His Scandalous Lessons

by Katrina Kendrick

  Granby was quiet as he considered her words. A moment later, he nodded, as if coming to a decision. “If I got a special license, would you still marry me?”

  “Without question,” she said fondly.

  “Good.” He grinned. “Good.” Then he pulled her in for a quick embrace.

  When she looked over his shoulder, she saw Richard coming around a garden hedge. He stopped when he saw her with Granby, something flashing in his eyes that she didn’t recognize. When his gaze met hers, she nodded once to confirm.

  He offered her a small smile, and turned back the way he’d come.

  Later, Anne found Richard alone in the library.

  The rest of the house party were enjoying tea and luncheon in the garden. Though Granby had invited Anne, she needed a respite from her performance before it cracked around the edges. She could not maintain the role of his fiancée when her heart ached as if a hole had been carved into it, damaging her beyond repair.

  Richard didn’t turn when she shut the door behind her. He was standing at the window, gazing out to a path that went into the forest. That had been their first walk, where he taught her how to flirt. He had gazed at her with some strange emotion that Anne had only just begun to recognize as desire.

  Anne fell a little in love with him that day at the chapel ruins.

  Only a little. But it was enough.

  The light framed Richard’s profile, accentuating his high cheekbones, the square of his jaw. His face was exquisite, so heartbreakingly beautiful. She wished for the skill to paint it.

  “Richard.”

  She had practiced saying so many things, but forgot them now. Her other words wouldn’t come. They had abandoned her for good reason. After all, what could she say? An apology? A thanks? Nothing seemed fitting.

  “I suppose I ought to offer you congratulations.” How odd he sounded, as if speaking from some script he’d memorized.

  “No,” she said softly. “You shouldn’t.”

  His laugh was dry. “And why not? You came and accomplished what you set out to do. You received an offer from a Marquess. That has to count for something. Granby will make you a good husband.”

  “Will he?” She asked it so quietly that she was surprised he’d heard it at all.

  “Yes,” Richard said. “He’s everything you wanted. Kind. Safe.”

  He didn’t have to say the rest, but she’d heard that unspoken sentiment as clear as a bell and it angered her.

  Boring.

  Anne made a noise of frustration. “Damn you, Richard Grey.” He looked over in surprise. “You’re clever, aren’t you?” she asked him, moving closer. “You can tell when a politician lies, but when it comes to me, you still haven’t been able to see what’s in front of your own eyes. Haven’t you been listening to me all this time?”

  “Let me hear it again, then, ” he said. His words were spoken with some barely controlled emotion.

  She was glad to see it. Let his facade crack. They were beyond performances now.

  “I would choose you,” she whispered. “If I could, it would be you.”

  Somehow, his lips found hers and they were kissing hard, desperately. She couldn’t stop this mad passion anymore than she could stop the oxygen from filling her lungs. It was just need, survival, his lips on hers, his body against hers.

  Richard made some rough sound and shoved a hand into her hair, pulling out pins. It was painful. She needed it. That pain made this real, it was a distraction from the ache in her heart; it renewed her focus. Here. Now. This was what mattered: his tongue touching hers, his teeth nipping at her lower lip as he dragged his mouth down, down, down to her neck and bit her softly just above her collarbone.

  Yes, he would mark her. It would last just long enough for this moment to become more dream than real. By the time she woke tomorrow, it would be a faint bruise, and by the time she left, it would be gone entirely.

  There was some tragedy in that. Some part of her that wanted the permanence of his mark somewhere on her. Ah, god, if she could not have him, shouldn’t she have something to remember him by? Something more than dreams and memories?

  But no. She would not have that or anything else from him. Once they left this house, they would act as strangers — renew their performances.

  Him, the dissolute rake without a care in the world.

  And her, the pretty little idiot.

  Nothing changed, yet everything changed.

  Anne pushed him away, her breathing ragged. She would have to reconstruct her performance. Fix herself. Renew her armor. “I have to go. Granby will be wondering where I am.”

  She left before he could say another word.

  Chapter 19

  There were many instruments of polite torture that Richard was intimately familiar with. Polite torture was what men learned in the realm of politics; civility, after all, dictated certain behavior. Decorum could make even the most patient of men wallow in misery and do just about anything to escape.

  Richard once thought himself immune to such discomfort. He played a role every night, and that sort of consummate lying was not for the weak.

  Ah, how conceited he had been. How foolish. Tonight humbled him, for this very reason: Richard sat next to Anne at dinner, and she sat next to Granby, and this was hell.

  She wore some crimson dress borrowed from Caroline that brought out the vivid highlights of her curls. How he longed to pluck the pins from her hair again, kiss down her throat, lick her, taste her. Everything.

  Granby would be granted those intimacies in the future. Granby would be the one to wake every morning with her in his bed.

  Yes, this was hell. Somewhere in one of the worst circles.

  Richard made a valiant effort to engage the lady on his right in conversation, but his answers were but a script he had memorized from growing up a gentleman. A regurgitation of polite noises and questions that feigned engagement while Anne occupied his every thought.

  Granby stared at her in blatant admiration, seemingly oblivious to Anne’s wan expression. She was going off her own script, all forced smiles and ladylike laughs.

  Then, just when Richard thought he would go mad, he felt the warmth of Anne’s fingertips beneath the table. Her hand slid in his and she squeezed gently. He expelled a breath and brushed a thumb across her knuckle.

  How long did he remain like that? Nodding politely, speaking and yet saying precisely nothing? He didn’t know.

  Anne must have noticed, for she squeezed his hand again and tipped her head in a silent message: pay attention.

  Richard tried to focus on the conversation across the table.

  “—when Parliament’s in session,” the Earl of Montgomery was saying, “the debate on the ballot act is bound to get ugly. Some men would prefer commoners not be enfranchised at all, let alone on a secret ballot.”

  “And why should they?” asked another gentleman. Baron Camoys, a young buck who was still wet behind the ears. “I think it cowardly, voting in secret. Let a man be honest about his intentions.”

  “Ah, yes, honesty,” Montgomery said, leaning back. “How easy that must be for the underclasses while under threat of being thrown into the streets by their landlords. Why didn’t I think of it?”

  Camoys narrowed his eyes. “Then perhaps they ought to vote as their landlords command. A cross in the right box is a small price to pay for a roof over their heads.”

  Montgomery’s smile had a razor-like quality. “I’d argue the point, but I suppose you’d know more than me about votes being bought and paid for, wouldn’t you, Camoys?”

  The baron’s mouth dropped open in shock.

  After a moment’s silence at the table, a few throats cleared and some small murmurs resumed. “Surely we can discuss a more polite topic,” the debutante seated beside Montgomery said with a laugh. “Why should we concern ourselves with commoners when there is a season to consider?”

  “Perhaps,” Miss Cecil said quietly, “it is because those men have a say
in this country’s future, and they should have the right to make it free of influence.”

  The other woman wrinkled her nose. “I almost asked how you know about such things, Miss Cecil, but I suppose you ought to have something to keep you occupied whilst standing along the perimeter of the ballroom.”

  Miss Cecil flushed and the entire dinner party went quiet once more. Anne and Richard went speak at the same time — Richard was still crafting his searing put-down — but it was Montgomery who managed it first. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “Lady Cornelia, is it? It occurs to me that you and I have never danced at a ball together before.”

  “No, we haven’t, my lord,” Lady Cornelia said, blushing prettily.

  Montgomery nodded once. “Good. I intend to keep it that way.”

  Miss Cecil choked on her wine to hide her laughter, and Lady Cornelia openly glared at the other girl.

  Beside him, he saw Anne’s face break into a smile just a moment before Granby said, “I say, that was uncalled for, Montgomery. This topic has no place at a table with ladies present, especially not the daughter of our esteemed prime minister.”

  Anne’s hand tightened in his. Her smile disappeared, replaced with a flash of panic. It sent a surge of hot rage through him.

  Our esteemed prime minister, was he? If Richard weren’t so angry, he might have marveled at how Sheffield managed to cultivate such a lie. Anne knew better than anyone how much of a sham it was. Even better than Richard.

  “Ladies are perfectly capable of engaging in a conversation about politics with their own opinions,” Richard said, reining in his emotions. “What do you think, Miss Sheffield?”

  Speak, sweetheart, he willed her. Speak. Let them hear how brilliant you are.

  Her features changed. He noticed the small rise of her chin, the tightening of her lips. Preparing her words. Preparing herself. The performance was about to crack.

  But Anne never got the chance. “Oh yes, I forgot,” Granby said with a small laugh. “Your sister has written a number of political essays, has she not, Mr. Grey? I’ve heard they’re positively shocking.”

  Anne blinked. She was disappearing, falling back into her role. Beauty, not brains. That same prison cell.

  No.

  “Often,” Richard said through gritted teeth, “it seems that those who appreciate Alexandra’s work are the only ones with a modicum of intelligence.”

  “Well,” Granby said, “I think it's a good thing your sister can't vote in Parliament. The last thing we need are more radicals.”

  Montgomery looked close to murder. “And what, exactly, is the problem with women’s suffrage?”

  “Gentlemen, I think we ought to switch to another topic of conversation.” This warning came from Caroline, who was glaring at Granby, but who wasn’t about to let his boorishness get in the way of her being an effective hostess.

  But Granby wasn’t finished. “A wife’s views are no different from her husband’s. His vote counts for them both, as Miss Sheffield’s father brilliantly argued in The Times. Isn't that right, Miss Sheffield?”

  Anne clutched Richard’s hand so hard it hurt. The show of strength she’d prepared for a moment ago was gone. Her expression was shuttered again.

  “He did,” she said quietly. Then she cleared her throat. “If you don't mind, I find I have something of a headache. Would you all please excuse me?”

  Under the table, she released Richard.

  “Are you quite all right, Miss Sheffield?” Granby said, all concern.

  “Yes. I’m sure I’m fine. Do continue without me.”

  Richard watched her leave, but before he rose to check on her, Caroline caught his gaze. She gave an imperceptible shake of her head. If he went now, people would talk.

  Caroline grinned at her guests. “If everyone is quite finished, we shall adjourn to the drawing room. And if you'll excuse me, I will check on Miss Sheffield.”

  Chapter 20

  The Duchess of Hastings found Anne in the garden, sitting beneath the statue of Venus emerging from the sea.

  “Anne,” the other woman said softly. “I’m—”

  “Don’t.” Anne couldn’t bear any pity from the duchess. “Please don’t apologize. Not you.”

  Caroline sighed, and they both stared at that statue. Anne envied Venus. She emerged from the sea resplendent, her smile small and content. An expression filled with secrets.

  “I’ve always hated her smile,” Caroline said, as if reading Anne’s mind.

  “Why?”

  “She seems free, doesn’t she?” the duchess murmured. “So confident. So self-righteous, rather. You’d never know that even the goddess of love was desperate to escape a man determined to chain her down.”

  Anne wondered if the other woman had come here, too, in moments such as these. When things hurt too much. Anne herself visited this quiet part of the garden on other days when she needed to think, consider her future, and wish for better things.

  How silly she had been. Wishes were no more tangible than smoke. She should never have relied on them.

  Granby had shown her who he really was at dinner. She cursed her stupidity for not seeing it during their walks and riding lessons. The truth was, she had been so focused on accommodating his favorite topic of conversation that she barely knew him at all. He’d never solicited her views on anything.

  Anything at all.

  It had never occurred to her that he didn’t care enough to ask.

  You idiotic girl, she told herself. How could you be so stupid?

  But she knew. She had been so determined to escape that she allowed herself to become blinded to dangers along the way. And she had been . . . distracted. By Richard.

  He had become her weakness. Again, stupid. Fool.

  Anne made some noise, about to say these things aloud, but abandoned the words. What good were they? “This is a beautiful part of the garden,” she told Caroline instead. “Your smug goddess aside.”

  Caroline sat beside her. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Speak freely. Venus is the only one to hear, and she is too busy lording over us to care.”

  “I deserve her censure.” Anne shook her head, releasing a brittle laugh. “I’m such a fool.”

  “You’re not a fool,” Caroline said firmly. “Granby is a pompous arse, and if I had known those were his views, I would never have introduced you.”

  “His views are no different than many men in Parliament. It’s an extraordinary one who thinks of women otherwise.”

  Extraordinary. Like Richard. Even Montgomery, despite being untrustworthy, argued for the same causes she believed. Anne had always thought men who fought against women’s suffrage were shouting against a tide, willing it to stay put. There was a pointlessness in commanding the sea to bend to your will.

  But even the sea had rhythms. It progressed and retreated, as a rule. Progress could never come, it seemed, without backsliding along the way.

  “Bollocks,” the duchess snapped, to Anne’s surprise. “We’re not property, Anne, to be treated no differently than a piece of furniture to come home to when convenient. We ought to have a say in our futures. We ought to—” Caroline inhaled sharply and looked away. “I beg your pardon. I've said too much.”

  Anne swallowed hard. “I never asked why your husband was not here as a host. It felt impolite, but . . . he left you, yes?”

  “Yes. You’re a kind girl,” Caroline said, gazing out into the trees that surrounded them. “And so I will tell you this: Hastings has a great many positive qualities, but being a good husband is not one of them. I would not wish such a fate on any woman if she could choose differently.” The duchess squeezed Anne’s hand. “You must ask yourself if you can live out the remainder of your days with a man who sees you only as something to be owned.”

  “What if I don’t have a choice?”

  “You have a choice, Anne.” She smiled softly. “Surely you know by now that sometimes what we think we need isn’t what we truly want.
” She stood, her skirts rustling. “If I may be so bold: Scotland requires neither a special license nor a father’s permission for a girl your age to wed. And the weather, I’ve heard, is especially lovely this time of year. I think Richard would enjoy it.”

  After the house settled for bed, Anne slid the note under Richard’s door and went to the cottage.

  It wasn’t long before she heard Richard enter. She looked over to find him standing with his shoulder against the stone column of the archway. His blue eyes shone with some complex emotion that made her shiver. A gentleness. An understanding that she had never seen in a man and likely never would again, because it was all for her.

  She’d been a little bit in love with him, to start. Now she felt as if he’d taken up the whole of her heart, wore a groove within it until he fit inside, just so.

  Perfectly right.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Granby is a ridiculous bastard who doesn’t deserve you,” Richard said, in lieu of a greeting.

  Anne burst out laughing. Had she been standing, she would have collapsed onto the settee. God, she loved him. “Richard.”

  “I’m completely serious,” he said, coming forward to kneel at her feet. “I ought to have known anyone that obsessed with horses was only hiding his utter idiocy. And — forgive me for being petty — he has the stupidest goddamn hair I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  She only laughed harder as her arms came around him. “Oh, Richard. I do adore you.”

  “Would you like me to hit him?”

  She smiled against his shoulder. “No.”

  “Rough him up a bit?”

  “Not that either.”

  “All right, but can I at least mock him?”

  “I’ve allowed your petty hair comment. I will add my own.”

  “I’m listening. Don’t hold back, darling.”

  “He’s so boring,” she groaned. “So boring. Sooo boooring.”

  Richard shook with laughter. “Tell me how you really feel.”