The Courtship (Sherbrooke Brides 5)

“It took me five years to convince you.”

“You know very well that Douglas detests the familiarity of it. You do it to enrage him. He says I am the one flirting, that I am the one who is encouraging you to think thoughts you should not be thinking.”

He la

ughed, couldn’t seem to help himself. It was his second bout of laughter in under twenty-four hours. He cleared his throat. Was his throat a bit sore from the unaccustomed exercise?

“May I offer you tea, Spenser?”

“Yes, if you wish. Actually, what I would really like is to discuss the finer points of discipline with you.”

Alexandra flushed from her neck to her hairline. She pressed her palms to her cheeks and fanned herself.

“What is this? You get overly warm when just the word is spoken?”

“Don’t bait me, sir. Dare I ask where you heard about that?”

He gave her a grin so wicked she wanted to smack him, but she wasn’t close enough. She watched him lean back against the mantel and cross his arms over his chest. “You were in the Sanderling’s library, speaking of discipline with a big girl who—hopefully—has enough soft ribbons to tie a man down by both his ankles and his wrists. She was discussing various philosophical points, while you, Alexandra, you wanted specificity that you could immediately try on Douglas.”

“Oh, dear. I thought we were quite alone. No, wait. I remember hearing a man laugh. It was you, Spenser? Oh, goodness, better you than Mr. Pierpoint, who would have collapsed of apoplexy on the spot. I never would have been able to face Mrs. Pierpoint and tell her how her husband passed over.”

“Also better my overhearing you than Douglas.”

“I am not so sure. Do sit down, Spenser. You have embarrassed me to my toes. As to Douglas, he would have laughed his head off, just as you did.” She cocked her head at him. “Now just a moment. You of all people do not need any further instruction on various forms of discipline. You already know all there is to know, don’t you? I would assume a man of your experience would be well versed in it.”

He looked down at his hands, his long fingers and well-buffed fingernails. He never allowed a hangnail because he did not want to chance hurting a woman’s soft flesh when he was caressing her. His dratted imagination again. He cleared his throat and pontificated. “Just as there are many forms of government, there are also no shortage of approaches to the subject of discipline. I am always eager to garner new knowledge, no matter the source.”

She cleared her throat and called out, “Mankin, I know you are standing not two feet on the other side of the door. Your jaw has probably dropped halfway to the floor because you are eavesdropping. Please pick up your jaw, bring some tea, and some of Cook’s delicious mince clappers.”

They heard a harrumph from the corridor.

Lord Beecham’s eyebrow rose a good inch. “Dare I ask? Did you say mince clappers?”

“Yes. Our cook, Mrs. Clapper, is from the far north, just at the southern edge of the Cheviot Hills. The recipe descends from her mother’s side of the family, sheep farmers all of them, going back many hundreds of years. It’s a special sort of pastry made with raisins, apples, cinnamon, currants, and oranges, all ground together. It is quite delicious, really.”

“It sounds rather strange to me, Alexandra. With all of it ground up, do you think there might be some sheep parts in there she hasn’t told you about?”

“If there are, you can’t taste them.”

“Perhaps I won’t indulge in the clappers at this time.”

“Now, Spenser, you were just saying how there were many different schools of discipline. There are also many different kinds of pastries to be tried. I expect you to be eager to expand your culinary knowledge. In short, my dear sir, don’t be a coward.”

“The ultimate weapon, a direct blow to the manhood. Bring on the clappers.”

Ten minutes later, Lord Beecham was enthusiastically chewing a mouthful of clapper when, without warning from Mankin, the big girl came sweeping into the drawing room.

“Alexandra, I will have him chasing at my heels by tomorrow evening, at the latest. Meeting him will be so very easy, and—”

She stared at him, her expression so horrified that he laughed. That made him choke on the clapper. She was on him in an instant, slapping his back so hard he wondered if his ribs would burst through his chest.

He managed to swallow the rest of the clapper, but since he was having a hard time breathing, he just sat there, gasping for breath as he looked up at her.

“Are you all right, Lord Beecham?”

“He still can’t breathe, Helen. Give him a minute. Did she cave in your ribs, Spenser?”

Two minutes passed before he had enough breath back in his body to speak. He looked up at the big girl. “You know me?”