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.”
A shadow loomed behind her. “That’s sound advice,” Grey’s lower-pitched voice said. “And with the way John Nash is going through materials in designing Prinny’s damned Pavilion, you might be able to arrange a contract for exclusive furnishment.”
“Are you spying?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
“No, I’m aiding and abetting,” the duke answered.
“Don’t you have a class to teach, Your Grace?”
He gazed at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “That’s why I’m here,” he said finally, turning to Dare. “My students want to know how to tell if a man is a gambler. I thought you might be able to answer that better than I could.”
Tristan scowled. “You want me to chat with those little chits?”
“Yes. You’re my guest lecturer. And you’d best get over there before they think up something else to discuss, or begin calling you an old stuff-boots again.”
With an uneasy glance at the laughing circle of students, Tristan smoothed his coat. “I’ll fire a shot in the air if they overwhelm me.”
As soon as the viscount had strolled out of earshot, Grey turned back to her. “What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong.” She went back to pacing out the area she’d designated for the brickworks.
“Bricks. I wish I’d thought of that. It’s a damned fine idea, Emma.”
“I know. I’ve been doing my research.”
He was silent for a short time. “Will you stop striding about for a minute?” he finally asked. “I want to talk to you.”
She wanted to stride right back to the Academy and barricade herself in her bed chamber—not that that would keep him out if he wanted in again. “You teased me about the desk,” she shot back. “And about Latin.”
“What was I suppose to do, confess that we were lying on it, naked, at the time it broke?”
Emma flushed. “Hush!” Plunking herself down in the grass, she opened her book of notes and began scribbling figures.
“Or that just thinking about that bloody desk made me want to pull your clothes off and run my hands all over you again?”
She continued making notes at a furious pace, though she had no idea what she was writing. “Keep your voice down.”
He walked right up behind her, sank down to his knees, and grabbed her elbow. “Or that I wanted to make love to you again, and that I still do, right here and right now?”
Squaring her shoulders, she shrugged free of his grip and looked over her shoulder at him. “That would make it easier for you, wouldn’t it? If everyone saw us, I mean?”
He scowled. “What are you talking about?”
“You want to close down my Academy, remember? Compromising me would do that. Was that your plan, last night?”
“No!” With a curse he stood up and stalked away, but almost immediately strode back up to her again. “I don’t know precisely what last night meant,” he said in a low, serious voice. “But I do know that I enjoyed it very much, and that I would like to do it again.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you have Miss Boswell and Lady Sylvia staying at Haverly, then, isn’t it?”
“I don’t want them. I want you.”
She raised her chin. “Why?”
He knelt again, this time facing her. “Why did you want me, Emma?”
The question surprised her. “Because.”
“That is not an answer.”
&nb
sp; She wanted to stick her tongue out at him. “I asked you first.”
“Don’t be juvenile.”
“Don’t avoid the question.”
Swearing again, he threw his arms up in the air. “I wanted you because you…interest me. I feel…attracted to you. At the moment I’m not certain why, because you’re obviously insane.”
“You’re just trying to change the subject.”
“No, you are.” He tilted her chin up with his fingers. “It’s your turn. Why did you want to be with me?”
She drew a shallow breath, trying to read his gaze. He was annoyed, obviously, but deeper than that she saw curiosity, and desire. “As you said,” she managed, trying to sound calm and logical, “I was…curious.”
“Just curious.”
“Yes.”
He scowled. “You, my dear, are a liar.”
Curiosity didn’t make a woman respond to his touch as she had. She’d wanted him, as he had wanted—still wanted—her.
She glanced over his shoulder and abruptly backed away. Reluctantly, Grey lowered his hand. He was pushing too hard, and in front of witnesses. Until she’d mentioned it, he hadn’t even considered that he might use their indiscretion to bring down the Academy. On the contrary, he was beginning to consider how to prevent that from happening.
“Regardless of your opinion, Your Grace,” she said, standing again, “I have work to do.”
Damnation. He was mooning after her like a schoolboy, and he didn’t want her to walk away, even for one morning. Catching her hand, he turned her back to face him. “Whatever I might think of the Academy or of the merits of instructing females, I would never—never—use last night to hurt you. I promised you, and I keep my word.”
“Very well, Grey,” she said finally, nodding.
“Now, one more thing. Lizzy.”
With another glance past him at his al fresco classroom, she gestured him to walk with her. Not about to miss an invitation like that, he fell into step beside her.
“I am only telling you this because you are a fellow instructor. It will not go any farther. Do you agree?”
A Matter of Scandal Page 17