“I could have,” he murmured.
“Oh, really? And just what would you have done, Your Grace? I imagine I would have been far beneath your notice.”
“I would have killed him.”
That stopped her. Something in the quiet words told her that he meant it, and she realized she never wanted to face him when he was truly angry about something. “Well, he’s been dead for six years, so thank you for the offer, but—”
“Who was he?”
“It’s not impor—”
“Who was he?” he repeated, even more quietly.
The flicker inside her veins heated. “He was my cousin—my second cousin, actually—and it’s not as sordid as you seem to think.”
“So tell me.”
“If it will make you quit prying, fine. He was my mother’s cousin. When my father died, my mother and I had nowhere to go, and he agreed to take us in. My mother was already ill, and two months later she died as well. While she lived, he was kind and considerate, full of promises about how he would see that I was given a splendid debut in Society, and a dowry large enough to attract a good match.”
“He lied,” Grey said after a moment.
“Yes, he did. A week after my mother’s funeral, I went for a walk with a maid. When I returned, he was standing at the door with a bag stuffed full of clothes. He said he was not going to give a scrawny female like me any charity, and that I was too young to offer him anything in return. He yanked the maid into the house, dumped the sack at my feet, and closed the door.” Emma shut her eyes for a heartbeat, then looked up into his light green gaze again. “I’d never realized until that moment that people lied. Isn’t that silly? I had no idea.”
“What did you do?” he murmured.
“Within a week I was picked up by the constabulary for begging and vagrancy, and put into a workhouse. My Aunt Patricia, my father’s sister, tracked me down and found me six months later. How she managed it, I’ll never know, but it must have cost her a great deal to buy the information from my cousin’s servants.”
“Who was he?”
“The Earl of Ross.” Just saying the name again made her bile rise, and she clenched her jaw.
“Ross. I knew him, though not well. If it’s any consolation, the rumor is that he died of syphilis.”
She nodded. “I heard the same rumor. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were true.”
“A workhouse,” he whispered, anger touching his gaze again. “I can’t even imagine—”
“Be thankful you can’t,” she said crisply.
“Is that why you’re so concerned about Elizabeth? You don’t want her to end up where you did?”
“My concern isn’t only for Lizzy, though I do admit that she is special to me. I simply want these young ladies to be capable enough that they don’t have to rely on anyone else’s good graces to live decent lives.”
The waltz ended. Grey looked as though he wanted to continue the conversation, but she’d told him more than enough.
However compassionate he felt at the moment, and however her heart raced in his presence, she’d seen his haughty, arrogant side. And if word ever got out that the headmistress of Miss Grenville’s Academy had spent six months in a workhouse, she might as well go back to one.
Emma suppressed a shudder. She hadn’t used to be so foolish; what was wrong with her? “I think Lizzy would like to dance with you,” she said, freeing her hand from his warm grip.
“Em,” he said almost soundlessly, “you have my admiration. And my word.”
She swallowed. For a man, he was sometimes quite nice. “I thank you for both of them.”
Hobbes rapped on the floor with his staff, the sound echoing like thunder in the loud room. No doubt he was enjoying the formality of the evening, even if it was for the benefit of a handful of little girls. “Your Grace, ladies—”
“Emma,” Grey said again, taking a step toward her. He suddenly looked less confident, and dread touched her.
“—and gentlemen, may I—”
“Don’t rush to conclusions here.”
“—present, Mr. Frederick Mayburne.”
Freddie strolled into the room. He was dressed conservatively, for him, with only the painfully intricate knot of his cravat marking him as a dandy and a rake. Otherwise, in his gray suit and Wellington boots, he looked nearly as austere, if not nearly so compelling, as Grey.
Trying to keep her jaw from dropping in angry astonishment, Emma spun on her heel to face Wycliffe. “What is he doing here?” she enunciated.
“We needed more men,” he said, shrugging. “I thought he might—”
“I will not have him accosting Jane here or anywhere else,” Emma snapped back at him. “We are not a matchmaking facility. We are a teaching Academy, with a reputation to maintain. No one would send their daughters here if they knew we had men waiting nearby to snatch them up before their debuts.”
Grey stepped past her to greet Freddie. “I wouldn’t wager on that,” he murmured as he walked away from her.
Oh, this was too much. Emma knotted her skirt in her hands and stomped toward the intruder. “You are a bachelor, Your Grace,” she said over her shoulder as she passed him by. “In this instance, I can assure you that your opinion doesn’t matter in the slightest.”
Freddie saw her coming and took a step backward. “Miss Emma, good evening,” he said, his confident expression fading.
“Out,” she said, continuing to advance.
“I was invited.” Still retreating, Freddie threw a hopeful glance beyond her.
“He won’t dance with Jane,” the duke said from behind her, closer than she expected.
She slowed, abruptly conscious of the scene she was making. “Nor will he speak with Jane.”
“I won’t.” Freddie stopped his retreat in the doorway, the farthest away he could get from her without exiting the room.
“Nor will he give letters to anyone else to be passed on to Jane.”
Mayburne shook his head. “I won’t.”
Emma turned on Grey again. “I have your word.”
He inclined his head. “You have my word.”
“Very well.”
She would rather have had Freddie Mayburne thrown out of Haverly, but with a last warning glare she returned to her charges. Despite her annoyance, she understood the reasoning behind the young man’s presence. Grey had several times mentioned the threats of the outside world and how ill prepared her students might be to meet them. Freddie was definitely a threat, but having him here, outnumbered and under the watchful eyes of the duke, Isabelle, and herself, could be good practice for the girls.
The orchestra, apparently noticing the cessation of bellowing among the guests, launched into a quadrille. Lord Charles claimed Jane, though Emma suspected it had more to do with the young lady’s title than any chivalrous impulses to protect her from Freddie’s attentions.
Boots tapped up behind her. “Miss…Mawgy, may I have this dance?” Freddie asked slowly.
At Emma’s nod, Mary curtsied and took his proffered hand. “I’m honored, Mr. Mayburne.”
“Frederick, if you please.”
“You see?” The duke brushed her elbow with his fingertips. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
“You should have warned me that he was coming.”
“I had no idea even rakes were terrified of you, Miss Emma. I thought for a moment I might have to loan Frederick a dry pair of trousers.”
“Very amusing. Please tell me that you do at least understand why I protested.”
“I understand perfectly well why you protested. And I assume you understand why I wanted him here tonight.”
“Yes.”
Lizzy was bouncing up and down on her toes, looking as though she was about to burst. Grey lifted an eyebrow, his green eyes dancing despite his stern expression.
“Hm. I was going to ask you to dance, infant, but you appear to be having an apoplexy.”
The sprite snatched his
arm and tugged him onto the floor to join the other dancers. “I’m honored. Come on, Grey!”
Emma chuckled. When he allowed his arrogant shell to crack, Greydon Brakenridge could be very warm and amusing. And if he continued giving and then keeping his word, she was going to be dangerously in peril of liking him too much.
“Emma, may I—”
She leaned toward Lord Dare as he stopped beside her. “Ask Julia,” she murmured almost soundlessly.
“—Interrupt to ask Miss Julia out for the quadrille?” the viscount continued smoothly.
“Oh, yes,” Julia said, practically leaping to his side.
“Julia, decorum,” Emma reminded her.
“Lizzy doesn’t have any.”
“Lizzy is twelve. You are sixteen.”
“Yes, Miss Emma. Thank you, Lord Dare; I would be honored.”
Lord Haverly had snagged Miss Boswell, and Emma led Henrietta to the chairs at the side of the room. “Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked.
“Yes. Very much.” Henrietta glanced toward Lady Sylvia, who was gazing at them coolly over Lady Haverly’s shoulder. “Except I don’t think the other ladies like us.”
“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.
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