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words.
His uncle?
This officer was no one she had ever seen before, of that she was certain. And cavalry officers did not tutor children.
    Amherst.
Amherst?
Who the devil had James sent to vex her this time? Jonet’s head began to pound. The bone-deep weariness which had plagued her for months now threatened to drag her down. Her knees nearly buckling, her hands unsteady, she fought for control and somehow found it.
    “I have not the pleasure of understanding you, sir,” she said, her voice faltering only a little. “Lord James did indeed write yesterday. He told me only that he was sending a tutor for my sons—and that is a most
diplomatic
interpretation of his message, I do assure you.”
    The light furrows deepened as his heavy brows drew together. “He said nothing further?” Amherst growled. He had the look of a man who might slide past the point of being dangerous were he to be pushed just a fraction too hard. Already, he was angry. He was whipcord lean, and his eyes were quick. Too quick.
    Jonet had meant to show him immediately who was in command, but Amherst had hardly spoken a dozen words, and she had the sick, sinking sensation that the tables had already turned. There was something else, too. Something even more confusing.
Captain Amherst did not want to be here
. She was certain of it. Why, then, had he come? Uneasily, Jonet began to pace back and forth across the width of the room. Amherst remained stoically motionless. In the silence of the drawing room, the stiff swishing of her bombazine seemed over-loud and annoying. Suddenly, she whirled to face him, knowing that she must regain the upper hand—a task which, in the past had generally presented her little challenge.
    “Did he say anything further?” Amherst repeated, gritting out the words.
    “Nothing, sir!” she retorted, haughtily lifting her chin to stare at him. “Other than to say that you would call at three today. Moreover, you are no cousin of mine—” her gaze flicked up and down, “—and you are no tutor, to be sure. What game does Lord James Rowland play now? I insist you tell me just what spite the two of you are scheming.”
    She stood almost toe to toe with the cavalry officer now, yet sick with the terrible knowledge that the thing she held most dear might be at stake. If this man were as dangerous as she supposed, she simply could not allow herself to succumb to weakness, to fear, or to self-pity. And she certainly could not allow herself to be distracted from her purpose by his golden good looks. By sheer force of will, Jonet drew herself up to her full height. She was a tall woman, but Amherst still topped her by a head or better. He dropped his hypnotic eyes to hers and gave her a long, level stare. There was still nothing of awe or subservience in it.
    “I did not come here, Lady Mercer, to permit my integrity to bear the brunt of your insults,” he said coolly. “Nor will I take the razor’s edge of your tongue. I have better things to do with my time.”
    At that very moment, however, something in the officer’s eyes, in the turn of his face, sparked a sudden flash of memory so sharp and sweet she trembled at it. Then the name came rushing back on a wave of embarrassment. Oh, God!
Poor little Cole?
Could it be he, the orphaned cousin? And barely a relation at all, according to her late husband’s callous definition. Well! He certainly was not anyone’s poor little
anything
now. He was big, and he was threatening, and he hardly looked poor.
    Jonet remembered having met Cole Amherst once or twice. She had some vague recollection of his having attended her wedding. Oh, yes—and he had been handsome then, too. But callow, and far less cynical. A smattering of impressions flashed through her mind; fair hair that was much too long, elegant hands, quaint clothing, and scholarly, gold-rimmed spectacles which slid insistently down his nose.
    And she remembered something else as well. A gentle touch, a soothing voice, and