Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(82)

Was that a hint of embarrassment in his eyes? He shrugged. “I like wine.”

“Just when I think I’ve come to know you, you reveal something entirely unexpected about yourself,” she said.

“Ah.” He set his wineglass down. “That’s where you and I differ. I don’t expect to ever know all of your secrets. I look forward, years from now, to making new discoveries each day.”

“Winter…” Her heart near broke at the warmth in his brown eyes. She couldn’t let him think that she might change her mind. “You know we have no future together.”

He didn’t reply, instead taking a bite of the fish, but his very silence shouted his stubbornness.

She sighed. “What will you do now?”

“I’ve thought that I might take up tutoring,” he replied, “of a young boy.”

Her brows knit. “Who do you know who has—”

He smiled as her eyes widened in comprehension.

“But Christopher is only five,” she protested. “Far too young for a tutor.”

“I’ve found that teaching children—especially boys—is best started as early as possible,” he said, unperturbed. “I’ll begin lessons with Christopher tomorrow.”

“But… but…” She tried to think of an excuse for him not to begin lessons with Christopher, but the fact was that Christopher would undoubtedly do well with some masculine discipline. Lord knew that he was nearly a feral child with only Carruthers trying to tame him.

“Good. I’m glad that’s settled,” Winter said as if she’d given her full and grateful consent. “I’ll just take my things upstairs.”

“Now see here—” she began before his last words sank in. She brought herself up short, blinking in confusion. “What?”

His smile had turned definitely wolfish as he pushed himself away from the table. “One of the benefits of being a private tutor instead of a schoolmaster: tutors live with the family. Now what room would you like to put me in?”

THREE DAYS LATER, Winter sat at a low table in Isabel’s nursery. It was a room at the top of the house, but well appointed for all that. Tall windows gave in light and were properly barred at the bottom to forestall any accidents. An impressive set of tin soldiers marched along a bookcase and a rather battered stuffed lion lounged in the chair next to his pupil.

Winter pushed a plate of tiny cakes to the center of a table. “Now, then, Christopher. Cook has kindly made fairy cakes for our tea. How many did she give us?”

The boy, sitting at the table opposite, leaned on his elbows to study the iced cakes. Each had a strawberry on top and they looked quite appealing.

“Twelve!” he said after a moment spent moving his lips as he counted.

“Quite correct,” Winter said. “If we were to split the cakes between us, how many would we each have?”

Christopher’s brow furrowed ferociously as he mulled over the question. Winter poured him a cup of milky tea with a spoonful of sugar as he waited.

“Six?” the boy finally asked.

“Indeed.” Winter smiled his approval. “But six fairy cakes apiece would no doubt result in a tummy ache for you and the possibility of gout for me. Thus”—he nodded to Isabel as she entered the nursery—“we are very fortunate indeed that Lady Beckinhall has come to join us for our tea.”

Isabel smiled. “Good afternoon, Mr. Makepeace. Christopher.”

“We’re doing maths, my lady!” Christopher bounced in his seat. “And Cook made fairy cakes for tea.”

“Marvelous!” Isabel cast a sidelong smile at Winter as she sat. In the last few days, there had been a marked improvement in her comfort around Christopher. “What else have you discussed with Mr. Makepeace today?”

Winter took a hasty sip of tea, avoiding her eyes.

Christopher in contrast leaned forward conspiratorially. “The Battle of Hastings. Did you know that King Harold was killed by an arrow in his eye?”

“Really?” Isabel’s voice sounded a bit weak. “And is that a proper subject for little boys, Mr. Makepeace?”

Winter cleared his throat. “I find when discussing history, the most, er, colorful moments are more apt to hold a boy’s attention.”

“Hmm.” She poured herself a cup of tea, adding cream and sugar. “I had no idea that tutoring little boys was so, um, dramatic.”

“It is a fascinating occupation,” Winter said gravely. “For instance, Christopher and I are about to discuss division. Now, Christopher, we need to divide these fairy cakes equally among Lady Beckinhall, myself, and you. How many do you think we shall each get?”

Christopher wrinkled his nose in thought. “Five?”

“Ah. Shall we test your guess?”

Christopher nodded vigorously.

“Then please apportion out the fairy cakes equally.”

Winter sipped his tea and watched as Christopher carefully placed a fairy cake on each of their plates in turn until all the cakes were gone from the serving plate.

“Good,” Winter said. “Now—”

“Will we be able to eventually eat these cakes?” Isabel muttered, eyeing the cakes on her plate.

“Patience, Lady Beckinhall. Scholarship must not be rushed,” he chided her. She shot him a look promising retribution. “Now, then, Christopher, can you count the cakes on your plate?”