Free What a Lady Demands by Ashlyn Macnamara Page A

not understand a direct order when you hear one?”
    She clenched her hands into fists. “Yes, sir.”
    “Then do me the courtesy of obeying.”
    She’d like to show him courtesy. She’d like to take that wineglass and dash the dregs straight into his arrogant, overly handsome face. “If you say so.”
    “I do.” Once more, he dabbed at his lips with his serviette. “Tell me, how many times has he fallen today?”
    Her mouth dropped open. And what sort of question was that? She stopped herself before she blurted something unconsidered in front of the rest of the staff. “I’m afraid it never occurred to me to keep count. Is that something you’ll require me to tally in the future?”
    “It might be worth taking note of.” He raised his wineglass and drained it. “Dismissed.”
    The others were obviously well trained, because they filed out of the room. Cecelia remained rooted to the spot, not quite believing the bizarre ritual that substituted for the Tuesday evening meal in this house.
    Lindenhurst looked up at her, his expression quizzical. Yet somehow that gaze still penetrated. He possessed an odd power, one that made her feel like she was fifteen again, except now she was the one who was naked, not him. A delicious sort of shiver passed down her spine. “I said dismissed. I cannot think why you’re still here.”
    Delicious, except when he barked orders at her. “Forgive me. I am not used to this household and its routines. Mrs. Carstairs told me you expected me for supper, and naturally, I assumed…”
    “The staff gives me their reports during my Tuesday evening meal.” An evening meal he couldn’t even be bothered to take in the dining room like a civilized gentleman. But once again she recalled the cavernous hall with a table that seated twenty-five or more guests. “I find it a more efficient use of my time to take care of both matters at once.”
    “I see.” And had his eccentricities led to the other governesses not staying on?
    “I believe the others take their supper in the kitchens. If you hurry along, you might catch them. Or if you think yourself above that, you might take a tray in your chambers.” As she had last night.
    Just as he’d said, dismissed. All that was missing were the hand gestures to shoo her along.
    As she trudged toward the kitchens, she tried to call to mind the man she’d known before—her brother’s school friend. Lind. The young man she remembered had never been so serious. Quiet, yes. Intense about all he set his mind to, most definitely. Fiercely competitive, certainly. But the intervening years had stolen something from him.
    No doubt his experiences in the war and his wife’s passing had contributed greatly to that. A pity, though. Perhaps, somewhere, the person she once knew still lurked.
    But that wasn’t her purpose here. She’d come to prove a point to her brother, and to succeed at that, she’d have to concentrate on Lindenhurst’s son.
    —
    For the next two days, she did just that, ensuring Jeremy applied himself to writing his name with the same devotion and attention to detail he employed in lining up his tin soldiers. And eventually, despite his letters remaining rumpled and uneven, his improvement became clear. Even he could see it.
    “I’m getting better,” he crowed.
    She placed a hand on his neck, and her throat went oddly tight. Legible, not perfection. That’s all Lindenhurst had asked for. “You are indeed.”
    She couldn’t wait to show Lindenhurst. For Jeremy’s sake.

Chapter Seven
    Lind downed the last of his brandy and leaned against the fireplace, drumming his fingers on the marble mantel. But for the pain the movement would cause, he’d have paced. The sitting room was large enough to accommodate a good show of tension; at least ten feet separated the paneled door from the mullioned window that overlooked the back terraces.
    Sanford was due to arrive at any moment, and Lind hadn’t seen his blasted governess for two