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Amherst’s shoulders were just a little too broad, his jaw too elegantly chiseled, and his chin too deeply dimpled to belong to a mere mortal. And his mouth! Sinfully full, rich with promise and passion, Amherst’s mouth was that of a profligate, yet Jonet was sure he was anything but.
    He was tall, too. At least six feet, and most of it looked to be legs. Long, lean, very fine legs that seemingly went on forever. Or was it chest? Jonet swallowed hard again. Yes, there was a great deal of chest there as well. Her eyes skimmed up his length. Only a brow which was lightly furrowed and a nose which was a touch too aquiline saved Captain Amherst from what might have been ruinous beauty.
    Jonet had told herself she would not stand when James’s spy entered her drawing room. She had schooled herself to be as haughty and disdainful as her late and unlamented husband had unwittingly taught her to be. She was a lady, she tried to remind herself. Moreover, she was this man’s superior. And yet, curiosity got the better of her. Jonet was out of her chair and halfway across the drawing room before Charles Donaldson finished announcing him.
    “Captain Cole Amherst, my lady,” he said, pulling shut the door with a hearty thump.
    Jonet was not sure just how long she stood in the center of the drawing room ogling the strapping, golden-haired officer. As she stared, Amherst swept out of a graceful, fluid bow, drawing back one of his very fine legs with an elegance befitting the Regent’s court. His warm, golden gaze flicked up at her. “Lady Mercer?” Amherst’s voice was rich, and it held a hint of dry humor. “I find myself at your service, ma’am.”
    His lightly mocking tone served to jerk Jonet back to cold reality. A purposeful rage swept over her like a brush fire. “Why, how droll you are, Captain,” she coolly retorted, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Deliberately, she turned her back on him and returned to her seat. “I somehow fancied you to be at my brother-in-law’s service. Sit down.”
    Without looking at him, she pointed to the chair opposite her own. Then, feigning every possible indolence as she struggled to gather her wits, Jonet settled back into her seat, taking a moment to arrange each pleat in the dull black fabric of her skirt. However, when she lifted her eyes, she was stunned to see Captain Amherst still standing near her doorway, ramrod straight and impossibly large.
    “May I take it from your almost total lack of manners, ma’am,” he said very calmly, “that you are not amenable to my uncle’s plan?”
    Forgetting her vow to show him nothing but disdain, Jonet came out of her chair and stalked back across the length of the room. “Keep a civil tongue in your head, Captain Amherst,” she snapped. “I dislike impudence above all things.” Jonet fixed him with her most quelling look.
    But her quelling look had obviously been wasted. Other than stubbornly setting his perfect mouth and chiseled jaw, the captain did not so much as twitch. “Then perhaps you might take it upon yourself to learn civility, ma’am,” he smoothly returned.
    Jonet knew then and there that she had badly underestimated James’s strategy. She prayed to God this man—
this soldier
—could be either intimidated, charmed, or otherwise rendered ineffectual by some clever form of manipulation. Most men of Jonet’s acquaintance certainly could, for they were a vain and transparent lot, but this situation already looked distinctly discouraging. Deliberately, Jonet narrowed her eyes. “I know nothing of your uncle, nor of any plan,” she answered scornfully.
    “I understood from my uncle, Lord James Rowland, that you were in need of an instructor for your children.” His words were still soft, but clipped and demanding. “And I believed you to be wishful of my providing such assistance, madam, else I should never have wasted my time and yours by coming here.”
    Jonet merely looked at him, trying to assimilate his