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He felt the shock of that question down his legs. Almost without noticing, he had accepted the twins’ claim that he was now their father. No one would take his children from him, no matter how peculiar and outspoken they were. Especially not a woman who couldn’t even read.

“No,” Dominic barked. “They live with me. They are mine. Besides, they are . . .” He hesitated and then said it as kindly as he could. “They are more gifted than most children. I hired their tutor from one of the Oxford colleges.” He hated the stricken look that crossed her eyes, but his first responsibility was to the twins.

“Of course, I understand,” Torie agreed instantly.

“I don’t think we’re gifted,” Florence put in. “I’d quite like to live in the country with Torie.”

Whether or not Val attended Eton, he had a great deal to catch up on, not least Latin and Greek. The children didn’t need a cuddly nanny, as Torie had suggested. They needed stimulation, knowledge, and intelligent conversation. Plus . . . they were his.

Torie would have her own children soon enough. She could not have his.

He shook his head. “I’m your father, Florence, and so you live with me.”

“As a point of fact, our first father never lived with us,” Valentine remarked.

“Shall we join Miss Sutton downstairs?” Dominic asked, feeling strongly disinclined to discuss Lord Dorney’s household arrangements.

Torie stood, giving Florence a squeeze and reaching over to pluck another feather from Valentine’s hair. “All the feathers must return to the pillowcase, after which it should be sent downstairs for mending,” she ordered.

Dominic glanced about and discovered white drifts under the settee and around Florence’s bed. “Every feather,” he agreed.

“Good afternoon, children.” Torie went to the door.

“Wait!” Florence called.

When Torie turned, Florence dropped an elegant curtsy, deep enough for a royal greeting, and Valentine bowed with a flourish of his hand. “Good afternoon,” they chorused, straightening.

“Excellent!” Torie called.

“We’re not done. Don’t leave, Torie!” Florence called. “Come on, Val.”

They moved apart, facing each other, and then slid into a graceful minuet, marred only by Valentine calling out the paces. “Lead-in, right-hand turn, left-hand turn, two-hand turn closing.”

Torie started laughing. She was enchanting when she smiled, but when she laughed? Her eyes turned as deep and blue as a mountain lake.

“There!” Florence cried as they finished the measure.

“Remarkable,” Dominic said, meaning it.

“Miss Sutton said that we have no grace, politeness, or gentility,” Valentine said, grinning widely. “But Mr. Petre is most pleased by our prowess.”

“I apologize for my sister’s unkind remarks,” Torie said. “She spoke in the heat of the moment.”

“Perhaps Miss Sutton is experiencing her monthly courses,” Florence said with interest. “The governess that Mother fired said that women become quite heated at that time and are not responsible for their outbursts. That was after the governess threw an ormolu clock at Valentine’s head.” She turned to Torie. “Ormolu is—”

“I do know that word,” Torie said. “I find gilded clocks to be gaudy but charming. I trust the governess didn’t strike your head, Valentine?”

“Oh no, she never managed to hit either of us, no matter the time of month. We became excellent dodgers.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Dominic bit out, a surge of anger almost blocking his throat. If he’d known that the twins were being neglected, he would have taken them from his sister years ago. His brother-in-law wouldn’t have given a damn; the poor man was humiliated by persistent speculation about which of his wife’s lovers fathered his heir.

“Thank you for demonstrating your excellent command of the minuet,” Torie said, curtsying. “Please put ‘monthly courses’ on the Prohibited List.”

“That’s an odd addition, given that—as I understand it—ladies are universally plagued by the event,” Florence observed. “Next time, perhaps the four of us could dance together? Mr. Petre could play the pianoforte.”

Dominic fleetingly met Torie’s eyes. He had never danced with his future sister-in-law. He had asked her once, years ago, but she had turned him down for some reason he’d forgotten. He had already been betrothed to her sister by then.

If he was honest with himself, of course, he had noticed her. He had watched her dance and seen her smiling under her eyelashes at captivated gentlemen. No man could be in her presence and not find himself dazzled by the way her unruly curls invited a man to—