“He does not want tea.”

“Tea sounds lovely.” There was perhaps no word stranger on this enormous man’s lips than lovely.

“You don’t drink tea,” Mara pointed out.

“I’m thinking of starting.”

Lydia stood. “I shall ring for it.”

“No need, Miss Baker, I can’t drink it.”

Lydia looked crestfallen. “Why not?”

Mara answered for him. “Because he’s afraid I’ll poison him.”

“Oh,” the other woman said. “Yes, I can imagine that is a worry.” She leaned toward Temple. “I would not poison you, Your Grace.”

He grinned. “I believe you.”

Mara huffed her disapproval, glaring at Lydia. “This is a betrayal.”

Lydia seemed to be enjoying herself entirely too much. “It’s only fair, considering we are putting him to work today.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mara could not help her exclamation. Nor the way she shot to her feet.

Temple stood, as well.

“He’s offered to help with the boys.”

Mara sat. “He cannot.”

Temple sat.

She looked to him. “What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “A gentleman does not sit when a lady stands,” he said, simply.

“So you’re a gentleman now? Yesterday you were a self-professed scoundrel.”

“Perhaps I am turning over a new leaf.” One side of his mouth rose in a small smile. “Like tea.”

A smile that brought attention to his lips.

Those infuriating lips about which she had no intention of thinking.

Dear God. She’d kissed him.

No. She wouldn’t think on it.

She scowled at him. “I highly doubt that.”

He was infuriating. She stood again.

As did he, patient as ever.

She sat, knowing she was being obstinate, but not much caring.

He remained standing.

“Shouldn’t you sit, as a gentleman?” she snapped.

“The standing-sitting rule does not hold true in reverse. I think it might be best if I remain standing while you—frustrate.”

Mara narrowed her gaze on him. “I assure you, Your Grace, if you wait for me to cease frustrating, you may never sit again.”

Lydia’s blue eyes gleamed with unreleased laughter.

Mara glared at her. “If you laugh, I shall set Lavender loose in your bedchamber in the dead of night. You shall awake to pig noises.”

The threat worked. Lydia sobered. “It is simply that the gentleman offered, and it occurs to me that the boys could benefit from a man’s tutelage.”

Mara’s gaze went wide. “You must be joking.”

“Not at all,” Lydia said. “There are things the boys should learn for which we are—not ideal.”

“Nonsense. We are excellent teachers.”

Lydia cleared her throat and passed a small piece of paper across the desk to Mara. “I confiscated this from Daniel’s reader yesterday evening.”

Mara unfolded the paper to discover a line drawing of— “What is . . .” She turned the paper and tilted her head. Temple leaned over the desk, his head now dangerously close to her own—and turned the page once more. At which point everything became clear.

She folded the paper with military efficiency, heat spreading furiously across her face. “He’s a child!”

Lydia inclined her head. “Apparently, boys of eleven are rather curious.”

“Well, it is entirely inappropriate for him to address their curiosity.” She waved a hand in Temple’s direction, refusing to look at him. Unable to look at him. “Not that he isn’t well qualified to serve as an expert, I imagine.”

“I shall take that as a compliment,” he said, far too close to her.

She turned in her chair to look up at him. “It was not meant as one. I was merely pointing out your libidinous ways.”

His brows rose. “Libidinous.”

“Roguish. Rakish. Scallawaginous. Scoundrelly.”

“I’m certain that some of those words are not words.”

“Now you’re angling for a position as governess?”

“If the boys are learning words like scallawaginous, it might not be the worst idea.”

Mara turned to Lydia. “He is leaving.”

“Mara,” Lydia said. “He’s ideal. He’s a duke, and, I imagine, was trained as a gentleman.”

“He’s a fighter for heaven’s sake. He owns a gaming hell. He’s no kind of tutor for young, impressionable men who must be models of gentlemanliness.”

“I was quite skilled in the gentlemanly arts, once.”

Mara cut him a look. “You, sirrah, could have fooled me.”

The words were out before she could stop them—knowing instantly that she’d reminded him of the night that had caused all this difficulty, that had set them on the path to this moment, where he appeared destined to overtake every aspect of her life.

His gaze darkened. “I might remind you that I was the one who was fooled that evening, Mrs. MacIntrye.” The emphasis on the false name had her pressing her lips together as he addressed Lydia. “I am free for the day and happy to tutor your young charges in any aspect of gentlemanliness required.”

The entire situation was out of control.

She did not want him here. Close. Anywhere near her. The man was plotting her demise. She didn’t want him near her boys or her friend or her life.

She didn’t want him. Full stop.

It did not matter that she’d spent much of the night tossing and turning in her little bed, thinking on the kiss they’d shared. And the way he’d handled the boys, clamoring in and out of his coach yesterday.

It did not matter that when she forgot about their past, she rather liked him in the present. None of it mattered. Not when he held her future and the future of this orphanage in his hands.

“Has it escaped both of your attentions that I am the mistress of this orphanage? And that I have no intention of allowing this man to stay for the day?”

“Nonsense,” Lydia said. “You wouldn’t limit the boys’ access to a duke.”

“Not exactly the most in-demand duke of the ton.” The words were out before she knew they’d formed. Temple stiffened. Lydia’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. And Mara felt like an ass. “I did not mean—”

His gaze found hers, guarded. “Of course not.”

“I know better than any that—”

He did not speak. She turned to Lydia, hoping for help, and the governess simply shook her head, wide-eyed. And guilt spread through Mara, hot and unpleasant. She had to repair the damage. She returned her attention to Temple. “You are schooled in the courtly arts?”

He met her gaze for a long moment before executing a perfect bow, and looking more ducal than Mara had ever seen him. “I am.”

A truce.

“And appropriate conversation with ladies?” Lydia was grateful for the détente, her gaze flickering to the paper in Mara’s hand. “We may need a bit of that.”

“I have had few complaints.”

He was an excellent conversationalist. Mara had no doubt.

Lydia continued. “And sport? I think sport has been neglected from the boys’ education for far too long.”

Mara huffed at that. “The man is built like a Greek god. I think sport is the one thing he can teach them.”

The words rattled around the room, shocking everyone. Lydia’s eyes went wide. Temple went still.

Mara’s mouth dropped open.

She hadn’t said it.

A Greek god?

It was his fault. He’d scrambled her thoughts. And he was interjecting himself into every aspect of her life—every bit for which she’d worked so hard and fought so long. Surely that was what had made her say it.

A Greek god??

She closed her eyes and willed him to lose the power of speech. Immediately and irreversibly. “Obviously, I didn’t mean—”

“Well. Thank you.”

In the entire history of time, had willing ever worked?

She straightened. Soldiered on. “I would not take it as a compliment. The Greek gods were a strange bunch. Always turning into animals and abducting virgins.”

Dear God. Could she not keep her mouth shut?

“It’s not such a terrible fate, that,” he said.

Lydia snickered.

Mara glared at her. “You just asked him to teach the boys to be gentlemen.”

Lydia turned enormous eyes on Temple. “Your Grace, you do realize you cannot speak to the boys in such . . . innuendo.”

“Of course,” he said. “But you do realize that your employer started it.”

Mara wanted to tread upon his foot. But seeing as he was a great giant of a man, she doubted he would feel it at all.

“Well then. It’s settled,” Lydia said, as though it were. Which it seemed to be, despite Mara being against the entire thing. “You shall spend the morning with the boys, and they will no doubt learn a great deal.” She turned to Mara, immense meaning in her eyes as she finished, casually, “And perhaps once you have spent the day with the boys, you and Mrs. MacIntyre can discuss a charitable donation to our very good work.”

Lydia was nothing if not shrewd. Where Mara looked at Temple and saw a dangerous foe, Lydia saw a wealthy potential ally. A man who could pay all their bills.

Temple raised a brow. “Your business acumen rivals that of your employer.”

Lydia smiled. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

She shouldn’t, of course.

Temple would not simply decide to give to the orphanage. He, too, was shrewd. And their best chance of paying their bills was for Mara to continue on her path. A thread of unease slid through her at the mercenary thought. She ignored it.

This was about the orphanage and the boys’ safety.

Her means would justify that end.

Lydia stood then. “Well. This is a treat. It’s not every day a duke gives up his title to take on work.”