Free A Woman Scorned by Liz Carlyle

were, and Stuart says you ain’t.”
    Cole glanced through the door toward Nanna. “Ma’am, if I might have a few moments alone with Lord Mercer and Lord Robert? I do assure you that they will not get the best of me quite as quickly as you fear.”
    The elderly nurse crossed her arms. “I’m tae stay near, sir,” she said in a warning tone. “I’ll be just in the hall here.”
    The dogs lay down in a patch of sun beneath the table, and Cole returned his attention to the boys. “You must be Lord Robert Rowland,” he said, bending down to the younger boy and putting out his hand. “I am Captain Amherst.”
    The boy reached up to pump Cole’s hand enthusiastically. “Pleased-t’make-your-acquaintance,” he said, rapidly running all the words together. He pointed perfunctorily at the dogs. “You can call me Robin. An’ this is Scoundrel, and this here is Rogue. Are you a Dragoon, sir?”
    Cole held up a staying hand and turned toward Stuart Rowland, the seventh Marquis of Mercer. He was a lanky, good-looking boy, a little solemn for his nine years, and with the unmistakable Rowland coloring. “And you must be Stuart, Lord Mercer?” he said.
    “Yes, sir,” said the boy, rather reluctantly taking his hand. “Good afternoon.” Stuart quickly broke off the contact, leaving Cole to study him. The boy’s hair was dark, his gaze somber and mistrustful behind eyes that were hazel and deep-set. He looked familiar, too, for Stuart’s eyes were the very same that Cole had often seen staring back at him from the portraits which lined the corridors of Lord James’s country house. At the moment, however, Stuart’s gaze was shuttered, almost afraid.
    “Well, that’s that, then, isn’t it?” said Lord Robert. He seemed cheerfully unaware of his elder brother’s discomfort, or of Cole’s burning curiosity. “Now,
are
you a Dragoon, sir? Stuart says you ain’t. That you’re Life Guards. But I said that he was wrong.”
    Cole turned his attention from Stuart and tried to frown disapprovingly at the younger boy’s interruption. It was rather difficult, for the child was so charmingly impertinent, not to mention persistent.
“Aren’t
, Robert,” Cole corrected. “Please do not speak cant in the schoolroom. And yes, I am a Dragoon. But there is a possibility that I may become your tutor. For a few months, until something more permanent can be arranged.”
    “
Dragoons!
” Robert gave his brother a rather smug look. “Told you so! Told you so!” he taunted. At once, the room exploded and all hell seemed to break loose. Stuart’s hand lashed out, whacking Robert soundly across the back of the skull. Robert went for Stuart’s throat then, fists and elbows flying as he lunged. The dogs erupted from beneath the table, aimlessly growling and snarling as they darted through the room.
    Stuart leapt backward, knocking over a chair. A pile of books went tumbling to the floor. Cole tried to grab them, but the bigger collie plowed between, scrabbling wildly across the floor in a valiant attempt to seek and destroy the enemy, whom he had yet to identify.
    “Stop!” shouted Cole, finally battling back the fray long enough to push the boys apart. His voice must have carried its old level of command, for Scoundrel and Rogue bolted beneath the table to cower. The boys, however, seemed not to notice. They continued to ineffectually lash out at each other with feet and elbows.
    “Gentlemen, let be!” Cole gave them both a swift shake and tore them further apart. “There will be no hitting. Military regulations do not permit it, nor do I.”
    Robert’s eyes narrowed still further. He crossed his thin arms over his chest. “Then I’ll—I’ll just
bayonet
’im. You can do that in the army, I know it for a fact, ’cause Donaldson took a bayonet in his arse at Vittoria, and couldn’t sit down for a week, and then they had to send ’im home, and Duncan had to put horse poultices on ’im for ever so—”
    Cole