Free The Tutor (House of Lords) by Meg Brooke Page A

hope so, too,” he replied. He cast one last look at the book and shuddered.
    “Let’s put that away for now,” she said, “and turn to Parliamentary procedure.” But as she slid the next book in front of him, he found himself staring at her in a way she probably would have considered rude if she hadn’t been so focused on the pages.
    When she had said that she hoped he would choose wisely, the strangest feeling had come over him. He had said that he hoped so, too, not just because he truly did, but because he wanted to see that delighted smile on her face again. He had the strangest desire to make her proud. Perhaps it was her gift as a teacher.
    It was that moment when he realized that he was in deep danger. He had told himself he could withstand Miss Endersby’s looks, but it was her compassion and idealism that were her true beauty. How strange. He had never found such a thing attractive in a woman before, perhaps because they were always accompanied by tremendous arrogance. But with Miss Endersby there was a complete lack of pretentiousness that he found refreshing.
    “Your Grace?” she asked, gesturing to one of the pages.
    Charles tried to bend himself to his studies, knowing that there was little chance of him concentrating now.
     
    Cynthia was surprised when four o’clock arrived. But she was even more surprised when the duke escorted her out himself. As he did, he put his hand on her elbow, and she fought the urge to pull away. She mustn’t alienate him, she reminded herself. It wouldn’t do for him to think she disliked him.
    But as he handed her into the carriage, she reminded himself that there was a greater danger, and that she was treading precariously close to it.
    Ever since that day when she had decided never to marry, she had been carefully constructing a wall around her heart. She knew there was such a thing as love, and she knew that there were men and women who felt it for each other, but she was determined never to let such an emotion make her weak, make her forget the promise she had made to herself. But it was as if someone had told him exactly what to say to make her weak at the knees. When he had said that, about the poor being educated, she had smiled rather idiotically at him—she knew he had because he had unconsciously mimicked the expression, which meant that he had noticed. Now, in the privacy of the carriage, she put her hands over her face.
    “Focus, Cynthia,” she said. “There is a task at hand. It is nothing more than that.” But her words sounded hollow. This could not happen, she told herself. She would steel herself. She had four days before she would have to see him again.
    As Mallory let her in, he said, “Mr. Endersby would like to see you in the study, Miss.”
    Cynthia’s hands suddenly began to tremble. It was after four o’clock. Her father almost never wished to see her so late in the day—he preferred to do his shouting in the morning. So she took a deep breath and went dutifully into the study.
    She stood for several moments while he finished reading an article in the paper. She had found over the years that when he wished to throw her off guard, he made her wait before his desk for as long as he could, as though she were too unimportant for him to have noticed her presence at all. But when he set the paper down she saw that it wasn’t news he had been so carefully perusing, but the scandal sheet. “‘Miss E___,” he read aloud, “Has been recently sighted in the company of the Ladies B___, most notably at Wright’s. One wonders if the Duke of D___ has also been much in her company.’ This is the third day you have come home in the ducal carriage. You have done well.” He looked up at her at last, his small eyes glittering with excitement. “Have you spent much time with him?”
    He did not ask her to sit. She was forced to continue standing before his desk as if she were a girl of twelve again. “I have not, sir, though we have been