss with you.”

  She clasped a slate to her chest and looked away. “I’m presently occupied, as you see.”

  “It won’t take long. May we talk privately?”

  “Privately? I’m afraid that wouldn’t be proper.” She lowered her voice. “Have I not told you that before?”

  “Outside. Just two minutes”—his voice grew husky—“of your time.”

  Finally, and most reluctantly, she agreed. She left instruction for Matthias to continue reading the passage aloud, and led the way outside into the sun. Her hands were shaking, so she gripped them tightly around the slate in her arms, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

  “What do you want, Mr. Kane?”

  “I’m in need of your talents, Miss Valentine.”

  “My talents?”

  “I need a tutor. A private tutor.”

  “For what purpose?”

  He looked around sheepishly, hands behind his back, and then leaned down toward her. “I cannot read or write, Miss Valentine. Well…I can a little. A very little. It pains me to admit it. I should like to master the skill for something beyond the marking of my own name.”

  Her fingers tapped against the slate. “I don’t give private lessons.” She turned hastily to go back inside. He blocked her way, his shoulder propped against the door frame.

  “But you owe me, Miss Valentine.”

  She swallowed. “I owe you for what exactly?”

  “Must I remind you? I came here thinking I’d found a wife, but now I’m obliged to begin my hunt all over again because you refused me so callously. Am I not entitled to some kindness, some compensation, considering the disappointment?”

  So he was trying to make her feel guilty. As if she didn’t already.

  “You owe me a bride, Miss Valentine. The least you could do is help me get one by softening my rough edges.”

  She looked up at him, wondering why he thought he needed her help. He had no shortage of wily charm and a certain persuasive quality. She might be in danger herself, if she were ten years younger and a great deal stupider. “Believe me, Mr. Kane, I’m very sorry I ever posted that advertisement. I don’t know why I did it.”

  “Don’t you? I do.”

  She clamped her lips tightly.

  “Because you wanted me to come and find you,” he said calmly.

  His sheer arrogance goaded her temper enough to reply, “And what would I want you for, pray tell?”

  He treated her to a slow, arch grin. “Shall I show you here and now?”

  Alarmed, she stepped back.

  “You may pretend to the whole world, Miss Valentine, but you can’t lie to me. You need me.”

  She clung desperately to a few shreds of practical thought. “Mr. Kane, if you cannot read, how did you find my advertisement?”

  “The landlady at the Red Lion in Morecroft read it out one morning at breakfast.” He was looking at her hands around the slate. “It caused some amusement among her guests.”

  “Of which you were one.”

  “A guest, yes, but I was not amused. I was intrigued. Then I found you climbing out of that tree, and my curiosity increased.”

  She took a quick, tight breath. “A gentleman wouldn’t take advantage of a lady and bribe her for a kiss.”

  “You made it necessary to kiss you. I was undone.” The overgrown boy grinned down at her. “Vixen.”

  To her utter despair, Sophie felt a chuckle tickling her throat. Despite the ridiculousness of his statement, it was impossible to keep a straight face. She looked away, anxiously checking the lane at the end of the horse path that ran along the side of her schoolhouse, not wanting anyone to see them standing together. At least, with the door half-closed, the children couldn’t see, and having been left untended for a few moments, they were already loud enough not to hear a word of the conversation taking place outside.

  At last she recovered enough to muster a gentle reply. “I understand you’ve been disappointed, Mr. Kane. But that is not entirely my fault.”

  “Oh?” He folded his arms, settling against her door frame.

  “I should never have written that advertisement, but you should never have come in answer to it, when you’d never met me. I wonder what you expected to find.”

  “Nothing like this,” he replied dryly.

  She sighed. “I believe I made my feelings clear. I cannot speak w
ith you further on this matter, Mr. Kane. Good day.”

  He still blocked the doorway. “The least you could do, Miss Valentine, is agree to tutor me, turn me into a proper gent who wouldn’t embarrass a fine lady. A gentleman even a Valentine would deem worthy enough to smile at.” He stopped again, those devilish eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Not that a gentleman is what you truly need.”

  She tried scowling but suspected it came out more as a wince. “Mr. Kane, surely you have other women to torment.”

  He was staring at her lips in a very odd way and then he took a step toward her. Sophie thought she could duck under his arm and get safely inside, but he must have read her thoughts. He backed up again, just as she advanced. Now they were both in the doorway, separated by mere inches and with his arm blocking her escape once more.

  “I suppose you think this amusing,” she muttered, “to come here like this and tease me. As if I could ever agree to give private lessons to an unmarried man.”

  He moved even closer. Her heart thumped so hard her hairpins were coming loose.

  ***

  Lazarus was intrigued by this prim-faced little woman with the deliciously tempting lips, this chaste spinster in French lace drawers. She was moving directly up against his arm into his ready embrace—exactly where she professed she didn’t want to be, and exactly where he yearned to have her.

  He was incredibly aroused just to be this near. The scent of her hair made him quite light-headed. He could see every rapid breath she took, her breasts straining against that tight corset. His throat was dry, his loins heavy.

  Her lips wobbled for a brief moment, and he heard a slight groan, as if she were trying to restrain something. His heart lifted. Was she going to laugh? Yes. He saw it in her eyes—a warm amusement with him, with herself, and with their circumstances. He even felt her body tremble, ready to give way to a fit of giggles.

  But she controlled herself, straightened up, and resumed her stern and proper schoolmistress voice again.

  “I have other things to do with my day than wait around for some shallow young rake to make a greater fool of me than I can make of myself. There are plenty of other women here, and you may perform for all of them, but I’m not so easily impressed. I know a brash, vainglorious fool when I see one, and I stopped being breathless and wide-eyed over your sort when I was a great deal younger even than you are now. Perhaps you’ll grow out of it. Most little boys do. Good day, sir!” She turned swiftly, ducked under his arm, and slammed the door in his face.

  Lazarus stared, thinking how easily he could break apart those thin wooden panels with his shoulder and his bare hands.

  The damned woman was rude, churlish, and ungrateful. For such a small, delicate-looking kitten, she had quite a bite and a set of sharp claws. And when her temper was up, she was more beautiful and beguiling than she had any wretched right to be. He’d better walk away now and save that innocent schoolhouse door from taking the brunt of his frustration.

  Then he heard a stifled burst of laughter through the wood panels. He’d never been so confused by a woman in his life. Nor so aroused.

  Chapter 11

  All Sophie’s attempts to ignore the stranger’s presence at the end of the lane soon proved impossible. Daily, the fellow’s curious antics were brought to her attention, and rarely could a handful of hours pass without mention of the name Lazarus Kane.

  He was witnessed playing cricket with Mrs. Finchly’s sons, inspiring them, no doubt, to even greater depths of wickedness. He was apparently skilled with his hands, and he built a luxurious new birdcage for Mrs. Cawley’s parrot and mended the cowshed roof for Dairyman Osborne. According to Henry, there could be only devious motives behind so much altruism. No good would come of it.

  Villagers passing the repaired gate at Souls Dryft saw the place much improved, all by Kane’s own hands and in such a short amount of time. The new resident must have wondered at the increasing number of ladies, young and old, who passed his gate each day while he worked in the yard without his shirt. At first, it was only one or two ladies scuttling by, averting their eyes, but very soon it grew to small flocks of four or five, who often passed more than twice in a single morning, and seldom a hurried step amongst them.

  Henry secured promises from several folk not to attend the party at Souls Dryft. But as time passed, a strange thing happened. People began to form their own opinions without conferring first with Henry. One by one, they forgot their vows not to attend.

  Even Lavinia weakened. Unfortunately for Henry, he made the mistake of purchasing his wife a new lace shawl that week. Now she complained of having no cause to wear that lace shawl, especially if he meant to stop her from attending the party and keep her trapped at home within the “moldy walls” of that fortress. She nagged at him for four-and-twenty hours, until he could take no more and told her she must do as she wished with her lace shawl—even strangle herself with it—but he would not accompany her to the party. In reply, she declared she would gladly go with Mr. and Mrs. Bentley.

  “What can you mean?” he exclaimed. “My sister Maria will not go. I’m sure of it. She knows my opinion on the matter.”

  Lavinia replied smugly, “But as they are representatives of the church, she told me yesterday it’s only proper they welcome the stranger to Sydney Dovedale.”

  Now Henry had no choice. “Unfortunately, thanks to my sister’s betrayal, I must go and keep an eye on things,” he stated. “If I stay away, the villain might think he gained a victory.”

  ***

  Once they were gone, Sophie settled in with a book. All was peaceful until Finn sat bolt upright in her chair, exclaiming, “I’m betaken with a desire to dance.”

  Sophie looked up warily over the top edge of her page.

  “We should go to the party,” her aunt added emphatically, already half out of her chair.

  “I think we’d much better stay here.”

  “No, no, Sophie. We’ll go to the party and dance.” The lady began fussing over her dress, clearly afraid it was too plain and worn. “And I’ve nothing for my hair.” She touched her lace cap with nervous fingers. “Lord! ’Tis so long since I attended a dance. Mayhap I’ve forgot the steps.”

  “Please sit down, Aunt. You upset yourself.”

  But Finn had her mind set. “Would you deny an old woman the pleasure of a good dance, when one has not been had in so long, Sophie? Surely you could not be so cruel! And you were always my favorite niece.”

  Sophie sighed heavily. She wondered if her brother could have got far along the lane yet. If he might be caught, Aunt Finn could go on with them, and she could return to the cookhouse alone. She finally fetched her aunt’s woolen shawl, in case there might be a chill nip in the air.

  “I don’t know what’s got into you this evening,” she muttered. “If you should catch cold going out tonight…”

  Aunt Finn skipped on ahead, already through the door while Sophie was still removing her apron and putting a guard over the fire. There was no time to find her best shoes or check her face in the mirror and, in any case, she thought, what did it matter? She knew her reflection well enough, and staring at it would change nothing. At the door, she pulled on her dusty boots but could find neither a bonnet nor her spencer. There was no time to look further. She’d just have to do as she was. As she ran across the courtyard in pursuit of her aunt, she looked for any sign of Henry, but he and his wife must have walked with unusual speed. Lavinia, of course, wouldn’t want to risk the food all being gone before she got there.

  “Hurry, Sophie!”

  “I come, Aunt, I come!” she cried breathlessly. “I do wish you’d return to the cookhouse. We can dance there, and it’ll be quite the same.”

  But the gleeful lady linked her arm under Sophie’s, almost dragging her along the lane. “You, my dear, have spent too long dancing alone. You’ve read that book from cover to cover more times than I can count. ’Tis time to put all that knowledge to practice. There is no occasion to be fe
arful of the real article, is there?”

  So her aunt had seen through her subterfuge all along.

  “No need to blush, Sophie my dear,” Finn exclaimed breezily. “’Tis healthy and natural to be curious. What is unnatural is to stifle it. I found that book among the possessions of my lovely captain many years ago and kept it as a souvenir of our affair.”

  The man she referred to as the captain was now the admiral—the same fellow who owned Souls Dryft. Almost thirty years ago, he and Finn enjoyed a scandalous love affair, much to her family’s humiliation. She was not in the least remorseful and still mentioned her captain with great fondness, despite that he never wrote and apparently went on to enjoy other affairs, soon forgetting the young lady to whom he once swore undying love.

  Henry referred to their aunt as “a fallen woman best left where she fell, because she’ll only do it again, given half the chance.” Sophie often imagined he thought the same of her.

  And tonight, after so many years of relatively good behavior, Finn Valentine was apparently in the mood to cause trouble again.

  They were at the gate in the next moment, and Sophie’s wondering gaze swept up over the farmhouse with its repaired, repainted shutters. Underneath the new paint, it was still the place in which she’d spent a happy childhood. How long ago it now seemed since she and her siblings chased hens, piglets, and one another about that yard. She closed her eyes and deeply inhaled the sweet fragrance weeping from the orchard where blossoms still hung heavy, some trodden underfoot, merging with rich new grass and churned mud. When her father was still alive, the stables were full of farm horses, great solid beasts with docked tails, lively pricked ears, and fluttering nostrils. She still recalled the heavy, plodding thud of their massive hooves and the creak of their leather harness as they came home down the lane after working in the field all day. How gently they nibbled her fingers when she ran out to feed them treats and pet their broad pink muzzles.

  Although Sophia had promised herself not to look for Lazarus, his face was the first she encountered looking back at her, his expression one of surprise followed by something else. Sophie sidled away into a shadowy corner, self-conscious in her old gown and muddy boots, but Aunt Finn, in her giddy mood, wouldn’t be satisfied merely as a spectator. She soon wrestled free of her niece’s clutches to wreak havoc at the cider barrel.