She was almost to the stairs when the viscount started down the hall toward her, presumably quitting his study in search of his rooms. There was an awkward moment when he saw her, paused, then continued toward her.
Her courage was great that evening, and so, with a bit of a smile, she addressed him. “If I didn’t know better, I would say I frighten you, my lord.”
A rueful grin tipped his lips, almost against his will, it seemed, and he shook his head. “Is that so? What makes you come to such a conclusion?”
“For one,” she took a lazy step toward him, “you all but ran from the dining room.”
“I had pressing business,” came his reply.
“And just now, you looked as if you wished to turn around and pretend you hadn’t seen me,” she continued.
He twisted his lips, then shrugged. “I thought I had forgotten something in my study.”
“Tell me, are all Scotsmen such proficient liars?” she asked without heat, only a slightly flirtatious tone that surprised her, along with her frank question. Iris seemed to be influencing her. She was clearly speaking before thinking. Boldly, she waited, curious to see how her words would be taken.
The viscount tipped down his chin, hiding his expression, giving her a moment’s panic, but when he glanced up once again, his expression was full of humor. “Are all ladies who masquerade as governesses so impertinent?”
“Yes. Because I’m the only one I know, so I’m an authority on the subject,” she added with a grin.
“Well played.” He chuckled in response. “Then I defer to your greater expertise on the subject.”
“However, I am not an expert on the subject of the character of Scotsmen, and you, sir, have not answered my question.”
“Relentless, are you?”
“I’ve been called worse,” she replied, now standing only a few feet from him. She paused there, waiting.
“As have I,” he replied, rocking on his heels, appearing slightly uncomfortable. “You are far more observant than is prudent.”
“I’ve been told that before.”
“I’m sure you have been.” He paused, then glanced around, his brows pulling into a frown. “Come with me.” He gestured to the red parlor just down the hall, turned, and started for it.
There was nothing to do but follow, and her curiosity wouldn’t let her do any less. As he entered the room, he regarded her seriously.
The door was wide open, so there was no fear of scandal—pity, that—but she awaited his leisure, much as at dinner. She was patient most of the time, and in this case, it would serve her well.
“I understand why you did not confide in me, but surely now you understand that this . . . knowledge changes things.”
“What things?” she asked, risking a slight step forward. She half-expected him to step back, but he did not.
“Things of a more . . . intimate nature,” he finished, his gaze flickering from her gaze, to her lips, and then back.
“I see.” She folded her hands before her.
“I’m pleased you understand.” He nodded, but his expression didn’t appear pleased in the least.
“I’m not pleased at all,” she said. “I’m quite disappointed. And I’m afraid you’re not doing your gender much credit, nor Scotsmen in general.”
“How so?” he inquired, his gaze roaming her features, as if touching her when his hands could not.
“You promised me proper instruction, and now, less than a day later, you have gone back on your word.”
He chuckled. “And you were anticipating such education? I doubt it.”
“You know nothing of my mind and what I anticipate,” she replied. It felt so liberating to assert herself, and her thoughts and feelings. Had she ever done so before? She wasn’t sure, but it was heady, the freedom, however foolish. She was almost challenging the man to ruin her.
And, like the wanton she was, she didn’t regret it.
