“It would be best to discuss this now, while the children are not about.”

She supposed he was right; it would be better to discuss this while they had some privacy. Anna glanced cautiously at him from under her lashes, trying to gauge the level of his irritation. He didn’t appear too upset. He pushed the door wider, and the light from the library brushed the muscled lines of his hip and legs and outlined his powerful arms.

Anna found that she couldn’t swallow. Nor could she move. She could just stand. And stare. Goodness, but the man was well built. She wondered how often he rode, for only steady exercise could—

“Miss Thraxton? Do we discuss this now?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course. Right now.”

For some absurd reason, she was suddenly aware of how she must look, hot and mussed, her hair falling from the pins. She ran a damp hand over the skirt of her habit, wondering if she was also splattered in mud. “I hope I don’t get mud on your rug.”

He didn’t answer, but stepped back from the doorway, obviously expecting her to follow. A bath was out of the question until Lord High and Mighty had his say. It was just like Greyley to ignore the niceties of life. The thought prickled at her and gave her a new sense of irritation, which she held closely. It was much more comfortable than the heated flickers she fought when looking at his finely muscled thighs.

A hot shiver shook her at the thought and she crossed her arms beneath her breasts as she followed Greyley into the library. Once there, she asked in an ungracious voice, “Well?”

Greyley stood leaning against the mantel, an arrogant pose that suited him well. “I wanted to speak with you about two matters.”

“Fine, but first—”

“Have a seat, Miss Thraxton.”

There was definite menace in his tone. Now was not the time to explain how his manner tended to push the children into disobedience. The stern cast of his jaw seemed to tighten, and she swallowed the thought before she could explore it.

Moving slowly enough to let him know what she thought of his ill-mannered tactics, she found a chair, carefully smoothed her skirts, and then perched on the edge of the seat.

“Miss Thraxton,” he said, completely unmoved by her silent communications, “I will not be blackmailed. Not by you, or anyone else. From now on, any personal information given to you by my sister will remain in confidence.”

Anthony tried to keep his voice even, but firm. He was not an unfair man. But he had to stifle Miss Thraxton’s attempts to run more than the nursery. “Do I make myself clear?”

To his immense irritation, she didn’t argue or even appear shocked. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap and said meekly, “Yes, my lord.”

The gesture was so patently fake that he snorted.

She abandoned the pose immediately, leaning back in her chair and regarding him with a tired, but humorous smile. Her hair had fallen on one side, the thick curls hugging her neck, in vivid contrast to her white skin. “In my own defense, I did not repeat anything that was improper for a child to hear.”