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And when she glanced at the head of the table, it was to see Mr. Calderbank finished with his meal, sitting back in his chair, watching her over the top of his wine glass.

There was an interest in his eyes, a heat, which caused her stomach to tighten. Not in a, Oh God I have to attend a ball and dance with an earl sort of way. More like a, He knows how to make you scream in pleasure sort of way.

Did he?

Did he know how to do that?

Suddenly breathless, Felicity sat back—hard—in her chair.

These feelings—these reactions she’d been having to Mr. Calderbank, ever since he’d pinned her against the wall and threatened her… She swallowed. She’d never felt these sorts of things before.

Oh, she knew what they meant, but somehow, her fingers and her battered copy of A Harlot’s Guide just weren’t sufficient any longer.

She needed someone to explain—to teach her—how to handle these delicious, terrifying sensations.

“Can we play parlor games, Papa?”

The conversation had continued around Felicity who’d been completely preoccupied, but Marcia’s question cut through her distraction. She glanced around to realize not only were her dining companions all finished eating, but Rupert had begun to collect the plates and silverware, in a matter-of-fact manner which made her suspect this was commonplace.

She suddenly felt awkward and entitled, to realize—despite her less than idyllic childhood—she’d never had to manage with fewer than a half dozen servants, all of them extremely loyal.

Oh dear, she was wool-gathering again. At some point, Mr. Calderbank had given his permission to decamp to the parlor, and Bull was reaching to help her from her chair.

Parlor games? Good heavens, when was the last time she’d played parlor games? Well, she’d played some a few months ago with Bull, but those hardly counted, did they? It was just to try to learn his personality better, really, and they’d been difficult.

Not because he was difficult, but it’s bloody impossible to play Blind Man’s Bluff with only two people. Even with great mental effort applied to the problem.

“Charades!” Marcia announced triumphantly as Bull led Felicity into a sparsely furnished sitting room. “Rupert, you write out the words, since I know you won’t play.”

“A verb is an action word, or a word describing a state of being,” the boy intoned solemnly, pulling a pad of paper from inside his jacket. “There are thought to be over sixty thousand verbs in the English language, but only sixteen are used with regularity. I’ll endeavor to choose others.” He began tearing slips of paper.

Good heavens, he permanently carried a notebook? Presumably in case he had any flashes of brilliance while away from his desk.

Remembering the times she’d be struck by an idea while dining, or strolling through the park, Felicity decided the lad had the right idea, and wondered if any of her gowns had pockets big enough for a notebook of that size.

Perhaps Marcia was on to something with her pocket crusade.

Bull led her to a settee and settled beside her. Rupert was busy scribbling, and her son sent Marcia a grin.

“Perhaps we should choose non-verbs next time. Last month Rupert handed me ‘to be’ and it took Marcia all afternoon to guess that one.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “That’s because it was a stupid word.”

“Or perhaps,” her brother murmured without looking up, “Bull is just bad at being.”

“Better than good at being bad,” Bull shot back.

From the back of the room, where he’d settled in a chair beside the window, Mr. Calderbank snorted.

Another laugh? Felicity twisted in her seat.

When he saw her looking at him, Mr. Calderbank raised a brow in challenge. She said nothing, of course, so his lips twitched and he lifted a copy of today’s Daily Constitutional between them.

Hiding, hmm? So he wouldn’t have to participate in the charades?

“I’ll go first,” Marcia declared, reaching for one of the folded slips of paper her brother held in his hands. When she unfolded it, she frowned thoughtfully.

She stood, moved in front of the fireplace, and held one arm out, to her side and in front of her, curved around…an imaginary round thing. Then she lifted her other hand, made a fist, and began to make small circles in the air right above the imaginary round thing.