Thunder and Roses by Mary Jo Putney Page B

because he was unused to innocence. Clare’s blend of inexperience and cool-eyed practicality was oddly endearing. And for a moment, before her common sense took over, she had yielded to his touch, as pliant as sun-warmed willow.
     
    He wanted to be the one to teach her that desire was not a sin. And he wanted, dammit, to do it tonight.
     
    Cursing the bargain that prevented him from making further attempts to seduce her until the next day, he restlessly drummed his fingers on the marble mantel. Memories of Clare’s wide eyes and silken skin were going to make it difficult to get to sleep.
     
    Suddenly he put back his head and laughed. He might be frustrated, but he also felt more alive than he had in a long time. And the credit must go to his Methodist minx.
     
      Quietly Clare opened the door of the school and stepped into the back of the plain, whitewashed room. Most of the students were working individually while Marged conducted a low-voiced lesson in arithmetic with the youngest children.
     
    Heads turned at Clare’s entrance, followed by whispers and giggles. Marged also glanced up. With a smile, she yielded gracefully to the inevitable. “Time for lunch. Say hello to Miss Morgan, and then it’s outside with you all.”
     
    Released, the children foamed around Clare like the sea, as if she had been gone for months rather than a day and a half. After accepting their greetings and making appropriate comments (“So you’ve learned subtraction, Ianto . Wonderful!”), she went forward and gave Marged a hug. “How are you managing?”
     
    Laughing, her friend perched on the edge of the battered desk. “Yesterday I didn’t think
     
    I’d survive. If you had been here,   I would have begged on bended knee for you to take the school back. But today is going more smoothly. In another fortnight, I think I’ll have the knack of it.” She fingered a lock of fair hair as she sought for words. “It’s hard work, but so satisfying when I explain something and a child’s face lights up with understanding. I can’t begin to describe the feeling.” She gave a little laugh. “Of course, you know what that’s like.”
     
    With a small pang, Clare realized that though she believed passionately in education, it had been years since she had felt such pleasure in the actual act of teaching. Too often she was inwardly bored by the drills, the constant repetition. Perhaps that was why she enjoyed the challenge of dealing with Nicholas; it was a pleasure matching wits with a crafty, unpredictable adult whose intelligence was the equal of hers.
     
    Feeling vaguely guilty about her thoughts, she said, “Lord Aberdare wants to go into the mine to see what conditions are like there, and he’d rather not do it under George Madoc’s guidance. Would Owen be willing to take him through?”
     
    Marged bit her lip. “If Madoc finds out, he might make trouble for Owen.”
     
    “I know that’s a danger,” Clare admitted, “but if the worst happened and he was discharged, I’m sure his lordship will find other work for him. Don’t tell anyone but Owen yet, but Aberdare says he’s willing to reopen and expand the slate quarry.”
     
    “So you’ve been successful! Clare, that’s marvelous.”
     
    “It’s a bit early to count our chickens, but so far, so good. He’s also willing to speak with Lord Michael Kenyon about the mine, but I think he wants to see the problems for himself rather than take the word of a mere female.”
     
    “It will be good if he does go into the pit—no one can really understand who hasn’t been there.” Marged thought a moment. “Madoc always goes home for a two-hour meal in the middle of the day, so tomorrow should be as good a day as any to take his lordship into the pit. I’ll check with Owen when he comes home tonight. If there’s a problem, I’ll send a message to Aberdare, but if you don’t hear to the contrary, bring him over a bit after noon.” That settled, she