Most Improper Miss Sophie Valentine by Jayne Fresina

good thing I came to your rescue again, Miss Valentine. Wouldn’t you agree?”
    As she briskly set the room back to order, she finally allowed a small nod. “Thank you, Mr. Kane. I’m sure we’re all very grateful. Are we not, children? Now back to the lesson, please.”
    While the children complained and slouched back to their benches, Lazarus slowly crossed the room to where she stood. He had a very powerful frame, an overwhelming presence when he was near.
    â€œMiss Valentine?”
    He was standing too close. Did he have no sense of propriety? Every pore on her body felt his heat; every lock of hair sprang to life, tempted to curl itself.
    â€œI was not passing by chance today,” he said. “There is a matter I wanted to discuss with you.”
    She clasped a slate to her chest and looked away. “I’m presently occupied, as you see.”
    â€œIt won’t take long. May we talk privately?”
    â€œPrivately? I’m afraid that wouldn’t be proper.” She lowered her voice. “Have I not told you that before?”
    â€œOutside. Just two minutes”—his voice grew husky—“of your time.”
    Finally, and most reluctantly, she agreed. She left instruction for Matthias to continue reading the passage aloud, and led the way outside into the sun. Her hands were shaking, so she gripped them tightly around the slate in her arms, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
    â€œWhat do you want, Mr. Kane?”
    â€œI’m in need of your talents, Miss Valentine.”
    â€œMy talents?”
    â€œI need a tutor. A private tutor.”
    â€œFor what purpose?”
    He looked around sheepishly, hands behind his back, and then leaned down toward her. “I cannot read or write, Miss Valentine. Well…I can a little. A very little. It pains me to admit it. I should like to master the skill for something beyond the marking of my own name.”
    Her fingers tapped against the slate. “I don’t give private lessons.” She turned hastily to go back inside. He blocked her way, his shoulder propped against the door frame.
    â€œBut you owe me, Miss Valentine.”
    She swallowed. “I owe you for what exactly?”
    â€œMust I remind you? I came here thinking I’d found a wife, but now I’m obliged to begin my hunt all over again because you refused me so callously. Am I not entitled to some kindness, some compensation, considering the disappointment?”
    So he was trying to make her feel guilty. As if she didn’t already.
    â€œYou owe me a bride, Miss Valentine. The least you could do is help me get one by softening my rough edges.”
    She looked up at him, wondering why he thought he needed her help. He had no shortage of wily charm and a certain persuasive quality. She might be in danger herself, if she were ten years younger and a great deal stupider. “Believe me, Mr. Kane, I’m very sorry I ever posted that advertisement. I don’t know why I did it.”
    â€œDon’t you? I do.”
    She clamped her lips tightly.
    â€œBecause you wanted me to come and find you,” he said calmly.
    His sheer arrogance goaded her temper enough to reply, “And what would I want you for, pray tell?”
    He treated her to a slow, arch grin. “Shall I show you here and now?”
    Alarmed, she stepped back.
    â€œYou may pretend to the whole world, Miss Valentine, but you can’t lie to me. You need me.”
    She clung desperately to a few shreds of practical thought. “Mr. Kane, if you cannot read, how did you find my advertisement?”
    â€œThe landlady at the Red Lion in Morecroft read it out one morning at breakfast.” He was looking at her hands around the slate. “It caused some amusement among her guests.”
    â€œOf which you were one.”
    â€œA guest, yes, but I was not amused. I was intrigued. Then I found you climbing out of that tree, and my curiosity