Schooling the Duke (The Heart of a Scandal, #1)

by Christi Caldwell

  “She’s at the back,” Ainsley whispered, startling him.

  Graham coughed. “Beg pardon?” Surely, she’d not noticed—

  “Mrs. Bryant,” she clarified, too-loudly, and he stole a quick glance to determine whether anyone had ascertained her words.

  “That is who you were looking for, was it not?” Oh, bloody hell. He’d lived alone for more than ten years, keeping largely to himself. He didn’t know what to do with a far-too-clever young girl under foot. Particularly one who’d noted his interest in Rowena. “Or is it Wilkshire whose been glowering at you all evening?” the girl prattled on. “Always better to keep an eye on an enemy.”

  “Er...” He made a clearing sound and looked around desperately. Alas, there was no rescue coming. Not for the first time, he damned the distance between him and Rowena.

  “Very well, Hampstead,” Ainsley said placatingly and patted his hand. “No need to speak about it.” They reached the dining room. “Unless you wish to.”

  He stifled a groan. “I assure you I do not.”

  Her eyes brightened, and he damned his slip of the tongue which had only confirmed her accurate supposition. “That is,” he clarified. “There is nothing to speak about. I’m not looking for anyone in particular.” Had he always been this rotted of a liar?

  You’re a miserable liar, Graham Linford.

  Rowena’s voice from long ago trilled around his mind. They entered the room and took their places at their respective spots. With the Marquess of Waverly positioned on one side and Graham the other, Ainsley slid into her chair. The young lady gathered her napkin, and with precise movements, unfolded the fabric and placed it on her lap. She looked down the end of the table to where Rowena sat.

  A pride-filled smile turned Rowena’s lips up, and she lifted her head in acknowledgement of the girl’s accomplishment.

  Just then Rowena’s dining partner said something, commanding her attention. Grabbing his wine glass, Graham scowled into the contents. How in blazes had the Marquess of Midleton come to maneuver the spot beside her? Then, Graham himself a former rogue, nothing should surprise him. Lady Serena’s brother dipped his gaze to Rowena’s décolletage. Graham gripped the stem of his drink so hard, it nearly snapped. He forced himself to relax his hold. Some of the fury eased, when the gentleman finally pulled his gaze upward—only to ogle her damned mouth. A mouth Graham had kissed, and—with a growl he took a healthy swallow.

  “Why in blazes did you seat her beside that rogue, Hampstead?” Ainsley hissed.

  “I didn’t,” he muttered under his breath. “I didn’t even know he’d be in attendance.” What bloody rogue attended recitals and card parties? Poor excuses of ones, those were the kind.

  “You didn’t know?” Ainsley demanded on a whisper that earned her several curious looks. “Who in blazes put your list to—” She narrowed her eyes. “You let Turner, didn’t you?”

  “I made some suggestions,” he mumbled, feeling very much like the scolded lad in the schoolroom.

  “But not enough to leave off a man so easily able to wring a blush from Mrs. Bryant?”

  His ward sounded on the cusp of bloodying his nose for that offense. Graham thinned his eyes into menacing slits. Why, the gentleman was, in fact, saying something close to her ear that earned one of those smiles that had only belonged to him.

  “Well, I don’t like him,” she said, grabbing her fork as a plate was set before her.

  And as Graham suffered through the inanity of the polite dinner party, he found he rather hated the blighter, too. He gave thanks when the meal had finally concluded and the guests were led to the recital room for the evening’s performance.

  Soon, Ainsley would perform for the invited members of the ton. And then the whole infernal affair would be blessedly concluded. As they reached the music room, his ward dug her heels in, and he was forced to either stop or drag her forward. “What is it?” he asked quietly as the collection of guests filed into their seats.

  “I need a moment, Hampstead,” the young lady said bluntly, and then without awaiting permission, darted off.

  He searched the gathering for Rowena and found her on the fringe, surveying the guests. Graham stood, watching her, studying her.

  She should have been my duchess long ago. She should be here, sitting at my side, dressed in the softest silks and satins.

  And instead, she hovered, waiting for her charge to walk the narrow aisle and perform for the leading peers of the ton.

  A viselike pressure coiled around his lungs and squeezed off his ability to draw in an even breath. She sat there, because of lies told by his father and her mother... and because of him. After he’d visited her mother and found Rowena gone, he had owed it to her to find where she’d gone and have the words from her own mouth. His throat worked, and he took a swallow of his champagne. For what did it say about a man who’d had so little faith?

  He’d wronged her in every way a man could wrong a woman, and for it, they’d lost countless years together. She’d lost her happiness and he’d lived a shiftless life, carousing and womanizing as she’d first accused. Shame slapped at his conscience. For who he’d let himself become. Rowena had deserved more than his faithlessness. She deserved a man who would have stood at her side and loved her and matched her in strength and courage.

  He wanted her. All of her. In his arms. In his bed. In his life. Forever. But he’d forfeited all rights, long ago. Too many years had passed and, in that time, they’d both changed. He was scarred in his mind and soul from horrible deeds he’d committed in the name of war. And Rowena? She’d fought her own battles of life, and in the wary set to her eyes and hesitant smile, she’d been forever marked. Because of him.

  At the noisy whispers and chattering of guests, she glanced around at the collection of lords and ladies, and then their stares met.

  He expected her to quickly yank her focus elsewhere, but the faintest smile hovered on her lips, and his heart doubled its beat the way it had in his youth. For that faint smile gave him... hope. Hope that what they’d shared in one another’s arms last night had been more than sex. That it had been the joining of hearts and souls. I want forever with her...

  Then, the moment was shattered. Rowena stood, and made her way from the hall. Uncaring of how it might look, Graham quickly followed after her. He studiously avoided the determined matchmaking mamas attempting to gain his notice. His gaze remained on a single woman.

  I do not envy you being a noble born, but I do envy that I’ll never attend a ball.

  Of course, you shall, love. You’ll attend every event as my wife.

  The peal of their innocent laughter echoed around the chambers of his mind, fresh now as when they’d been children, already dreaming of a future together.

  Graham quickened his pace. With her hurried movements, a number of locks revolted from that miserable coiffure and sent hair spilling from the tight knot at the base of her skull. Those chocolate brown strands cascaded about her waist and held him immobile. She was a brown-haired Athena, and he’d never wanted a woman more than he did her.

  Reaching for those loose strands, Rowena stole a horrified glance about. Alas, the whole of the ton was too bloody foolish to see her standing there in all her beauty.

  Never taking his gaze from the determined path she set, he followed. She exited the ballroom, and he increased his stride, coming up quietly behind her. “Rowena,” he murmured quietly. A small gasp escaped her and she swung around.

  “Graham?” she whispered, blinking madly. “What are you—?”

  He pushed open the nearest door and pulled her inside a parlor, closing the oak panel quickly behind them. The room, bathed in darkness but for a handful of sconces lit, cast eerie shadows off the walls. “I would speak to you,” he murmured in hushed tones.

  “Your Grace,” she whispered, a plea underscoring the impropriety of the moment.

  “Graham,” he implored. Wanting to be more than a bloody employer to her. Wanting to have a futu
re with her, even as she deserved so much more.

  “There is your ward. It is time for me to collect her for her appearance. And if we are discovered, I will be ruined.”

  She may as well have run him through with the stark reminder of the gulf that Society placed between them. The lords and ladies and all their rules and opinions could go hang. And yet, it mattered to her. To her, they risked ruin. A young woman who served as an instructor at a finishing school had nothing more than her reputation.

  He would give her everything, if she’d but let him.

  When he said nothing, she stamped her foot in an endearing show of frustration. “I do not have the luxury afforded me that I can simply—”

  He cupped his palm about her neck.

  “Wh-what are you doing?”

  That her voice emerged as a breathless whisper, absent of any outrage, encouraged him. He dipped his head lower, giving her time to draw back. And then he claimed her mouth. Their lips met in a fiery explosion, and he caught her as she went limp against him. Their tongues dueled, while their hands explored one another as they had a lifetime ago. As they had again last night.

  Fueled with the memory of the feel and taste of her, he filled his hands with her full buttocks and dragged her closer. She moaned into his mouth and undulated her hips in a helpless, hopeless searching rhythm.

  “Graham,” she pleaded, as he trailed his lips down her neck and lower to the swell of her modest décolletage. Then he stopped.

  Her heart pounded solidly and loudly against her breastbone. He turned his ear, resting his head to the sweet beat of her heart. How many times had they lain in the Wallingford countryside in this very repose, staring up at the sky?

  “What are we doing?” she whispered, stroking her fingers through his hair.

  He forced himself to draw back and with slow, precise movements, he put her hair to rights. “Marry me.”

  Her body turned to stone in his arms. “What?” she asked, her voice a threadbare whisper.

  “I said marry me, Rowena.”

  She scoured his face with her gaze. “What game do you play, Your Grace?” she hissed, pushing herself from his arms with such alacrity that he stumbled.

  Graham frowned. “Do you think this is a game?”

  “No,” she said, fear flashing in her eyes. “This is my life.”

  “And I want to share it with you.” It had always been her. It had been her since she was a girl of fifteen who’d moved into Wallingford and stolen his heart. “Because I love you.” How easily those words spilled free, and he should be fearful of everything entailed in spending forever with this woman, given his moments of madness, but there was no fear. Not anymore.

  Rowena’s eyes formed horrified circles, and she clutched at her skirts. Was the idea of a future with him so repugnant to her? A blade twisted in his chest, and he avoided her gaze. “If you do not wish to wed me because you fear me...”

  “Fear you?” she asked perplexedly, swiftly dropping her arms. “Oh, Graham,” she said gently, caressing her fingertips over his cheek. “Long ago, I hated you for doubting me and sending me away, but I never feared you.”

  He motioned to his throat and then hers. “I am not the same man I was.”

  Understanding lit her eyes. “My rejection of your suit...” He winced. “It has nothing to do with fearing you. It was impossible years earlier when you were a duke’s second son, and it is even more impossible n-now,” she said, her voice breaking. Her words pierced his heart. “Don’t you see?”

  He’d have shed his title and worked the land with his hands if that would bring her happiness. “I only see you,” he put in.

  She stalked away from him and began to pace. “You are a duke, and I’m a whore’s daughter.”

  His gut churned. “How can you see good in me, with the madness I carry, and not see it in yourself?” His words halted her mid-stride. “I would have you as my duchess.” He braced for the fear that request would bring. For twelve years, he’d vowed to live a life alone. Now, he asked Rowena to enter his world and spend her days with him, forever.

  “Is this because of your father?” she asked bluntly. “Because, I’ll not have you make an offer out of some misbegotten sense of guilt.”

  He deserved her mistrust, and her hatred, and doubt for his love. She’d been his friend and he should have fought to find her. “This isn’t about my father or guilt or what we did last night.” Which he did feel for the hardships she’d known in his absence. “This is me, loving you, and wanting to own the next eleven years and beyond, together.”

  Rowena blanched and held her palms up. “I don’t want to be a duchess, Graham,” she said, her voice a threadbare whisper that carved a hollow hole in his chest. The irony was not lost on him: he’d been searching for a wife who wanted nothing more than his title, and the only woman he could envision taking as his bride didn’t want him because of that rank. She continued, “I don’t want to be part of a world where my life’s purpose is that of tea-pourer and hostess.” A panicky laugh burst from her lips. “I’d make you a rotten duchess.”

  Her words jolted him into movement, and he strode over to her, hovering, at sea. “You can hold no teas or a thousand,” he said gruffly. “Let us begin again.”

  “We can’t, though.” She looked about the room, her gaze distracted. “There can be no going back.”

  He moved quickly away from the door and over to where she stood, and then stopped, hovering, uncertain. “Then let us go forward,” he pressed. He’d lost her once on a lie. And to lose her again would rob him of his every happiness. There was no joy without her in his life. What about what she wants? He shoved aside that niggling voice.

  Her lower lip trembled. “Do not do this, Graham,” she begged.

  He lowered his mouth once more, and she placed her palms on his chest. She turned her head, so his kiss grazed her cheek. “Please.” That was it. An entreaty that was a denial. She staggered away from him and reached for the door handle. “There are guests,” she pleaded, looking past him.

  I am not enough for her.

  Oh, God. He would rather face a charge of French soldiers battling up the hillside with their bayonets drawn than this potent rejection. He managed a jerky nod. “Of course. Forgive me,” he said, proud of that smooth deliverance when he was breaking from the inside out. Graham stepped away and Rowena fled from the room.

  Silence hummed in the empty room as he stared at the oak-paneled door.

  Chapter 22

  Rowena fled through the halls. Her pulse pounded loudly in her ears as his words rang around her mind.

  He wants to marry me.

  After all the years apart and the lies that had divided them, he offered her his name... uncaring of her bastardy.

  She caught the inside of her cheek between her teeth, strangling a sob. And what weakness was it of her character that with his vow of love and his promise of forever, she’d wanted to forget the years of heartbreak between them, abandon her hatred for polite Society, and take everything he offered? To take it and hold on to it, as the hopeful girl she’d been, clinging to forever.

  A figure stepped into the hall, and she skidded to a stop. Her heart knocked hard against her ribcage. Jack passed a disdainful up and down look over her person. One would never guess that this same man begged to court her all those years earlier. The man who’d vowed his love and implored her to forget Graham and marry him instead.

  “Mr. Turner,” she said tersely. “If you’ll excuse me. I have to find Miss Hickenbottom.”

  He remained rooted to the spot, blocking her retreat. “You could not stay away. It mattered not that it was best for him.”

  She steeled her shoulders. “Move out of the way.” She owed this man no explanations. Mayhap, long ago. No longer.

  “Graham will want you gone when he knows all.” He wrapped those last words in an icy condescension that set her teeth on edge.

  Drawing on years of cruelly mocking students, she cast a bored
glance over her shoulder. “Graham already knows everything.” And he wants me anyway. To him, her parentage did not matter. He’d been the one person who’d not cared that her mother was a courtesan... and he’d taught her there was no shame in her origins.

  All the color leeched from the other man’s cheeks. “E-Everything?” Ah, so he wondered if she’d told him of the last visit he’d ever paid her. As though he’d followed the silent path her thoughts had wandered, Jack tightened his mouth, his arrogance returned. “If he loved you, he would have found you years earlier. Let him go, Rowena.”

  Did he expect those words to sting? At one time, they may have. No longer. She was no longer the pathetic girl cowering before him or anyone. She stole a glance about, searching for interlopers, and strolling forward, she spoke in hushed tones. “And what would you have me do, Jack? Leave, so there is only you here to convince him he’s mad?” she said with a perverse delight. His confidence wavered, revealing hesitancy in his hard features. “I’m not going anywhere. Not because you ordered me gone. Not because Graham wishes me here. But because I choose to be here. For Ainsley.”

  She started around him, and gasped when he shot a hand out, closing his fingers around her upper arm. “Did you tell him?” he demanded harshly. There was a harsh desperation lining that question.

  When she remained silent, he tightened his grip. She winced. His hold strong enough to leave marks, she felt the first stirrings of fear since he’d come upon her. Rowena searched around for a hint of Graham. A servant. Anyone. Why... why... he is terrified. “Did I tell him what, Jack? That you were disloyal in his absence?” she tossed back. “Do you fear he’ll sack you if he learned how you pressed a kiss on me and urged me to break the vow I’d made to him?”

  All the color leeched from the other man’s cheeks, and he suddenly released her. “I was young, foolish. It was a lifetime ago.” He sneered, giving her a quick once over.

  She shot her chin up. “Do you believe that will matter to Graham?”

  “He’ll never trust you,” Jack snapped. “Not over me. He didn’t trust you all those years ago, and he won’t now.” Rowena curled her hands into tight, painful fists. The movements left marks on her palms. She’d be damned if she let this monster know his jibes hit like well-places arrows. “You were purged from his memory,” he continued, with a triumphant grin. Nonchalant, Jack flicked a speck of dust from his puce coat sleeve. “And me, I was given the trusted role of man-of-affairs.”