The School of Charm: Books 1-5

by Maggie Dallen

  He frowned. “Of course not. I told her last night that she had nothing to be embarrassed about despite our uncommon first encounter.”

  Damian nodded in approval and Edward looked away. Of course, he’d also flirted with her outrageously after that and might have made insinuations...

  “And our other guests,” Damian continued.

  Edward waved a hand. “Yes, yes. I’ll be on my best behavior with that Miss....” He looked up with a question.

  “Miss Farthington,” Damian said with a roll of his eyes.

  “Yes. Quite. I’ll be on my best behavior with her, too.”

  “Good,” Damian said, clapping his hands on the arms of the chair as he stood. “You can start by being partners with Miss Farthington during the afternoon’s festivities.”

  Edward winced at the thought of spending time with a young lady looking to be wed. He was too old for this nonsense.

  Most of the time.

  He had a vision of crystal blue eyes and battled a grin. Most of the time he was too old for this romantic nonsense. But apparently that did not apply to a certain headmistress.

  “Miss Farthington will be expecting you for the mistletoe decorating. You two will be partnered together.”

  Edward’s jaw dropped. “Now wait a moment—”

  “It will go a long way toward making amends.” Damian turned back to face Edward, his grin mocking and frustratingly knowing. “I must admit, it is awfully diverting.”

  “What is?”

  “Me lecturing you on good behavior for once.”

  Edward sat back and crossed his arms with a harrumph. “I am not the one who needs lessons in decorum.”

  “Mmm, perhaps not,” Damian agreed a little too mildly. “But you definitely need help when it comes to courting.”

  Edward flinched as though he’d been struck. “I do not.” But even as he said it he realized it was a lie. He’d never attempted to court anyone since his first wife, and that had been...well, a disaster, plain and simple.

  He looked to Damian, who was still hovering in the doorway, clearly reveling in this new reversal of roles. “Well then?” he demanded. “What do you suggest?”

  Damian grew a little more serious—as serious as Damian could manage. “Let her come to you.”

  Edward arched his brows. “Pardon?”

  “You are a marquess,” Damian said.

  Edward waited for more. When it did not come, he said, “Thank you for pointing out the obvious.”

  Damian huffed in exasperation. “What I mean is, you are a wealthy gentleman in a position of power. If you are too forthright, you walk a fine line.”

  “You cannot honestly be accusing Miss Grayson of being the sort to trap a man—”

  “No, most assuredly not,” he said, looking just as horrified by the suggestion as Edward felt. “I am merely saying that the power is so unequal, you would not want to make her feel pressured or uncomfortable.”

  Edward grunted his agreement, still miffed at the insinuation. “I would never pressure the lady into anything.”

  “Aside from that,” Damian continued as if he hadn’t interrupted. “Prudence and I both feel she is overwhelmed at the moment. Confused, at the very least. Give her time. Let her get to know you. Let her reveal herself to you.”

  Edward stared at his once rakish nephew. “When did you become so wise about women?”

  Damian doffed an imaginary cap. “When I fell in love with a complicated lady of my own.”

  Edward gave a huff of amusement as Damian left. Complicated, that was definitely the word for Miss Grayson. And Damian was right. She would be his guest for a fortnight. Surely he could be patient, give her the space she needed while also letting her see that he could give her all that she desired if she let him.

  “Space,” he muttered. He could manage that.

  A little while later, he was attempting to do just that. It was with effort that he kept his gaze and his attention off of Miss Grayson and focused on the lady beside him instead.

  Miss Farthington, his partner in the decorating festivities, was bent at such an awkward angle he was sure she would keel over, her pretty features contorted with discomfort.

  “Are you certain I cannot be of assistance?” he asked.

  She gave him a smile that ended with a wince. “I shall be just fine,” she said. “I merely need a moment to rest this twisted ankle.”

  He frowned down at the small woman. “I did not even see you twist it, how did you—?”

  “It happened so quickly, you see,” she said, already limping down the stairs to the main hall where they could see some of the others laughing as they decorated.

  “Oh wonderful, there you are, Miss Grayson,” Miss Farthington said loudly when they’d reached the others.

  She reached out and grasped Miss Grayson by the arm, dragging her over to where Edward still stood. “We would not wish for Lord Ainsley to be left to decorate on his own, now would we? It would hardly be fair.”

  Miss Grayson opened her mouth but shut it just as quickly, her questioning gaze moving from Miss Farthington to him.

  He shrugged just as Miss Farthington made her excuses, saying she needed to rest her foot. Though he could have sworn she’d said it was her ankle that had been injured.

  Miss Grayson’s gaze followed the brunette as she turned away. “She seems remarkably strong for one so small, does she not?”

  “Mmm.” He eyed Miss Farthington walking away. “She also seems to have lost her limp rather quickly.”

  Miss Grayson clamped her lips together so promptly he knew without a doubt she was trying not to laugh.

  He ached to hear that laugh, even if at this particular moment...that laugh was at his expense. It was plain to see that Miss Farthington had been keen to get away from him. Which was...fine, he supposed. Though odd, considering he’d spent the last decade trying to avoid marriage-minded ladies and now had two in his house who were trying their best to steer clear of him.

  Perhaps he ought to have been insulted. But as he eyed Miss Farthington, he noticed her smirking, clearly pleased with herself as she looked upon him and Miss Grayson standing side by side. He crossed his arms. “Do you believe it possible that she has made an excuse to leave us alone together?”

  Miss Grayson’s cheeks pinkened as she shook her head. “I cannot imagine why.”

  He narrowed his eyes teasingly. “Perhaps she just does not wish to be alone with me.”

  Miss Grayson’s lips pursed as she cast a quick glance around at the others who were gathered in small groups around the main floor. “This is hardly alone.”

  “No.” Not nearly as alone as he’d like to be with her. “But perhaps even this was too much time in my nefarious presence.”

  “Nefarious?” Her voice was laced with amusement, he was happy to hear.

  “Indeed. Why, only this morning my nephew informed me that I have been much too forward with the company.” He tipped his head. “My apologies.”

  She shook her head, a smile tugging at those lush lips of hers. “If I am not allowed to apologize for my inappropriate behavior then neither are you.”

  His heart shifted in his chest, as if something were settling into place now that he was next to her. “Very well. No more apologies. And I shall strive to behave myself.” Even as he said it, this inexplicable sensation got the best of him. He had no idea what it was about her that made him want to tease and prod and even irritate, if need be. Anything to get that mask to drop, her shields to lower.

  Whatever that urge was, it had him adding with a murmur, “Though I shall continue to hope that you cease behaving so properly.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “That challenge again, I take it?”

  She seemed calmer today. Less flustered by him and his attention. Was that a good sign or bad? He had no idea. “I see you have given it some thought.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “I have done little but give your words thought since we parted.”<
br />
  Oh yes, his heart felt those words directly. She’d been thinking about him, too. That was heartening. It made him feel slightly less insane for having been consumed with thoughts of the pretty young headmistress for nearly twenty-four hours now.

  “And what have you decided?” he asked.

  “Was there a decision to be made?” She asked it teasingly, almost...flirtatiously. And he felt the thrill of it from his head to his toes. What if she were to ever let him hold her in his arms? What would it be like to dance with her, to make her laugh until she cried, to hold her hand? He would never survive.

  This woman could slay him with a wink, he was sure of it.

  “Of course there was a decision,” he said evenly. “It was a challenge and now you must decide whether or not to accept.”

  She shot him a sidelong suspicious look as they slowly wound their way up the stairs, the mistletoe in his hands all but forgotten as he kept his gaze on the woman on his dreams.

  “And the challenge is to...what, exactly?” she asked.

  “To be yourself. To be free. To give in to your temper and your passion and any other emotions you hide away so carefully behind that pristine image of yours.”

  She stopped walking to stop and stare at him. “You speak as though you know me so very well.” She caught her lips between her teeth and then let it go. “You do not.”

  “But I’d like to, and that is the point.”

  She remained silent.

  “You are amongst friends,” he said with a broad gesture of his hands. “And besides all that, it is Christmastide. Surely everyone is allowed to let go of their inhibitions at this time of year.”

  He could practically hear Damian in his head, chiding him for pushing too hard, for taking too many liberties. And yet, Miss Grayson seemed more curious than alarmed as she tilted her head to the side. “And do you do that? Let go of your inhibitions, I mean?”

  “No,” he said with a short laugh. “I very rarely step outside of the parameters that I’ve set many years ago. I almost never veer off course from my goals and my plans and my very boring routine.”

  Her eyes danced with laughter at his candor. “But not now.”

  “No, not now,” he agreed.

  “Because it is Christmastide?” she teased.

  He grinned, his gaze on the mistletoe that had been hung nearby. “That is not the reason.”

  “And that is because...” She trailed off.

  He leaned in. “I met a young lady, you see. She turned my world upside down without even trying.”

  Her blush deepened. “I see.”

  Did she? He sincerely hoped she understood. Because he, for one, had no idea what had happened. How he’d gone from stoic, noble, and yes, decidedly boring marquess to...this.

  A lovesick man.

  But there it was. It was that simple. He’d been smitten and the only cure was walking ahead of him with a bundle of mistletoe.

  Chapter Six

  Madeline was nearly certain that if the Marquess of Ainsley had entirely lost his wits, she would have heard about it before now.

  Surely Prudence would have confided in her and told her what to expect.

  Madeline kept her focus on the mistletoe in her hands. “Where shall we begin?”

  His voice was a low rumble beside her. “You could start by telling me why you were so upset when I found you yesterday.”

  She glanced up at him, holding up the mistletoe. “I meant with the decorations.”

  His smile made her belly do a somersault. “I know.”

  There was that laugh again. It felt like champagne bubbles in her chest, so unexpected, so foreign, and so...pleasant. She tried to swallow the sensation, to keep her expression calm and placid, her steps even as they continued to wind their way up the wide staircase.

  She had no idea where they were going, only that they were heading away from the others.

  And that she was the one leading the way.

  “May I?” He offered his arm and she took it, her heart racing as though she were running.

  “Miss Grayson,” he started.

  “Madeline,” she said. “Please, call me Madeline.”

  His smile was slow and sweet. “Madeline, then. And I do hope you will call me Edward.”

  “All right,” she said, her voice far too breathy for her liking.

  What am I doing? Her mind was racing nearly as quickly as her heart. This was lunacy. She should not be encouraging his attentions, not when they could never lead anywhere.

  Nowhere good, at least.

  Nowhere proper.

  No marquess in his right mind would wish to marry a penniless, aging headmistress when he could have his pick. Perhaps she could be considered as a friend or a...a mistress.

  She pulled her hand back from his touch as though he’d pricked her with a pin.

  He stopped just as they reached the landing. “Are you all right? Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, I just...It is only...” She stopped with her lips still parted, the words refusing to come.

  He arched one brow and she could have drowned in those dark eyes if she dared. She tore her gaze away.

  She did not dare.

  Daring was one word no one would ever use to describe her. But then again, she wasn’t certain how she would describe herself these past two days. She wasn’t herself.

  And yet, she felt more like herself than she had in ages.

  Oh, this was dreadfully confusing.

  “What I wouldn't give to know what thoughts were racing in that mind of yours,” he murmured, so softly it was unclear if he was talking to himself or to her.

  She met his gaze and froze. It felt as though her very life depended on this moment. Ridiculous, of course. She knew that. And yet...

  His gaze held a challenge—the same challenge he’d spelled out for her so clearly. He wished to know her. The real her.

  She wished to know that lady, as well.

  “I am afraid you are under the misguided assumption that I might be inclined to be your mistress.”

  His eyes widened in surprise.

  Her heart nearly leapt out of her mouth in horror and terror and also...just a little bit of pride. Had she really just said that aloud?

  “My mistress?” he echoed.

  She clamped her mouth shut. Yes. Yes, she had said it. And though her cheeks might have been burning and her belly was in full-on revolt over having spoken the brash, brazen truth like that, she could not deny the heady sensation that stole over her as well.

  It was relief. Freedom. An unexpected joy at having said the words she’d truly meant to say. At having been bluntly honest.

  His laughter was loud and lovely...and not at all unkind. She even found her own lips twitching as if his laughter was infectious.

  He turned to face her fully, his eyes so warm she might melt. “Oh, my dear Madeline. Nothing has been further from my mind.”

  The urge to laugh died swiftly as his meaning became clear. Was it possible she’d misunderstood his intentions entirely the night before? She had been so sure he was flirting with her. Charming her. But now...

  Before she could finish the thought, he’d grasped both her hands in his and tugged her closer with an urgency that was written all over his features. “I wish to court you, Madeline,” he said, his voice gruff. “But I mean to do it properly. I would never treat you with disrespect. Never.”

  She had no choice but to believe him. Everything in his demeanor spoke of sincerity. Honesty. He might very well be the most straightforward gentleman she had ever met. He seemed to be waiting for a response, so she nodded quickly. “I believe you.”

  He let out a long exhale, his posture relaxing visibly. “Good.”

  “But I do not understand it,” she said.

  His gaze met hers and held for a long silence. “Don’t you?”

  Her breathing grew shaky. She shook her head.

  “Funny, I thought you might,” he said. Keeping he
r hand in his he moved her closer to a window alcove where they might hang the mistletoe. “I thought perhaps you would understand this feeling that after spending decades doing what was expected, what was proper...that now I long to do something for myself.”

  The air rushed out of her lungs. “Yes,” she whispered. “I do understand that.”

  His smile was knowing, and she was struck with the realization that perhaps he did know her in ways that she did not yet know herself.

  “But you are having trouble believing that what I want is you, is that it?”

  She blinked rapidly, her lips parting. What I want is you. The words nearly knocked her sideways.

  He winced. “Was that too forward? I apolo—”

  “No apologies,” she interrupted quickly. “Remember?”

  He nodded. “Indeed, I do. Then I take it back. In fact, I shall make a point of shocking you from here on out.”

  She choked on a laugh at the teasing twinkle in his eyes. “You are different when you’re like this.”

  “Like what?”

  She tilted her head to the side to consider him. “Teasing, laughing...merry.”

  He held up the mistletoe. “’Tis the season, no?”

  She laughed, taking the decoration from him to have something to do with her hands, somewhere to look that was not his handsome, appealing face or those frighteningly familiar eyes.

  She continued to keep her focus on the task at hand as she summoned the nerve to continue their conversation. “But yes,” she said. “To answer your question before. That is what I have trouble believing.” She dropped her hands to her sides as she turned her head to face him. “You could have anyone. Why me?”

  His eyes grew soft with emotion as he reached for her hand. When she stiffened, he arched his brows slightly. “May I?”

  She gave a short nod and did not fight his grip when he lifted her hand and placed it on his chest. “Why you?” he repeated. “Because you are in here.” He pressed her hand to his heart and her mouth went dry as she felt it thudding beneath her touch.

  The air between them felt thick and heavy when she dragged her gaze up from their joined hands to his searching eyes.