“This, my lord, is your mess.” Mrs. Dart scowled at him, her hands clenching a serviette near her soup bowl. “Yousent them here with me.Insistedthey come. Formybenefit. I had anticipated a quiet, relaxing holiday, and now I’ve got a companion waltzing about the rafters and a footman attempting to turn my household upside down.”
“I thought you’d rub along well together. A dart and an angle.”
“Dart and angle? You presumed we’d match due to our names?” She snorted, took another gulp of wine. “Each moment I learn more how little you know of women. We are not our names, sir.”
He rolled his shoulders, accepting her excellent point as a direct hit. “Be that as it may, you cannot blame me for their actions, Mrs. Dart.”
“No. But they would not be here but for you.”
“You cannot traipse about the country alone.” He grunted. “Damn fool notion, that.”
“You cannot control my every move.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you?” She threw her hands up, then threw the rest of the wine down her throat. She swallowed hard before returning her attention to her food. The precise movements from before were heated now, messy.
He grimaced. “Slow down, Mrs. Dart, you’ll choke.”
“You wish to control how I eat now, too. And shall I don a gown of gray for you?”
“Will you? It would put me at ease.”
“No.”
He scratched the back of his neck. What ailed her? The kiss? “Should I apologize again?” he asked. “For the k?—”
“No.”
“Should I leave the dinner table?”
“No.”
He was getting nowhere. Wrong. He drifted farther and farther away from where he wanted to be—the victor. He needed her to choose him over Tidsdale, and each cold, hardnoshe tossed at him made that feel like less and less of a possibility.
“I think I should then, perhaps, explain to you all the reasons you should remain in my employ, Mrs. Dart.”
Her head popped up, and her cutlery clattered to the plate. She studied him for a breath, then leaned back in her chair, folded her hands neatly in her lap. “This I am interested in. Go ahead, then, my lord. Why should I remain in your employ?”
Setting his wineglass down, he laid his hands flat on the table. A fine tablecloth, the color of champagne. Muted, respectable. But if a single drop of wine spilled there—a tragedy. He must tread carefully. “We work well together,” he said.
“You mean I work well for you.”
“Our clients, those who need educators, and those who are educators, respect you.”
“They will do so wherever I am at.”
“My family name and reputation guarantee a certain pedigree of clientele. Tidsdale does not have that.”
“Pedigree does not guarantee good behavior.”
“No. But I do.” Anger rose in his gut, and he fought hard to breathe it down. “You know I do not tolerate mistreatment of our gentlemen and ladies. Youknowthat.”
Her lashes fluttered, and the hard line of her lips softened as her gaze drifted to her hands. Her shoulders rose and fell with a breath, then she lifted her gaze once more. “Yes, I know that.”
“Can you say the same of Tidsdale?”
She bit her lip, looked away. “I do not know.”
