"Mrs. Bird always cleans 'em," Robert said quickly.
"You caught them, you will clean them," Chillhurst replied calmly. "Ethan, Hugh, you two will remove all dogs from the premises immediately."
"But the dogs always come into the house," Ethan said. "Leastways Minotaur does. The spaniels belong to one of the neighbors."
"Henceforth no dogs except Minotaur will be allowed inside and Minotaur may only enter the house if he is clean and dry. See that the spaniels are sent home and then take care of your own dog."
"But, Mr. Chillhurst," Ethan began in his new high-pitched, grating tone of voice.
"There will be no whining," Chillhurst said. "Whining annoys me." He removed a gold watch from his pocket and checked the time. "Now, then, you have half an hour to get yourselves bathed and into clean clothes."
"I don't need a bath," Robert grumbled.
"You will take one and you will be quick about it." Chillhurst slipped his watch back into his pocket. "When you are all three finished we shall meet together and I will outline the course of studies that you will be following while in my charge. Is that understood?"
"Bloody hell," Robert whispered. "He's a raving madman, he is."
Ethan and Hugh continued to stare at Chillhurst with stricken expressions.
"I said, is that understood?" Chillhurst repeated in a dangerously soft tone.
Ethan's and Hugh's eyes went to the knife that was strapped to Chillhurst's thigh.
"Yes, sir," Ethan said quickly.
Hugh swallowed. "Yes, sir."
Robert gave Chillhurst a sullen look but he did not argue. "Yes, sir."
"You are dismissed," Chillhurst said.
All three boys turned and bolted for the door. The dogs followed in a concerted rush. There was a temporary crush in the doorway but it was soon cleared.
In a moment the library was quiet once more.
Olympia stared at the empty doorway, awed. "That was absolutely incredible, Mr. Chillhurst. You may consider yourself hired."
"Thank you, Miss Wingfield. I shall endeavor to earn my keep."
Chapter 2
"I must be completely honest with you, Mr. Chillhurst." Olympia folded her hands on top of her desk and peered at Jared. "I have hired three tutors in the past six months. None of them stayed longer than a fortnight."
"I assure you I shall stay as long as is necessary, Miss Wingfield." Jared sat back in his chair, propped his elbows on the upholstered arms, and regarded Olympia over his steepled fingers.
Bloody hell, he thought. He could not take his gaze off her. She had fascinated him from the moment he had walked into her library.
No, he realized, his fascination had begun the other night in that grimy French port tavern when Artemis Wingfield had described his unusual niece. Jared had spent the entire trip across the channel speculating about the woman who had managed to locate the Lightbourne diary. Various members of his own family had spent years attempting to discover it and had failed. What sort of female had beaten them all to it, he wondered.
Even allowing for his curiosity, however, he still did not understand the strange shock of awareness that had gone through him when he had seen Draycott seize Olympia. The sensation that had washed through Jared in that moment had been deep and disturbing, almost savage in its intensity.
It was as if he had walked into the room and discovered his woman being mauled by another man. He had wanted to strangle Draycott. At the same time he had been outraged at Olympia's obvious lack of common sense. He had longed to shake her and then drag her down onto the carpet and make love to her.
Jared was dazed by the strength of his feelings. He recalled his emotions the day he had found his fiancée, Demetria Seaton, in the arms of her lover. His reaction on that occasion had not been nearly as violent as what he had experienced today.
It made no sense. There was no logic to it.
But even knowing that, it had taken Jared mere seconds to make his reckless decision. In a heartbeat he had tossed aside his coolly conceived, eminently logical plans. All thoughts of purchasing the diary and its secrets and then returning to his business affairs vanished in an instant.
With a breathtaking, completely uncharacteristic disregard for common sense he had consigned the Lightbourne diary to hell. A mundane business arrangement was the very last thing he wanted to enter into with Olympia. Indeed, he could not bear the thought.
He wanted her. Wanted her.
Once that blazing realization had struck him all that had seemed important was that he discover a way to stay here in the vicinity of his enchanting siren. He needed to explore this fierce, powerful, passionate attraction if it was the last thing he did on earth.
Nothing else mattered quite as much, not his sensible plan to secure the diary and thereby put an end to his family's pursuit of it, not his far-flung business affairs, not even tracking down the person who was systematically embezzling from him.
His family, his business affairs, and the damned embezzler could all take care of themselves for a while. For the first time in his life he was going to do something he wanted to do and the devil with his responsibilities.
With his customary ruthless intelligence he had grasped the obvious solution to his new dilemma and presented himself as the new tutor. It had been remarkably easy, almost as if fate itself had taken a hand.
It was only now that he had had a chance to reflect upon his stunning impulsiveness that Jared wondered if he had lost his wits.
Still, he could not bring himself to regret his rash action. He knew very well that the twist of desire in his gut and the sensation of heat in his veins were dangerous threats to his much-prized self-control. But for some reason he did not care a jot about the risk.
That very lack of concern amazed him more than anything else that had happened thus far. The one thing Jared had always valued above all was the calm, cool, logical approach he applied toward every aspect of his life.
In a family where everyone around him had always appeared to be at the mercy of their passions and whims, self-control and cold restraint had offered Jared inner peace and a reassuring sense of order. He had mastered his own emotions so thoroughly that lately he had begun to question whether he even had any left.
Now Olympia Wingfield had proven to him that he did. She was definitely a siren, he thought. One who did not yet know her own power.
It was not her beauty that had sliced through the armor that had shielded him for so long. He recognized that Demetria had been far more elegantly beautiful.
But Olympia, with her wild, sunset-red hair, expressive features, and eyes the color of a hidden lagoon, was something other than beautiful, Jared thought. She was exciting. Intriguing. Vivid. There was an innocent charm about her that was more alluring than he could ever have imagined.
It seemed to him that her entire slender, gently curved body sang a silent, sensual song beneath the modest muslin gown she wore. The Reginald Draycotts of the world would have to go elsewhere for female companionship for a while, Jared decided. He wanted Olympia and he did not intend to allow any other man to come close while he, himself, was under her spell.
Even caught as he was in the gossamer web of curiosity and fascination, Jared could not help but notice that Olympia had a rather disorganized and disheveled air about her. From the muslin cap that sat askew on her fiery hair to the cotton stocking that had come free of its garter and slipped down to her ankle, there was a cheerfully distracted quality to her attire. She had the appearance of a woman caught between the everyday world and some fabulous landscape that only she could see.
She was an obvious bluestocking, clearly doomed to be left on the shelf, but she showed every sign of being content with her fate. Jared could well believe that she relished her spinsterhood. By now she had undoubtedly discovered that there were very few men who could understand, let alone share, her private inner world.