“Oh, but Miss Westwood, I wasn’tbothering—”
“Upstairs. Now.” She said it in a pleasant, almost conversational tone of voice, but there was no denying the steel beneath. Lavinia cast a wistful look at Cal but took a few reluctant steps toward the staircase.
The tall lady turned her gaze on Cal. She had the most amazing eyes, an arresting gray-green, like sage, or frostedgrass, framed with thick dark lashes. She said crisply, “You are being attended to, I presume, sir?”
“Yes, but perhaps—”
A soft scream cut him off in midsentence. They turned to find Lavinia Fortescue-Brown of the Surrey Fortescue-Browns sprawled dramatically at the foot of the stairs. She gazed helplessly up at Cal, whimpering and fluttering her eyelashes.
The tall lady frowned and bent over the girl. “What have you done, Lavinia?”
The girl’s gaze didn’t shift from Cal, who stood beside the teacher. “I tripped, Miss Westwood. I’ve twisted my ankle. It’sfrightfullypainful.”
The teacher was a coolheaded one, no doubt about it. She seemed entirely unconcerned. She twitched the girl’s hem aside and made a cursory examination of the ankle. “Hmmm. Can you stand?”
The girl made an attempt to get up, gave a loud moan and fell back helplessly. “Oh, it hurts, it hurts! I can’t walk at all.” She gave Cal a piteous look. “Perhaps the gentleman could carry me upstairs.”
Before Cal could offer to help, the teacher said, “Oh, there’s no need to bother the gentleman. He’s much too busy to carry injured schoolgirls around.”
“I don’t mind—” Cal began.
She gave him a swift quelling look. “No, no, the school porter will carry Lavinia.”
“Not Grimes!” Lavinia exclaimed in disgust.
“Of course Grimes,” the teacher affirmed. “You will recall from your lessons, Lavinia, that the wordportercomes from the French ‘to carry.’ Carrying things and people is Grimes’sjob. He will be delighted to carry you upstairs.”
There was a short silence, then the teacher said dryly, “Or perhaps the pain is not so bad now and you can manage by yourself.”
The girl sighed, and with a moan or two—much less dramatic now—managed to stand. Under her teacher’s eye, she bid Cal good-bye and, clutching at the banister, began to hobble pathetically up the stairs, wincing at each painful step. Limping, he noticed, on the wrong foot.
The teacher watched her go, then turned to Cal, her eyes dancing with humor. “She is somewhat of a minx, our Lavinia.” As Lavinia turned at the landing, cast Cal one last tragic glance and limped bravely out of sight, the teacher added, “Grimes is in his sixties and has hair growing—quite vigorously—out of his nose and ears.”
Cal chuckled. He was impressed with her handling of the girl. Firm, but with humor and a light touch.
She glanced past him. “Ah, here is Theale. I’ll leave you, then. Thank you for your tolerance.” She turned away and hurried back up the stairs in the wake of her pupil.
The grim female in black gave Cal a gimlet look. “Miss Mallard will see you now.”
Cal followed her, well pleased with what he’d learned. Miss Mallard’s Seminary for the Daughters of Gentlemen might be the very answer. There was discipline here—good discipline and high walls topped with broken glass.
All he needed, really.
***
Emmaline Westwood followed her charge up the stairs, trying not to be aware of the hard gray gaze of the tall, spare man standing below. Who was he? She’d noticed him in the street earlier.
Her first impression, as he’d come striding up the hill, was of a hunter: lean, dark and somehow... predatory. The last place she’d imagined he would head for was Miss Mallard’s Seminary.
Talk about fox in the henhouse. Even if it was the chickens that were doing the hunting.
“Hurry along there, Lavinia,” she said. The girl was casting languishing glances back down the stairs.
“Oh, but—”
“You’re limping on the wrong foot,” Emm observed.
“Oh.” Lavinia started to limp on the other foot, then realized. She cast Emm a worried glance. “I’m not in trouble, am I? I was only trying to help the gentleman.”
