The earl shrugged. “He is all the rage.”

“You cannot like him,” Anna said, unable to picture the earl reading anything so romantic as Lord Byron.

He glinted her a look, then said softly, “‘She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that’s best of dark and bright. Meets in her aspect and her eyes…’”

The words rested in the silence, cupped by the warmth of the room, glowing in their simplicity. A slow tingle filled her heart and expanded, warming her chest, her shoulders, her arms. She found herself nodding. “Byron is one of my favorites as well.”

The moment seemed unexpectedly intimate, as if they’d known each other for a very long time and had shared numerous confidences. It was an illusion, she knew. She and Greyley exchanged verbal barbs and not friendship.

To break the hold of the silence, she turned back to the shelves. “Have you read every book here?”

The earl leaned against the desk, his broad shoulders blocking the light from one of the windows. “Not yet. I’m a very deliberate reader, and I savor that which I enjoy most.” There was something about the earl’s voice that compelled one to listen. Low and melodious, he spoke each word as if he’d considered it, tasted it, and then found it fit to be used.

Anna slanted him a glance and found that he was watching her. “I love to read. It’s one of the things I emphasize with my charges.”

“If you can get them to do anything, then you will have done more than most of the other governesses I’ve hired.”

“How many have there been?”

He made a disgusted sound. “More than I can count.” He leaned across the wide desk and picked up a sheet of paper and then held it out.

Anna reluctantly left the books and crossed the room to take the paper. She looked at it then wrinkled her nose. “Ah, the schedule.”

“Divided into half-hour increments. I believe you will find everything accounted for—history, Latin, Greek, exercise—”

“Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll need this.” She put it back in his hand. “I don’t use schedules.”

His good humor melted. “Then how did you keep the children on task?”

“I set very broad weekly goals. Nothing inflexible, of course. Then we establish our routine each morning and work from there.”

The earl’s brow lowered. “Miss Thraxton, we agreed to work together. The schedule is very important.”

“Yes, but expecting children to conform to a strict schedule is not very realistic.”

“Why not? I set a schedule for my servants and I have found it very beneficial. They wash the floors on Tuesdays, the linens on Thursdays, and so on. It has made them much more productive.”

“Yes, but these are children, Greyley. Not servants. Don’t you remember being a child?”

Anna looked into Greyley’s face and saw her answer. He didn’t. He didn’t remember being a child. It was as if he’d never been allowed the luxury of playing, of experiencing the unfettered freedom of being young and not having a care in the world.