A Matter of Scandal (19 page)

“Emma?” he whispered, approaching her bed chamber door.

It opened. “I thought about sleeping somewhere else tonight,” she said in a soft, low voice.

Her long auburn hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders. She wasn’t wearing her robe, but stood in her nightgown and bare feet, one hand on the door. “What made you decide to stay?” he asked, using all of his self-control to keep from grabbing her to him.

She tilted her head, studying him, and he stopped breathing. No woman had ever affected him like this before. Slowly she stepped forward, laying her hand flat against his chest.

“I decided to stay,” she murmured, sliding up along his body and curling her fingers into his hair, “because of this.” She leaned up and softly touched her lips to his.

Grey slipped his arms around her hips, pulling her harder against him. With a groan he deepened the kiss, relishing the soft, supple warmth of her.

“I don’t have a desk at the moment,” she said, tilting her head back and exposing the soft curve of her throat to his kisses.

He caressed her skin with his lips and his
tongue, drawing a harsh breath as she trembled. “The bed will do.”

She knew what to do, this time. He shrugged out of his coat while she unfastened his waistcoat and loosened his cravat.

“You didn’t even choke me.” He kissed her again, allowing her to taste and explore him as he had done to her.

“I’m a good student,” she replied, running her warm hands up his chest, under his shirt.

“I can see that.” Her hands slid lower, to the fastening of his breeches. “Up for another lesson?”

She chuckled, her hands straying lower. “
You
are.”

His lips curving in a smile, he took her hand and spun her around, facing away from him, then pulled her up against him again. “There are still a few things you don’t know,” he murmured into her hair, sliding the gown off her shoulders.

“Teach me,” she said breathlessly, leaning back against him as he slipped the gown down to her waist and lifted his hands to cover her breasts.

Grey closed his eyes, letting the feel of her moving against him, of her straining nipples against his fingers, soak into him. He wanted to satisfy her and teach her and make her want only him. He wanted to be the only man ever to touch her like this, the only man to make her moan with pleasure as she was now.

He swept her up into his arms and carried her to her tiny bed, barely large enough for one. He laid her down, sliding down beside her to kiss and caress her smooth skin. When she pushed at his shoulder, he allowed her to turn him onto his back. Emma yanked his shirt off over his head,
then sank down to run her tongue across his nipples, as he had done with her.

“Does it feel good to you, too?” she asked, her hair curtaining them.

“Yes. I like the feel of your hands, your mouth, on me,” he said, moving his hand between them, down to where she was hot and damp and ready for him.

Arching her back, Emma pressed herself against his fingers. “Wait,” she gasped. “I want to make you feel this way, too.”

He chuckled. “I already do.”

She moved down his body, yanking his boots off, and then freeing him from his breeches. Breathing hard, she dropped his trousers off the side of the bed and resumed her exploration. As her hands tentatively, gently, stroked his manhood, Grey clenched his jaw, striving to maintain control.

Her tongue touched his tip. With a hiss he rose up on his elbows. “Emma,” he managed in an unsteady growl.

She looked at him from beneath her lashes, the proper headmistress on fire. “I like you this way,” she whispered, her soft breath on his hot skin near to driving him mad, “not so arrogant.”

“Come here,” he demanded, pulling her up along the length of his body, “before you kill me.”

With his guidance she straddled his hips, then slowly sank down onto him with a shuddering groan.

The welcoming tight heat of her nearly pushed him beyond the edge of control. He stayed up on his elbows, kissing her, until she pushed him down flat and leaned over him.

“Show me,” she breathed.

His hands on her hips, he showed her how to move on him. “Like this.”

She complied, moaning again as he matched her rhythm. “You’re right about my books; they could never describe this.”

With a soft laugh he reached up to run his palms along her warm skin. Neither books nor his own substantial experience could describe Emma, either. She was unique. She took all of his focus, all of his attention, and left him breathless. “Emma,” he whispered.

“Oh, Grey.” She began to move faster on him, then tightened and pulsed, collapsing on his chest.

Straining for another few seconds of control while dots swam in front of his eyes, he took her hips to push her off of himself. Emma raised up again, covering his hands with hers, her eyes glinting as she held his gaze.

“No.”

With a growl Grey threw his head back, pushing up toward her as he came, deep inside her. “Emma,” he said when he could speak again, angry and out of breath and entirely befuddled, “why—”

She covered his mouth with hers. “Because,” she murmured, stretching out alongside him.

“Because” hardly seemed the answer of an educated headmistress. If she had half the confusion of roiled emotions boiling through her as he did, though, he would accept it as good enough. For now.

S
tretching, Emma opened one eye—to see a pair of light green eyes looking back at her. It was the most peculiar thing; she wasn’t startled, or even faintly surprised. Instead, she felt as if, for the first time ever, everything in the world was exactly the way it was supposed to be.

“Good morning.”

Perfection crashed down around her ears. “
Morning?
” she gasped, flinging off the covers and sitting upright. “What are you still doing here? Oh, no!”

Looking amused and far too calm, Grey sat up as well, catching her around the waist and pulling her back against his hip. “It’s barely morning. Our secret is still safe, Em.”

She took a ragged breath. The little clock on her
nightstand was nearly impossible to make out in the dimness, which in itself was a good sign. “Four thirteen,” she finally read. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Mm hm.”

“Did you?”

“No.” Slowly he ran his hand from her shoulders down her spine, warm and familiar and possessive.

Emma swung her legs back onto the narrow bed so she could see him. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Yes.” He bent his head and kissed her shoulder. Meeting her gaze again, he lifted an eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me to leave?”

“The house staff rises before six.” She wished she hadn’t fallen asleep and that he had, so that she could look at him without his curious, knowing gaze on her, always figuring out exactly what she was thinking and feeling.

He stuffed the bed’s single pillow against the headboard and leaned back, the thin blanket sliding to his hips. “You need a bigger bed,” he said thoughtfully, folding one arm behind his head.

“I like my bed.” She wanted to pull the blanket down farther and renew her investigation of his man-parts, but then he certainly wouldn’t leave before anyone discovered him.

“I hang off at both ends,” he said, wriggling his toes to demonstrate.

“You’re gigantic.”

“Thank you.” His soft, wicked chuckle sent a rush of blood through her veins. It must have done the same thing to him, because the blanket stirred. “Come here.”

“Grey, I need to sleep. I have an early class.”

He sat up again, slipping his arms around her and pulling her down to rest against his broad, strong chest. “I have an early class, too,” he murmured, twining his fingers lazily through her hair. “Sleep. I’ll leave in time.”

Oh, this was so nice. No wonder even her friends who’d once sworn off marriage claimed to enjoy it. Emma frowned. She wasn’t married. One couldn’t be much farther from being married than she was at this moment.

“Em? I’ve been thinking.”

Her heart stopped, and then resumed beating again at a furious pace. As good as he was guessing what she might be thinking, he couldn’t read minds. “Wh…what were you thinking?”

“I’m going to concede.”

She blinked, freeing herself from the faerie realm where dukes married headmistresses and they all lived happily ever after in quaint old monasteries. “Concede?”

“The wager.”

Emma lifted her head to gaze at his serious, thoughtful expression. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want to force Miss Grenville’s Academy to close.”

Part of her was moved and elated, but the other part was somewhat…annoyed. “That’s good,” she said. “You’ve become a little enlightened, anyway.”

A furrow appeared between his brows. “I thought you’d be happy to hear it.”

“Oh, I am.” She sat up.

He sat up. “No, you’re not.”

“I am. Really. It’s just…”
Shut up, Emma
, she told herself.
Don’t press your luck
. “It’s very nice of you to say that. Thank you.”

His frown deepened. “What?”

Blast it all
. “Your instruction to your students to this point has been remarkably candid and helpful, given your position in Society.”

“Given my position,” he repeated, the low, dark edge touching his voice.

“You have a unique perspective, I’ll admit. But do you really think that being male makes you better able to prepare those girls to deal with Society than I?”

He looked at her for a long, silent moment. “You think I’m going to lose the wager?” he asked incredulously.

She held his gaze. “You already have. You just conceded.”

“I changed my mind.”

It was her turn to frown. “You can’t!”

He smiled, sensuous as sin. “And just who are you going to tell otherwise?” Grey kissed the base of her throat. “And when would you say it happened? You might, just on occasion, try being grateful.”

“I think you should leave,” she said, wishing proper ladies, just on occasion, were allowed to punch people. “Now. As far as I’m concerned, if you never conceded, the rest of tonight never happened either.”

Still looking unperturbed, he stood, tall and beautiful in the dim pre-dawn light. “You say that now, but you may have more difficulty convincing yourself of it later.” He dumped his clothes on
the bed and shrugged into his breeches. “I know you, Emma. You wanted me. You still do.”

He might be right, but she certainly wasn’t going to agree with him. “I told you, Grey, I was curious. And thanks to you, I have nothing to be missish about, now.” She grabbed up her nightgown and yanked it on over her head, wishing he would stop acting so damned smug. So the loss of her virginity had been as much her idea as his—he didn’t need to brag about it. “You certainly aren’t the only man in Hampshire,” she continued with a haughty sniff. “You’re not even the only man at Haverly.”

Grey was over the bed and grabbing her shoulders so fast she didn’t even have time to gasp. “That is a different sort of game entirely, Emma,” he growled, “and one you don’t want to play with me.”

“Is it a game only you get to play then, Grey?” she asked, lifting her chin despite her very thin control.

His gaze searched hers for a long moment. “I haven’t played with anyone else since I met you.” He released her, picked up his coat and boots, and made for the door. One hand on the knob, he stopped. “By the way, Mayburne is going to invite you and the girls to luncheon in the next day or so. Turn him down.”

Without waiting for a response, he left the room. A few moments later her office door opened and closed. Emma listened for another minute, then sank down onto the edge of her bed. Did his comments mean that he was jealous, or that he was ending whatever lay between them? Had he made her some sort of promise?
But what sort of promise could he possibly make to her?

“Damnation,” she muttered.

Since she obviously wasn’t going to get any more sleep, she dressed and lit the lamps in her office. A little table sat where her desk used to be, her Haverly report stacked neatly in the middle.

With a sigh she seated herself and read through what she’d written. Even in its rough form, the plan seemed a good one. Some initial cost was involved in renovations and start-up expenses, which worried her, as did some of the similarities to Grey’s plans.

A tear ran down her cheek. She should have just let him concede, for the sake of the Academy. It didn’t matter that she enjoyed the contest and didn’t want him to leave Hampshire, or that he was still arrogant enough to believe that he alone could determine the outcome of the wager.

Another tear plopped onto her report, and with an impatient sigh she wiped it away. With his cryptic murmurings, all he’d done was prove that she couldn’t trust him, that he cared more for his own pride and comfort than he did for anything else. More than he cared for her, certainly.

She was quiet and glum all through breakfast and the distribution of the day’s mail, despite her efforts to forget the silly, stupid man even existed. The Duke of Wycliffe was neither silly nor stupid, though, which was why she could think of nothing else.

“Emma?”

Isabelle sat down opposite her, an opened letter in her hand. Henrietta stood at her shoulder, the girl’s face pale.

“What is it?” Emma asked, straightening and actually thankful for any problem that might take her mind off Grey Brakenridge.

The French instructor handed her the letter. “We have a disaster.”

Tobias paced at the front gate as Grey and the barouche approached. Tristan sat opposite him, though the viscount had wisely foregone any attempt at conversation this morning.

“Your Grace,” the troll said, his expression even more dour than usual, “you’re expected.”

“I should hope so, by now,” Tristan muttered.

Expected or not, only Lizzy stood on the front steps as Simmons stopped the barouche. The sprite hurried forward and grabbed Grey by the hand before his feet even touched the ground. “We have trouble,” she said, tugging him toward the doorway.

His chest tightened as he followed her inside, Dare trailing them. “Is Emma well?” Damnation, he shouldn’t have offered to concede and then pulled it away like that, especially when he knew damned well that he would never take the Academy from her.

“Shh,” Elizabeth said, making for the stairs at her fastest walk. “I can’t tell you here. But it’s bad.”

Was she pregnant?
He’d been such a fool last night. Grey shook himself, trying to clear his head. Even if she were carrying his child, she couldn’t possibly know it yet. And it wouldn’t be such a catastrophe, anyway, because he would simply marry her.

He nearly missed a step, and grabbed onto the rail to keep from falling.
Marriage?
Where in God’s name had that come from? Yes, he enjoyed her company—when he didn’t want to strangle her. Yes, he’d barely been able to breathe at the thought of her in another man’s embrace. When and how that had translated into the thought of marrying her, he had no idea. Dukes didn’t marry headmistresses. And besides, he wasn’t falling into that trap ag—

“Hurry up,” Lizzy said, grasping his hand again and pulling him into Emma’s office.

As he stepped inside his gaze immediately found Emma. She was pacing, hands clasped behind her back, her expression tired and somber. He’d done that to her. Grey made up his mind right then: the damned wager was over. He would have ended it last night, if her haughty independence and lack of gratitude hadn’t antagonized him so much.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

Emma jumped, looking up at him with her expressive hazel eyes. “Lizzy, thank you. Will you please give us a moment of privacy?”

“Should I flee, as well?” Tristan asked, as Elizabeth curtsied and backed out of the office, closing the door behind her.

“I…actually, I do need a private word with His Grace.”

The viscount nodded and pulled open the door. “I’ll be in the hallway.”

As soon as the two of them were alone, Grey crossed the room to her. “Tell me.”

Emma folded her hands together and took a
deep breath. “Henrietta received a letter from her father.” She pulled a folded missive from her pocket. “In the letter he…informs Henrietta that he has heard some disturbing rumors that…” she cleared her throat, “that ‘your headmistress has been engaging in highly improper conduct.’” A tear ran down her cheek. “He also says that Henrietta is to pack her things, and that he will be here on Friday to collect her.”

Grey wanted to curse and smash his fist into something, but he restrained himself. Emma was upset enough. “Why,” he asked slowly, “would Henrietta tell her family anything about this? And why would she say you’ve done anything improp—”

“She said she never mentioned anything about you or the wager.”

“Well, she must have! How else would Brendale know—”

“I don’t care
how
he knew anything!”

“I—”

“Don’t you understand? The Academy is ruined! Lizzy—the other internally tuitioned students—what will happen to them?”

A sob wrenched from her throat. Without even thinking, Grey pulled her into his arms. She collapsed against him, sobs wracking her slender body.

For once, Grey had no idea what to say. “He’s just one stupid man, Em,” he murmured into her hair. “Whatever he thinks he knows, he can’t be sure, or he would have come in person instead of sending a damned letter.” Her crying and shaking terrified him, and he abruptly realized he
would be willing to do anything—
anything
—to make things right for her. “We can fix it. Don’t worry, Em.”

She hammered a fist against his chest. “Henrietta’s mother is the biggest gossip in London. Half the
ton
is probably chatting about how that idiotic headmistress in Hampshire is…is ‘engaged in highly improper conduct.’ And I am! I have no business running this Academy!”

“You have done nothing wrong as far as those girls are concerned. Nothing.”

She lifted her face, looking up at him. “I think Mr. Brendale has already made up his mind.”

“Nothing’s happened except for some dim-witted correspondence,” he murmured, brushing at her tears with his thumb. “All we need to do is have Henrietta write her father back that he’s completely mistaken.”

“No. I will not ask any of those girls to lie.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Grey responded, stifling a scowl. That would have been the easiest course of action, but he obviously couldn’t expect Emma to go against all of the principles she’d taught her students; she actually believed in them. “But you can’t give up without a fight.”

“I don’t see how I can fight without…hurting my students even further.”

Grey looked at her for a moment, an idea tickling at the back of his mind. “Only Brendale has written, right?”

“For now, yes. I’m sure there will be m—”

“And only to say that he’s heard rumors that you’ve been misbehaving.”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He doesn’t know about the wager.”

Emma frowned at him. “And you think his knowing that I’ve been wagering with the Duke of Wycliffe will
improve
matters?”

“As far as your students know, the wager is the only reason I’ve been calling on you and the Academy. We’ll have Henrietta explain that to her father, and invite him here for the judging.”

Her gaze became even more skeptical. “How will that solve anything?”

“I made a wager with you. And I
never
lose.
Never
.”