“Mathesis,” Rose grumbled, uncharacteristically put out. “Ms. Carson says it’s maths, but I’m not sayingmaths.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I muttered under my breath. “Mathesis is not a made-up word. It means learning the sciences, especially mathematics.”
“Oh.”
Hearing my wife’s voice in my head, pleading with me to be nice to the young teacher, I gritted my teeth around the wordApologiesand cleared my throat, aiming for politeness, “For any confusion. You see, my wife and I play a word game that we now play with Rose. Who can come up with the most unusual word. We’ve taught Rose some words that most adults are unaware of, let alone six-year-olds.”
“Well, oh. Right.” Ms. Carson nodded, visibly embarrassed. “Rose does have a remarkable vocabulary for her age and is very articulate. I’m sorry, Rose.”
Rose nodded and sweetly forgave, just like her mother (not like her father). “Apology accepted.”
Theo, you know what to say. Sarah Cavendish. My bloody conscience as well as my wife. “If Rose was a tad unruly in her frustration, she would like to apologize also. Wouldn’t you, turtle dove?”
She flushed a little, a blusher like her mother. “I’m sorry if I was rude, Ms. Carson.”
“Apology accepted, Rose.” She turned to me. “Perhaps it would be best if the word games stayed at home and not in the classroom. Some of the words … they sound like other less innocent words.”
My lips twitched, but I fought back my amusement. “Very well. Come on, turtle dove.”
Rose skippedinto the house ahead of me, already explaining to Sarah exactly what had happened.
“Oh dear. Well, let’s just keep our big words at home for now until you get a wee bit older,” Sarah suggested to our daughter as I strolled into the kitchen.
“And give into the fascists?” I grumbled under my breath as I pulled a mug out of the cupboard.
“Rose, go change, sweetheart. I’ll make you a snack.”
Our daughter left the room and I braced.
“You better have been kind to Ms. Carson, Theodore Cavendish.”
I was the picture of absolute innocence. “Who me? I’m never anything else.”
“Theo.”
Switching on the coffee machine, I huffed, “I was very polite, even though they sent our daughter to the principal because they have the vocabulary of Neanderthals.”
“Don’t be a pretentious prick,” Sarah said, but the words were gentle and she soothed a hand over my back as she passed me to reach for the fridge.
I halted her before she could get to it, hauling her into my arms.
“I was very nice, little darling,” I murmured against her pretty mouth as I slid my hands down over her pert arse. “Even though I very much desired to be otherwise.”
She wound her arms around my neck. “What inspired the angel to kick the devil off your shoulder?”
“You.” I kissed her nose. “Don’t you know you’re my conscience?”
Sarah considered this. “I’m relieved you were kind. Not everyone speaks like a Shakespearean villain, Mr. Cavendish.”
“Our daughter will. She’ll be the finest Shakespearean villain in all the land.”
Her soft body pressed deliciously against the hard lines of mine as she laughed. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Let’s start with contrectation,” I murmured huskily. “This evening. Ten o’clock. Our bed.”
Sarah’s cheeks flushed with arousal. “I think that can be arranged.”
“God, I love you so much it makes me sick.” I covered her mouth with mine, kissing the laughter right off her perfect lips.
