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Taking charge of the situation, she cleared her throat. “Your Grace, you do not seem to have called me here to read,” she said with a pointed look at the glass of brandy in his large hands. “Perhaps you might be kind enough to tell me the important topic you wished to discuss?”

She kept her tone as formal as possible, remaining at the door, making no move to approach him even though every inch of her being wanted to be close to him.

Instead of taking offense at her stiff tone, his lips widened in a smirk.

“Do you care for a drink?” he asked, raising his glass in a mock salute.

“No, thank you, Your Grace,” she said, maintaining her frosty tone. Being in his presence scrambled her thoughts, and she did not want liquor to muddle her senses further. “I would much prefer to keep my wits about me.”

“Whatever you say, My Lady,” he said, pushing off the shelf and approaching her with slow, short steps.

She was tempted to take a step back, her senses recognizing the predatory intent that oozed off his larger frame.

She fought against it and maintained her stance. She would never allow him to know the true extent of the power he held over her.

Suddenly, he stopped by the desk just a few steps from her and deposited his glass there. He folded his arms across his chest and regarded her intensely, so much so that she almost squirmed under his gaze.

“You have done exceedingly well since we began our lessons, My Lady. But it seems I have neglected a core component. It is the leading ingredient that has the power of transforming you from an admirable lady to one that commands the room with her presence.”

“What might that be?” she asked warily.

“It is quite simple, My Lady,” he said, resuming his approach towards her.

He stopped right in front of her, and she looked up into the dark pools of his eyes.

“Etiquette.” He said the single word as if it held the secrets of the universe.

Stepping away from her, he turned back and paced the room.

“You, My Lady, are a beautiful woman, but it is the little things that might be keeping you from reaching your full potential. The way you stand, walk…”

“But there is nothing wrong with the way I walk.”

“You laugh too loudly. It is unbecoming of a young lady.”

“I’m sorry if my honest laughter offends you and those uptight people.”

“You mix up members of the ton.”

“I have never done that!”

“You were also tugging at your dress, which is very unrefined behavior.”

The sharp tone gave her pause. She realized with surprise that she was panting and that Richard’s breathing was also heavier than usual.

She did not understand what had brought about the argument. She just knew that his presence discomfited her, and when he started making disparaging remarks about her gait and manners, she felt a flare of irritation. She had held onto that anger to combat how helpless she felt in his presence.

Blowing out a breath through her lips, she tried to calm down enough to answer him without raising her voice in anger.

“Your Grace,” she began haltingly when she felt she was calm enough. “I only scratch and squeeze my dresses when I’m nervous. When I’m not, I usually keep my hands where they belong—folded in my lap.”

“Well,” he said in a patronizing tone that fanned her irritation back into flame, “you are in the eye of the ton now, dear Selina, and they certainly will not consider the possibility that your failure at etiquette was caused by a bout of nervousness. Take the way you stand, for instance.” He came to stand behind her,then gently pushed at her back and tilted her chin up so that she stood with her chest pushed forward and her head held high. “You have to command respect and give no chance for nervousness.”

“I do not have easy control over my emotions. I cannot simply decide not to be nervous,” she huffed.

“Well, you will learn to control them if you wish to achieve your goal.”

That commanding, authoritative tone he used to speak to her was the last cut in the tether of her self-control.