A Matter of Scandal (15 page)

All by itself
. Grey grinned, then realized he was short one boot.
Damnation
. He scanned the floor, but couldn’t see it amid the clutter of books and collapsed furniture.

“I’ll help you clean up. You shouldn’t be moving things around in the dark, Em. You are lucky you weren’t hurt.”

“Don’t bother, Isabelle. I’ll just leave it until morning.” Abruptly she shifted to one side, and he saw the toe of his missing boot disappear beneath the long skirt of her nightgown.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. After all this, I think I may actually be able to fall asleep.”

“All right.” The French instructor returned to the door. “Oh, you may want to speak with Elizabeth in the morning. Jane said the
petite
got another letter from her mother, but she wouldn’t let Jane see it.”

Grey heard Emma’s sigh. “That damned woman. No doubt she’s asking for money again. I’ll deal with it in the morning.”

“
Oui
. Good night, again.”

“Good night, Isabelle.”

As soon as the office door closed, Grey emerged from the bed chamber. “What’s wrong with Lizzy?” he asked.

Emma stepped off his boot and leaned down to hand it to him. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

He gazed at her. “So now you’re the polite, professional headmistress again?”

“I always was.”

After his stupid comment, he could practically see the wall of brick and mortar rebuilding itself around her. That bothered him immensely. He’d hoped for—he’d sought—a night of lovemaking that would purge the uncharacteristic lust for Emma Grenville from his system. But it hadn’t worked. He still wanted her, even more, now that he’d tasted her. Before he’d held her in his arms, he hadn’t been all that certain of his intentions. He still wasn’t entirely certain what he wanted, except that he needed to stop being such a boor. Tonight was still too much of a surprise.

He took her hand, drawing her closer, then
leaned down and kissed her. The embrace was even more magnetic than before. He knew the feel, the touch, and the rhythm of her, now.

“Will you tell me about Lizzy tomorrow?” he asked, drawing his fingers along her soft skin, and not wanting to let her go. “I’ll help if I can.”

“I like this Grey,” she whispered, running her hands down his bare chest. “If I see him again tomorrow, perhaps we might chat.” Softly she kissed him back. “You have to go now.”

He wanted to stay, yet he couldn’t begin to decipher the turmoil in his mind while in her presence. “All right. But this isn’t over between us, Emma.”

“Mmmm. I might be able to stand a few more lessons.”

Grey swept her up against him again. “Don’t say that if you want me to leave,” he murmured.

He felt her tremble. “I’ll remember that.”

Dressing quickly, before he could change his mind and ruin her beyond redemption, Grey slipped back downstairs and outside. As he trod across the foggy grounds and climbed the brick wall to one side of the gate, only one thing seemed clear: he no longer wanted Miss Grenville’s Academy closed.

His stay in Hampshire had just become extremely complicated.

Lady Sylvia sat in the window of her bed chamber and sipped a cup of cool chocolate. The drink had started out hot, but that had been over two hours ago, when she’d intended to drink it quickly and go to bed.

And to think that when she’d first come to
Haverly, she’d been displeased with the bed chamber the countess had assigned her, as far from the duke’s as the woman could manage. As she gazed down at the stableyard now, and considering how her initial attempt of seduction had been received, she could only be thankful for the view. Greydon Brakenridge had ridden off into the moonlight looking like the hounds of hell were on his heels. His return, though, was considerably more quiet and peaceful.

She continued to watch from her dark window while he led his big bay into the stable and then emerged some fifteen minutes later. Even in the fading moonlight, she could see his smile.

“Naughty, naughty, Greydon,” she murmured, and finished off the last her cold, sweet drink. She had a letter or two to write in the morning. It was time to let the parents of the Academy students know what their overreaching headmistress was up to.

“I
don’t know how this could’ve happened,” Tobias said, tipping the desk the rest of the way over onto its side. “I would’ve wagered this old crate would last forever.”

Her arms crossed over her chest, Emma did her best not to blush. “It was bound to go eventually, I suppose.”

“Well, Mr. Jones owes me a favor for me helping him straighten his plow. I’ll get him to help me carry this mess out of here.”

“Do you think you can repair it?”

“Dunno. Maybe.” The handyman tugged experimentally on the two remaining legs, then straightened. “I still don’t understand it.” Wiping his hands on his trousers, he headed for the door. “I’d best go unlock the gate for them grand carriages.”

“Thank you, Tobias.”

As soon as he left, Emma sagged into her chair. She was tired, the muscles between her legs were sore, and she had the oddest desire to burst into song. Her next discussion of anatomy would be a great deal more informed, even if she didn’t dare be any more explicit in her description of man-parts.

She’d been wrong about one thing she’d said last night: what she and Grey had done had more than distracted her. She hadn’t done anything resembling research all morning. Measuring the north meadow for a brickworks building seemed equally unappealing, but it was the task she’d set for herself today.

Footsteps pounded up to her open office door. “Miss Emma, they’re here,” Julia Potwin said, her eyes bright with excitement. Without waiting for a reply she vanished in the direction of the stairway.

Every bit of her wanted to rush to the window and look for Grey, and she sternly resisted the impulse. She was not some schoolgirl suffering her first crush.

Taking a deep breath to steady her jangling nerves, she pushed to her feet. Halfway down the stairs she realized that she’d forgotten her notes, and with a curse she hurried back to her office for them.

By the time she made it outside, her students and Miss Perchase were already seated in the coach and the barouche, chattering excitedly. Tristan leaned against the pot of geraniums which stood by the front steps, and for the moment she refused to let her gaze stray beyond him. The anticipation was…delicious.

“Good morning, Tristan,” she said, smiling, and hoping the warmth she felt creeping up her cheeks was just the sunlight.

“Emma. You look splendid this morning.” The viscount took her hand and brought it to his lips.

No lightning seared her, and no fire coursed through her veins, but that didn’t surprise her. He wasn’t Greydon Brakenridge. “Thank you. You look quite well, yourself.”

The air stirred beside her, and her breath caught. She pulled her fingers from Lord Dare’s grip before he could feel their sudden trembling. Now that the moment had come, though, she didn’t want to look at Grey. He’d promised he wouldn’t laugh—but what if he looked contemptuous, or as if he couldn’t even remember where he’d been last night?

“Good morning.” His low drawl rumbled through her.

Squaring her shoulders and sending up a quick, wordless prayer, she faced him. “Good…morning.”

Grey’s gaze met hers, full of heat and raw desire. His lips curved in a slight smile, and for a moment she thought he meant to take her in his arms and ravish her again, right there on the Academy’s old stone steps beside the geraniums. Then he offered her his hand.

“Shall we?”

Emma took his fingers, and if his gripped hers too tightly or released hers too slowly when she’d found her seat, no one else seemed to notice. But she did. She couldn’t seem to notice anything
but
the Duke of Wycliffe.

“Where are we going today?”

Emma shook herself. She needed to pay attention to what she was doing. “I need to view the north pasture again, if no one minds.”

Grey seated himself opposite her. “Roscoe,” he said over his shoulder, “the north pasture.”

“Aye, Your Grace.”

Tobias stood by the open gate as they headed for Haverly. Emma scarcely noted which girls were in which vehicle, or who sat next to her. Her entire being was focused on the man seated across from her. Their knees bumped as the barouche rolled through a rut, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Miss Santerre said your desk broke.” Chuckling, Jane took her hand. “I told Mary it was the weight of all the work you’ve been giving us.”

Emma forced a smile. “No doubt.”

“More likely it was all those research books,” Grey suggested. “Farm animals and tax laws and Latin.”

This time she knew she blushed. He wasn’t even attempting to make this morning any easier on her. Pleasurable as last night had been, she hadn’t expected this heated need that coursed through her veins every time she glanced at him. And since he sat two feet in front of her, it was impossible not to look at him.

“Make fun now, if you like,” she said, trying to find her usual matter-of-fact tone, “because you won’t be laughing after I win this wager, Your Grace.”

“Well said, Emma,” Tristan seconded.

“Thank you.” Having the viscount to speak
with was a relief from her alternating self-derision and the silly wish to giggle, and she smiled at him warmly. “Did you bring those notes you mentioned?”

“Y—”

“Just remember that this estate plan is supposed to come from you,” Grey interrupted, his expression lowering. “Not him.”

“I’m only—”

“He’s only providing some statistics,” Emma snapped. “You don’t need to remind me of the rules.”

Elizabeth sighed, wrapping her arms around Emma’s and leaning her head against the headmistress’s shoulder. “I think the whole thing has been a grand adventure,” she said with a wan smile.

Emma kissed her on the temple. “Yes, it has been.”

Poor Lizzy was the only one with a real reason to cry this morning, and here she was trying to stop the quarreling and cheer them all up. Emma kissed the girl again.
She
was the Academy’s headmistress. She needed to start behaving like one again.

“Are you well, Lizzy?” Grey asked in a quiet voice.

His expression was concerned, and it startled Emma to see him like that. He’d spouted so much nonsense about females and schooling that she’d somehow missed an important fact; he genuinely cared for the girls he was teaching. She wondered when that had happened, and whether he realized it or not.

The Academy’s youngest student sighed again. “Yes, I’m quite well. Thank you for asking, Grey.”

Spot-on perfect
. Even Tristan lifted his brows at the proper little recitation. “Good God, Miss Elizabeth. You’re not an Amazon. I’ve lost five quid.”

Lizzy straightened. “Who did you wager with?”

“Ahem.”

“Oops.” She ducked her shoulders. “With whom did you wager, Lord Dare?”

Tristan nodded his chin in the duke’s direction. “Wycliffe said you were quite civilized, but I didn’t believe it.” He leaned closer, a conspiratorial light in his eyes. “
I
saw you sword fighting on stage.”

She chuckled. “I was splendid, wasn’t I?”

Emma let the remark pass without comment. She owed Tristan her thanks for cheering up the young sprite.

“I thought you were rather terrifying, actually. I even commented on your ferocity at the time, didn’t I, Grey?”

“He did. He was shivering. Tried to grab my hand, but I wouldn’t have any of it.”

The carriage-load of young ladies giggled, and Elizabeth patted Lord Dare on the knee. “You’re nice. I thought you were an old stuff-boots at first, but you’re not all that bad.”

Grey gave a shout of laughter. The sound rolled out from deep in his chest, hearty and kind and genuine, and it started Emma trembling all over again. She could get very used to that sound, and to that feeling. Far too used to it.

Roscoe leaned back in the driver’s perch. “The far side of the bridge, Miss, or right here?”

Oh—the brickworks plans
. She’d nearly forgotten already. “Across the creek, if you please.”

The driver stopped where she asked without Grey having to repeat her instructions. Well, that was a nice change, and about blasted time.

On the far side of the bridge, Grey made a show of handing the girls one by one to the grass. As her turn came, Emma stood and offered her hand, willing the silly thing not to shake. Instead of taking her fingers, though, the duke slid his hands around her waist and lifted her effortlessly to the ground.

Even after her feet found the grass, Grey kept his arms around her, his gaze as warm as his grip. “You do look very fetching this morning,” he murmured.

“Please let me go, Your Grace,” she said, knowing he must feel her trembling.

He shook his head. “Not yet.” After another moment, he faced the girls. By now they had begun to whisper and giggle, and he had to raise his voice to be heard. “Ladies, an improper advance is being made. As you can see, I am larger and stronger than Miss Emma. What do you suggest she do?”

“Ask him to let you go,” Mary suggested.

Grey looked down at her again. “Emma?”

She cleared her throat. He was devilishly clever, but she wondered what he would do if she raised up on her toes and kissed him—which was precisely what she wanted to do. “Your Grace, please let me go.”

“Hm. No.” He glanced at his charges. “Now what?”

“Ask him
why
he won’t let you go,” Julia called.

“Why won’t you let me go?” Emma repeated.

He actually tugged her closer. “Because I want to ravish you.”

“Grey,” she hissed, her heart pounding, “stop it at once.”

The duke only lifted an eyebrow. “Students?”

“That was stupid, Julia,” Henrietta said, scowling. “Now you’ve made it worse.”

“Well,
you
tell her what to do, then.”

“Fine. Tell him everyone is watching, and that you’ll both be ruined if he doesn’t stop.”

Emma sighed unsteadily. Thankfully, the girls seemed to be looking at the incident as just another lesson. “Everyone is watching, Your Grace. We’ll both be ruined if you don’t stop.”

His grip tightened, and he pulled her up against him. Emma couldn’t have stopped her squeak of surprise for anything, but decided it helped her case.

“I don’t care what anyone thinks,” the duke rumbled. “I must have you.”

“Kick him in the man-parts!” Lizzy yelled.

“Good God, no,” Tristan countered from behind her.

“Scream?” Mary suggested.

“Eeewww,” Lizzy grimaced. “Too silly.”

While they debated, Emma was becoming decidedly…warm. And even through her skirts, she could tell that she wasn’t the only one. She smiled up at him mischievously.
Ha. Let him be embarrassed, too
.

“Minx,” he whispered, his teeth clenching.

“You started this,” she murmured back. “Now what are you going to do?”

“Ravish you, apparently.”

“Oh, I know!” Jane clapped her hands together. “Slap him! It shows that you disapprove of his behavior,
and
it makes him look like a blackguard, all at the same time.”

“
Brava
,” the duke said. Before Emma could carry out Jane’s suggestion, he released her and took a step backward.

She felt cold where they’d been touching. “Don’t I get to slap you?”

His lips twitched. “No.” He turned to bow to the girls, pulling his greatcoat closed as he did so, despite the warmth of the summer morning. “Well done, Jane. First ask, then reason, then slap.” He pointed a finger at Lizzy. “No kicking.”

“Those aren’t the sole possible responses,” the teacher in Emma compelled her to add. “You might also attempt asking once more, and then step away while saying, ‘Oh, Jane, there you are,’ or the like.”

“I like slapping better,” Lizzy stated.

“Let’s try another one!”

“Yes, that was fun!”

“As you wish.” His lips pursed, Grey approached her again.

Shaking her head and laughing helplessly, Emma backed up until she ran into Lord Dare. “Oh—I beg your pardon, my lord. You ladies will just have to practice with His Grace. I need to make some notes.”

Grey didn’t like that she was escaping; she could see it on his face. Too much more of this,
though, and she would make a misstep and give them away. Or rather, give herself away. He’d probably been caught doing such things before, and Society only called him a rake for it. She would be called ruined, and her Academy would be called closed. Emma paused. Perhaps that was what he’d had in mind all along.

Something of what she was thinking must have shown on her face, because Grey abruptly turned around and herded Miss Perchase and his class toward a nice-looking patch of grass. Her heart pounding, Emma hurried to the creek bank and opened her notebook.

“Are you all right?” Tristan asked from behind her. “That big idiot didn’t embarrass you, I hope.”

“Oh, no. I’m fine. I just have so much work to do, and not much time left to accomplish it.”

The viscount touched her shoulder. “Are you certain?”

She forced a smile. “Yes, I’m certain. May I see your notes?”

“Did Grey bother telling you that he’d decided to host a soirée tomorrow evening for you and your students?” The viscount pulled a folded paper from his pocket and handed it over to her.

“A…a soirée?” Drat. She’d completely forgotten about the invitation—and considering the circumstances under which it had been delivered, she wasn’t certain whether she should admit to knowing about it or not. Not, she decided, as Tristan continued to look at her quizzically. “For tomorrow night? He’d mentioned something about a formal gathering, but my goodness. So soon?”

“He’s never been much for allowing other people in on his decision,” the viscount said dryly,
then indicated the paper. “It’s the best I could remember without having the actual drawings in front of me.”

Emma unfolded the paper. “This is splendid,” she said, perusing it. “Dimensions with product yield, and you’ve even included the number of laborers and their wages. Thank you, Tristan.”

He nodded. “I told you I knew all about bricks. And with the way Brighton’s growing, you might want to target your sales there. Everyone sends bricks to London, but you’re practically within a stone’s throw of the coast.”