How to Sin Successfully. Bronwyn Scott

like a bird in flight,’ Miss Caulfield breathed.

      ‘Is that the best you can do?’ Riordan teased her. The description seemed far too tame for such a smooth, elegant move. Surely the woman who recklessly took off her hat in the park and imagined a nursery to be the burning town of Bronte just to get it tidied up could do better than that?

      ‘It’s apt,’ Miss Caulfield replied, taking umbrage. ‘What do you think it’s like?’

      He stepped closer to her, his hands tightening gently over hers as he guided the kite into another graceful flat turn. ‘I think it’s like making love to a woman.’ He put his mouth close to her ear, breathing in the freshness of her. ‘A good lover cultivates patience; a good lover knows how to wait until the most final of moments to …’

      ‘Lord Chatham, that is quite enough.’ Miss Caulfield dipped and slipped under the circle of his arms. ‘You are really a most audacious man.’ Her face was flushed, but it wasn’t all from embarrassment.

      Riordan laughed good-naturedly at the return of her self-consciousness. ‘Maybe I am, a little.’ He executed a few more tricks he remembered from childhood while Miss Caulfield watched, one hand shading her eyes as she looked into the sky, a very convenient alternative to looking at him.

      ‘Growing up, my brother and I would spend winters in the attics building kites.’ Riordan did a back spin with the kite. ‘Come spring, we’d fly them every chance we got. We had fabulous competitions.’ He hadn’t thought of those days for a long time. ‘We started when we weren’t much older than William.’ Their fascination with kites had lasted quite a while. Even when Elliott had gone away to school, they’d flown kites when he came home on holiday.

      ‘You miss your brother,’ Miss Caulfield said softly. ‘You were close. His death must be a terrible blow for you.’

      ‘Yes, Miss Caulfield. It is,’ he said tersely, thankful she wasn’t looking at him. He gave all his attention and then some to the kite, willing the moment of vulnerability to pass. He had not missed the present-tense reference. Everyone said his brother’s death had been a terrible blow, as if it was something he’d got over and relegated to the past. But it wasn’t like that. He missed Elliott every day. He missed knowing that Elliott was out there, somewhere, keeping order and doing good.

      Miss Caufield allowed him to fly in silence, standing quietly beside him. It was a smart woman who knew when to give a man his space. After a while, Riordan began reeling the kite in. ‘Why don’t you get the children and we’ll go to Gunter’s for ices?’ He watched her pick up her hat and head down to the boat pond. He wasn’t sure why he’d told that story about building kites. She was a virtual stranger. Maybe he’d told her in apology for his inappropriate comment about making love to a woman. Maybe he’d told her because he didn’t want her to think he was an entirely graceless cad.

      ‘Is it always this busy?’ Maura looked about her in delighted amazement from the barouche. They were parked across the street from Gunter’s Confectionary with other carriages of the fashionable who’d come to take advantage of the good weather. Busy waiters ran from the store to the carriages, delivering ices and other treats. She marvelled at the waiters managed to stay clear of horses. Any moment, Maura expected there to be an accident.

      ‘It’s always this busy. Do you know why?’ Lord Chatham leaned forwards with a smile. He was going to tease her. Maura was fast coming to recognise that smile. She braced herself.

      ‘It’s the one place a young woman may be seen alone with a man without the presence of a chaperon.’

      ‘Of course. It has nothing to do with the quality of the merchandise,’ Maura replied drily, but she did look around to test his hypothesis. Young men lounged against carriage doors sharing ices with young ladies. ‘It looks fairly harmless.’ Not nearly as wicked as Lord Chatham’s low tones had implied.

      Lord Chatham shrugged as if he found her comment debatable. ‘I suppose it depends on who you’re eating ices with.’

      A waiter came to take their orders and Maura knew a second’s panic. What to choose? There’d been ices occasionally at her uncle’s home, but never this array of flavours to pick from. The children chose strawberry. Lord Chatham chose burnt filbert. Maura hesitated a fraction too long.

      ‘Chocolate crème, if you please, for the lady,’ Lord Chatham supplied with a wink. ‘It’s positively decadent.’

      Maura flushed. A gentleman had ordered for her, had treated her like a real lady for the first time. She understood it meant nothing beyond good manners—she was a practical girl, after all. He’d been doing his duty. Still, it had felt nice. No one had ever felt compelled to his duty on her behalf before.

      The chocolate crème was decadent, Maura decided after the first bite. She let the cool richness slide down her throat, taking care to savour it, aware that Lord Chatham was watching her.

      ‘Do you like it?’ he asked, although he must have known the answer already. ‘We can set up an order for the house. You can have ice cream delivered every day.’

      ‘Every day?’ Maura raised an eyebrow. ‘That sounds like the height of luxurious living.’

      Lord Chatham took a bite of his ice cream. ‘The Italians eat it every day. Florence is full of gelaterias. Their ice cream is gelati,’ he explained to the children who were hanging on his every word. ‘The flavours would astound you; all types of chocolates, vanilla, strawberry, almonds—almost any flavor you can think of.’

      ‘I want to live there,’ Cecilia put in. ‘I would eat ice cream every day.’

      Lord Chatham waggled his dark brows and gave Cecilia a mock-serious look. ‘I did live there and I did eat ice cream every day. It was one of the best parts of being in Italy.’

      ‘What were the other best parts?’ William ventured, taking a break from his ice cream. ‘The volcanoes? Mount Etna is in Italy.’

      ‘As is Mount Vesuvius. One day, I climbed that mountain …’

      The rest of the afternoon, Lord Chatham regaled the children with tales of his time abroad. They listened enrapt. Maura listened, too. It was easy to get caught up in the stories. The earl was an excellent storyteller and the topic was captivating. She’d never known anyone who’d travelled as extensively as Lord Chatham. How wonderful it must be to travel like that. Lord Chatham had clearly enjoyed his time abroad. His face took on a softness, his eyes were far away as he recalled narrow streets and hill towns, rich wines and foods eaten in villas that caught the afternoon breezes. Her own world seemed very small. The furthest she’d ever travelled had been her flight from Exeter to London. That hardly counted as a trip. It had been an escape.

      Cecilia’s head lolled against her and Maura moved an arm about the sleepy child. ‘Perhaps we should go home.’ The ice creams were eaten and both children were pleasantly drowsy from their exciting day.

      The drive home was slow and the noise of late-afternoon traffic made conversation difficult. Maura stayed busy with her own thoughts, most of them occupied by the man sitting across from her. He was proving to be quite the conundrum: fun-loving and stern by turn; easy-going and yet vulnerable; handsome and flirtatious by nature. Her employer presented a most tempting attraction, an attraction that must be resisted. Her post depended on it. She must not even think it, no matter how much the temptation beckoned, no matter how often he lured her with his smiles and bold words designed to spark her passions and curiosities.

      Maura scolded herself for the momentary lapse. He would flirt with anything, that much was clear. But she couldn’t afford to be his next conquest. It boded ill that she was thinking such thoughts after only a day in his employ. Perhaps this was why the other governesses had left. Perhaps they had been made of sterner stuff.

      ‘A penny for your thoughts.’ Lord Chatham stretched his legs. The traffic noise had died down the closer they got to Portland Square and the quieter, elite streets. ‘Or are they worth more than that?’