A Woman Scorned (6 page)

Amherst.
Amherst?
Who the devil had James sent to vex her this time? Jonet’s head began to pound. The bone-deep weariness which had plagued her for months now threatened to drag her down. Her knees nearly buckling, her hands unsteady, she fought for control and somehow found it.

“I have not the pleasure of understanding you, sir,” she said, her voice faltering only a little. “Lord James did indeed write yesterday. He told me only that he was sending a tutor for my sons—and that is a most
diplomatic
interpretation of his message, I do assure you.”

The light furrows deepened as his heavy brows drew together. “He said nothing further?” Amherst growled. He had the look of a man who might slide past the point of being dangerous were he to be pushed just a fraction too hard. Already, he was angry. He was whipcord lean, and his eyes were quick. Too quick.

Jonet had meant to show him immediately who was in command, but Amherst had hardly spoken a dozen words, and she had the sick, sinking sensation that the tables had already turned. There was something else, too. Something even more confusing.
Captain Amherst did not want to be here
. She was certain of it. Why, then, had he come? Uneasily, Jonet began to pace back and forth across the width of the room. Amherst remained stoically motionless. In the silence of the drawing room, the stiff swishing of her bombazine seemed over-loud and annoying. Suddenly, she whirled to face him, knowing that she must regain the upper hand—a task which, in the past had generally presented her little challenge.

“Did he say anything further?” Amherst repeated, gritting out the words.

“Nothing, sir!” she retorted, haughtily lifting her chin to stare at him. “Other than to say that you would call at three today. Moreover, you are no cousin of mine—” her gaze flicked up and down, “—and you are no tutor, to be sure. What game does Lord James Rowland play now? I insist you tell me just what spite the two of you are scheming.”

She stood almost toe to toe with the cavalry officer now, yet sick with the terrible knowledge that the thing she held most dear might be at stake. If this man were as dangerous as she supposed, she simply could not allow herself to succumb to weakness, to fear, or to self-pity. And she certainly could not allow herself to be distracted from her purpose by his golden good looks. By sheer force of will, Jonet drew herself up to her full height. She was a tall woman, but Amherst still topped her by a head or better. He dropped his hypnotic eyes to hers and gave her a long, level stare. There was still nothing of awe or subservience in it.

“I did not come here, Lady Mercer, to permit my integrity to bear the brunt of your insults,” he said coolly. “Nor will I take the razor’s edge of your tongue. I have better things to do with my time.”

At that very moment, however, something in the officer’s eyes, in the turn of his face, sparked a sudden flash of memory so sharp and sweet she trembled at it. Then the name came rushing back on a wave of embarrassment. Oh, God!
Poor little Cole?
Could it be he, the orphaned cousin? And barely a relation at all, according to her late husband’s callous definition. Well! He certainly was not anyone’s poor little
anything
now. He was big, and he was threatening, and he hardly looked poor.

Jonet remembered having met Cole Amherst once or twice. She had some vague recollection of his having attended her wedding. Oh, yes—and he had been handsome then, too. But callow, and far less cynical. A smattering of impressions flashed through her mind; fair hair that was much too long, elegant hands, quaint clothing, and scholarly, gold-rimmed spectacles which slid insistently down his nose.

And she remembered something else as well. A gentle touch, a soothing voice, and his murmuring some remarkably sweet platitude into her ear at a time when she had so desperately needed it. There had been no mistaking his inherent warmth and kindness. And then, a fleeting kiss—firm, heated lips pressed to her brow—and he was gone from her life. The rest of that fearful day had been obscured by a cloud of apprehension. Nonetheless, those indistinct memories of Cousin Cole were warm, almost comforting, and not at all unpleasant.

It struck her as odd that it should be so. Her mind raced. Amherst was a cousin by marriage, a relation of James’s wife, and not a Rowland at all. How fortunate for him. “Your pardon,” she said stiffly. “I do seem to recall you now.”

“I am inordinately relieved,” he sarcastically replied.

She looked up at him then, preparing to lash out again. But she was not prepared for the hot stab of desire that knifed through her belly. Though the sweet memory lingered, the quaint, callow youth was gone, and the hardeyed, cynical officer was back. Amherst lifted his golden eyes to hers and pinned her with another long, steady stare that told her she had no control over him whatsoever. That whatever he might once have been, she would never be able to intimidate him now. And yet, it was a look rich with promise; the knowing look of a man who was sure of himself, in a steadfast, unpretentious way.

But how fanciful such thoughts were! She was no green girl. She could not possibly lust after a man she scarcely remembered, and particularly not this one. It was the strain, no doubt, of the last four months. It was simply time for a different approach. “I am persuaded, Captain,” she said, her voice surprisingly even, “that we should discuss this strange situation in which we find ourselves. Please, will you not sit down?”

The civility of her request seemed to placate Amherst, and he crossed the room to take the same seat she had previously ordered him toward. As he settled his long length into the delicate chair, Jonet noticed that he carried a thin leather folio in his left hand.

The captain waited until Jonet was seated before speaking. “Ma’am,” he began, looking a trifle vexed, “I find I cannot account for the brevity of my uncle’s letter to you. I had understood that he would inform you of my circumstances and background, and that the decision was to be yours. As you see by my attire, I have no real need of a position.”

Jonet interrupted him. “And are you qualified to be a tutor, sir?” she asked skeptically.

Stiffly, Captain Amherst inclined his head. “I daresay some might consider me so. However, I expect to return to garrison duty shortly. I have reluctantly answered my uncle’s summons, but since you seem to require assistance even less than I wish to give it, I see no need in prolonging this meeting.”

“I . . . well, that is to say, I am not perfectly sure,” she stammered, unaccountably flustered, and suddenly eager to stall for time. She licked her lips uncertainly. Really, what
was
James up to? “Perhaps,” she said slowly, “you might enlighten me as to why your uncle feels you are qualified to teach my sons.”

Jonet studied him intently, her curiosity fully engaged. Cole Amherst had the golden, glittery eyes of a tiger. At times, they seemed almost heavy with sleep, and then abruptly, they would flare to life. As if to further emphasize their beauty, he drew a pair of eyeglasses from his pocket and settled them onto his nose. Another shard of bitter-sweet recollection pierced her at the sight, and she remembered again the shy young man who had once shown her a small but unselfish act of kindness.

If he had hoped to make himself appear more studious, it was something of a failed effort. He simply looked more solemn. “Of course,” he replied, flipping open his folio with an efficient snap. For a fleeting moment, Jonet found herself wondering if he disliked James as much as she. There was a dark, restrained undertone in his references to his uncle.

Deftly, Amherst flicked through the pages, cleared his throat, and began to read. “I was schooled at Eton for five years, ma’am, as a King’s scholar. Thereafter, I matriculated to King’s College, Cambridge, and began my divinity studies. Upon completion with honors, I became a fellow of the university, with the emphasis of my research centered upon a studied comparison of the
a priori
versus the empirical methods of philosophical theology.”

He paused to pull out a single sheaf of paper, passing it to her with long, elegant fingers. “Here, my lady, are my references and the dates of my various degrees and positions. Moreover, prior to joining the university, I tutored extensively in the subjects of philosophy, mathematics, classical literature, as well as Latin and Greek. I also served for a time at Saint Ann’s in Cambridgeshire as their cur—”

“Captain Amherst!” Jonet held up a staying hand and paused to collect her wits.
Good heavens, the man really was the scholar he had once appeared to be
.
She was truly doomed
. “It would appear that you are somewhat . . . overqualified for this position.”

“Quite so,” he answered simply.

Feeling woefully ignorant, Jonet rearranged her skirts once more, choosing her words with utmost care. “Though you are obviously very learned, sir, my sons are young, and require training in mathematics and literature and perhaps rudimentary Greek—all very basic things. And of course, they must learn to ride well. To dance a bit, and to—to, well, to play
cricket
, for heaven’s sake! Have you any such
ordinary
experience?”

Something which might have been sarcasm tugged at his handsome mouth. “Forgive my impertinence, ma’am, but the British Army has managed to make a fair cavalry officer out of me, and so I can sit a horse with some skill. And hefting all those weighty tomes in the library has not completely impaired my ability as a batsman.”

“Oh!” said Jonet lightly, realizing too late that she had insulted his masculinity. What a joke that was. Delicately, she touched the tip of her index finger to her bottom lip. “And what of those dancing skills, Captain Amherst? Are you as physically talented in everything you undertake to perform?”

She wanted to bite back the words as soon as they left her mouth. Amherst’s eyes narrowed perceptively.
Good God, what was wrong with her?
First she was an ill-mannered shrew, now she was acting like a vulgar flirt. The captain’s poor opinion of her could not but be furthered by such contemptible behavior.

“Why, I must confess you have caught me out there, madam,” Amherst said coldly. “With regard to indoor athletics, you’d be better
served
by hiring yourself a dancing master.”

Jonet wanted to sink through the floor in mortification. Unfortunately, that was not an option available to her. There was nothing else for it but to brazen it through. She reminded herself yet again that there was too much at stake; that her first instinct—abject panic—was a luxury she could ill afford. Intimidation it would have to be.

Restlessly, she tapped her fingernail against the arm of her mahogany chair. She did not like the look of Captain Cole Amherst, her long-lost and should-have-stayed-lost cousin. Or rather, the problem was she liked the look of him all too well. He was something of a challenge, and Jonet had not felt challenged by anything in a very long time. Tormented, yes. Tortured, often. But that was hardly the same thing as an invigorating contest of wills or wits.

Moreover, it would be hard to justify throwing a man with his credentials—not to mention his obstinacy—into the street. Not unless he wanted to go.
Did
he want to go? She rather thought he did. So why the devil was he here?

Jonet still felt the danger thrumming all about her, as she had now for months on end, but her almost unfailing instincts could not fix Amherst as the cause. Nonetheless, he had been sent by the very person who posed the greatest threat. The man who wanted above all things to see her hanged, and never mind the scandal.

She looked at Captain Amherst again and realized that beneath his masculine exterior, there was a powerful intellect. Jonet had not one whit of doubt as to the validity of his academic accomplishments. Even James would not be so witless as to send someone with trumped-up credentials to school her children. Briefly, she wondered if her brother-in-law had some sort of hold over Amherst, but the thought was just as quickly gone.

This man was razor sharp, while James was almost as obtuse as his now-dead brother had been. But the inescapable fact remained that James had somehow discovered her advertisement for a tutor, though she had done it discreetly and anonymously. Now, he had correctly concluded that she had been stalling for time and that she would never permit the children to go away to school. Not unless they were dragged out of Brook Street over her lifeless body. The thought made her stomach knot with panic.

And so it seemed there was to be a compromise, and the compromise apparently had a name. And gorgeous golden eyes. For if it were not Cole Amherst, it would likely be someone else of James’s choosing. And eventually, she would be powerless to stop it. “Well, Captain,” she said in an over-bright voice. “It seems we have arrived at
point non plus
, does it not?”

“You may have arrived, ma’am,” he answered calmly, “and perhaps taken my uncle along for the ride. I, however, had no intention of going anywhere with either of you.” He shifted his weight impatiently, as if he might rise from his seat. “Have we concluded our discussion, Lady Mercer?”

The set of his jaw was stubborn, even a little contemptuous. Perhaps, like everyone else, he believed he had the right to judge her. Jonet should have been accustomed to such prejudice, but in this particular man, it made her extraordinarily furious. “Pray tell me, Captain Amherst, just what did my dear brother-in-law tell you about me?”

Amherst slipped off his eyeglasses and delicately folded them up with hands that were surprisingly gentle. “Anything my uncle might have said would have no influence upon my judgement, Lady Mercer. I form my own opinions.”

“Ah, and rather quickly, too, I surmise.”

“Quite,” he said, his tone clipped.

She gave him an intense, sidelong glance as she rose to cross the room. “And what are those opinions, sir? Will you share them with me?”

“I think not, ma’am.” He carefully returned the eye-glasses to his pocket.

“Oh, but I believe I must insist,” she replied, swishing toward him and pausing before his chair. She had the damnedest urge to torment him.