A Matter of Scandal (18 page)

“They probably don’t.” Whatever benefit of the doubt she’d been willing to give Alice and Lady Sylvia had vanished at the latter’s cold reception toward the girls. Honesty was always best, she decided as she returned her attention to Henrietta. “This won’t be the only time or place you’ll encounter a cold shoulder from your peers. Unfortunately, in Society every unmarried female expects that every other unmarried female is looking for a husband. You will therefore be considered com—”

“Competition,” Henrietta finished. “That’s what Grey said.”

“Really?” That was interesting. “How did he say it?”

“Just like you did. Except he also said always to be sure of your footing because you could
never know when someone, man or woman, might try to put you off balance.” She giggled. “Julia thought he meant people were going to try to knock us to the ground. I had to tell her that he was speaking figuratively.”

Not necessarily
. “Well, that’s good advice.”

Henrietta nodded. “We thought so, too.”

During the next set Frederick claimed Henrietta for a quadrille, and under Emma’s watchful eye he didn’t so much as take a step toward Jane. The young lady had to be the reason he was at Haverly, though, and Emma wasn’t about to forget that even with Grey’s heady presence.

As the big grandfather clock downstairs struck midnight and the last dance came to a close, Emma stepped back from Charles Blumton and applauded. “That was splendid,” she said, smiling as Grey and Henrietta joined her, “but I’m afraid we must call it an evening.”

The duke nodded. “I’m pleased you came.”

That sounded like he meant it just for her, but she was so flushed from dancing that she doubted another blush would show. “We thank you for inviting us.” Smiling, she took the earl’s hand as he approached. “And thank you as well, Lord Haverly. You are a very generous man.”

“My pleasure, Emma. Regina and I have decided we shall have to do this more often, and for all your young ladies.”

“It would be a fine tradition.” The girls gathered around them, one by one thanking Wycliffe and Haverly while Emma beamed. Despite a few missteps, they’d done themselves—and her—proud. They’d also done Grey proud, but ultimately it was
their
success that mattered.

“I’ll see you out.” Grey offered his arm. Emma tucked her hand around his arm and they followed as the girls and Isabelle trooped downstairs. “How do you rate Freddie’s performance this evening?” the duke asked in his low voice.

“He trod on my toe, but I suppose I do make him nervous.”

“You make
me
nervous.”

“As if I could.” As if anyone could unnerve the Duke of Wycliffe.

“You would be surprised, Emma,” he murmured, tilting his head toward her.

In the half dark, the gesture felt as intimate as a kiss. “Grey.”

With a slight sigh, he straightened. “What about Freddie, then?”

“The rules don’t change.” She looked ahead at Jane, hand in hand with Elizabeth as they reached the foyer. “He didn’t try to arrange any elopements tonight, though the thought probably crossed his mind.”

“But you’re not angry with me for inviting him?”

Emma wanted to be angry with him, but tonight had been too enjoyable to ruin with arguing. “Just tell me beforehand next time.”

Grey nodded again. “Fair enough.”

He was being far too mild and agreeable, and she could only come up with a few reasons why he would behave himself. One reason, actually. A flicker of heat started low in her belly. If they were caught, another midnight visit would ruin her—literally and figuratively.

As Hobbes held the door for them and they
made their way to the waiting barouche, though, he didn’t say anything the least bit improper. He merely handed Isabelle and the students one by one into the vehicle, complimenting each of them on their dancing, or their decorum, or their bravery in partnering with Lord Charles.

“Do you think he’ll give up his quizzing glass?” Lizzy asked.

“I doubt it. Though I would imagine he won’t use it in your presence any longer.”

Emma waited until the rest of the passengers were settled, then took his hand as she stepped up into the barouche. “Will you be teaching tomorrow?”

His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around hers, then released her. “Yes. So I’ll see you soon,” he said, his gaze holding hers.

Oh, dear
. “Good night.”

The carriage rolled away from the manor, with the girls turning to wave at Grey’s vanishing figure. Emma only glanced back at him once, just before they rounded the curve and drew out of sight. He was smiling.

Grey watched after them until he couldn’t hear the carriage any longer. He’d warned Emma of his plans for later and she hadn’t said a word; therefore, she agreed.

“Your Grace?” Hobbes said from the doorway.

“Hm?”

“It’s rather chilly tonight. I thought perhaps you might wish to come inside.”

“Is it chilly? I hadn’t noticed.”

With the way Emma had his blood running, he
could be in the middle of a Russian winter and not feel the cold. A chill of a different sort awaited him inside, however, and he felt it immediately.

“Lady Sylvia, is there something I can do for you?”

“I just don’t see the attraction,” she said smoothly, taking his arm as they returned upstairs.

He avoided staring at her, but just barely. “Attraction?”

“You and those little girls. It’s simply…unfathomable why you would wish to spend time with them.”

“I’m doing it to win a wager. And since part of my task is alerting my students to the perils and pitfalls awaiting them in London, I should thank you for your performance tonight.”

“Ah.” She looked at him from beneath her long, curling lashes. “Am I a peril, or a pitfall?”

“Both.” He continued past her, up the stairs.

“When I attended finishing school in Wessex, we never had a duke dancing attendance on us,” she went on, following him. “Our headmistress would have fainted if a man came anywhere near us. So would I.”

He kept walking. “Luckily you seem to have overcome your aversion.”

“Quite so. I find it best to keep an open mind.”

She probably kept an open bed chamber door, as well. A few weeks ago he might have been intrigued, but tonight he didn’t even spare her a backward glance.

Grey said his good nights to the others. Tristan, Blumton, and Uncle Dennis had settled back in the drawing room for brandy and a cigar and to
trade tales of tromped-on toes, but he had other things on his mind. One thing, actually.

Stripping out of most of his evening finery, he pulled on a plain, dark pair of trousers. A waistcoat seemed a great deal of effort for the short amount of time he intended on wearing it, but if he ran across anyone they would probably note that he was improperly attired. They had standards for nobility, even in Hampshire.

Once he shrugged into his coat and pulled on his boots, he went to his bed chamber door, then stopped. Most of the servants had retired for the evening, but the three men remained in the drawing room. And while he could evade their notice, Sylvia clearly suspected something, and she was just as clearly on the prowl.

For his own sake he didn’t give a damn whether she caught him slipping out or not, but her gossip and speculation would devastate Emma. Rubbing his chin, Grey reversed course and headed for the window. If Alice could clamber out on the ledge in her gown and stockings, he could damned well do it in boots and breeches.

The window was already open to invite in the cool evening air. He stuck one foot over the sill and ducked outside—and someone rapped on his door. For a moment he remained where he was, poised half in and half out of the window. If his guest entered the bed chamber to find him gone, though, he would be faced with some rather sticky questions when he returned. Cursing, Grey stepped back inside and shrugged out of his coat. If no one was paying too close attention, it would simply look like he’d been undressing for the
evening. As he passed the bed he yanked the coverlet down with one hand.

“What?” he asked, pulling open the door.

Freddie Mayburne blinked at him. “I…I just wanted to thank you for inviting me here this evening.”

He’d forgotten Freddie even existed. Grey nodded. “You’re welcome. Good night.” He pushed the door closed.

He’d only taken two steps back toward his coat and the window when the knocking resumed. With another curse he strode back and yanked it open again.

“Yes?”

“Ah. From our conversation last week,” Mayburne continued, “I thought you might be a bit more…helpful in my quest.”

“I invited you here tonight.”

“And I didn’t even get to speak with Jane.”

Grey looked at him for a moment. He knew Freddie’s type, even if he barely knew the man. In all but the lad’s quest for wealth, the resemblance between them was rather strong. Or it had been. Tonight, though, Emma’s words echoed in his mind—she hadn’t realized that people lied, or that they were two-faced, or that they said they wanted a woman’s heart when they really only wanted her purse.

“How does Jane feel about you?” he asked slowly.

Frederick’s brow furrowed. “She’s mad for me, of course.”

“Of course.” With effort Grey kept from glancing back at the beckoning window. “Tonight you began to establish that you are worthy of trust, a
man of your word. The day after tomorrow you will send a note to the Academy, addressed to Miss Emma Grenville, inquiring as to whether the ladies who attended the soirée tonight might wish to join you for luncheon in Basingstoke.”

The younger man gave a sly grin. “I begin to see why you have such a reputation, Your Grace.”

Grey wasn’t so sure he deserved the praise, if that was what it was. He knew how to seduce a woman; he’d done it more times than he could count. One complimented them, said what they thought they wanted to hear and bought them a few trinkets, if necessary, and then one bedded them.

But the problem here was twofold. One, he knew Jane. And having been in the position to instruct and interact with her, he felt…protective toward her. The second problem was Emma. She wasn’t simply a female whose favors he wanted, though he did want them again. Badly. She’d become more than that. She was damned complicated, and to know her, to understand her, he needed to learn what moved her and what motivated her. If he couldn’t do that, neither could he expect that she would return his interest and affection.

“Your Grace?”

Grey shook himself. If he spent all night mooning over her, he wasn’t going to have enough time to actually go and see her. “Yes?”

“Good night.”

“Good night.” Grey shut the door again, listening as Freddie’s footsteps headed for the stairs. He would puzzle out Jane and Frederick later.

Making sure his door was latched, he pulled
his coat back on and returned to the window. Thanks to the rough stonework and a drainpipe, descending took only a few moments. Once on the ground, he paused. Taking Cornwall made the most sense, but thanks to Freddie’s delayed departure, the grooms still moved about the stable. “Damnation,” he grunted. A two-mile hike in the dark didn’t hold much appeal, particularly considering he would have to return the same way.

Going back to bed was out of the question. All night the scent of Emma’s hair, the touch of her hand, the sound of her voice, had driven him half mad. The only thing that had kept him from dragging her into an unoccupied room and stripping her clothes off had been the thought that he would have her in his arms before sunrise.

Bloody hell, he was a duke. He wasn’t supposed to have to sneak, or evade servants, or saddle his own damned horse, or go traipsing on foot through the woods to a rendezvous. She should be coming to find him. Grey sighed irritably. Emma wouldn’t do any such thing, and he knew damned well that he wasn’t going to sit on his ass and wait.

Deciding a few minutes delay would be better than four miles on foot, he stalked back and forth in the deep shadows until the last light in the stable went out. Normally he admired diligence, but tonight he would have been happy to see the entire stable staff drunk and sleeping hours ago. He slipped in through the door and collected Cornwall, grabbing the necessary tack and hauling everything outside to saddle the beast.

He glanced up toward the house as he swung
up onto the bay. The drawing room was on the opposite side of the manor, and all of the windows overlooking the stable were dark. Just to be safe, though, he kept Cornwall to a quiet walk until they reached the end of the drive. As soon as they passed out of earshot he urged the gelding into a canter.

The moon was half full and sitting almost directly overhead, its light enough to read by. Once he caught a glimpse of Freddie ahead on the road and, swearing, slowed Cornwall to a walk again before he ran the lad down.

As he approached the ivy-covered walls surrounding the Academy, he noticed that all of the lights were out there, as well. He wasn’t surprised. It was well past bedtime for all proper chits. He smiled to himself. Emma wasn’t nearly as proper as she liked to think.

Standing in the saddle, he pulled himself up to the top of the wall and dropped down the other side. Emma really needed to set some dogs out on night patrol to protect those girls. This was too simple. On the other hand, he didn’t want a pack of hounds nipping at his heels while he sprinted across the moonlit grass to the building’s deep shadows.

The main door was locked and bolted, but the third window he tried slid open easily. Grey slipped inside one of the classrooms and closed the window behind himself. No sense getting papers blown all over the place by the night breeze.

Silently, he made his way into the main hall and then upstairs to the second floor. Everything was peaceful and quiet, which was encouraging.
She had to know he was on his way, but no Amazon school instructors barred the way, and the troll seemed to be wherever he spent the night.

Her office door was closed, but not locked. Grey stepped inside, the slight scent of lemon in the air making him go hard all over again. The room looked different with the desk gone, but at the moment all that concerned him was that she wasn’t in there, either.