A Matter of Scandal (23 page)

“That’s what we’re working on,” Jane said, her expression serious. “We aren’t completely daft, Miss Emma.”

“I know you’re not. I’m just…very frazzled.”

“That’s why we’re helping.” Elizabeth, the one with perhaps the least and the most to lose, gave Emma an encouraging smile. “Everything will work itself out.”

She forced a return smile, hoping it looked more genuine than it felt. “I hope so.” With a glance in Grey’s direction, though she didn’t have the willpower to meet his gaze, she rubbed her hands together. “Ten more minutes, and then you will return inside for luncheon.”

“Emma,” Grey said, before she could escape, “I’m told you’ve recruited assistance.”

She stopped. “Yes, I thought bringing in a few Academy supporters might help the outcome.”

“Who?”

“You’ll have to wait until Saturday, Your Grace.”

The duke wrapped his hands around two of the gate posts. “Who is staying here with you?” he asked again, his voice harder.

It was far too late for him to be acting jealous, but the part of Emma that knew all of this awfulness was because she cared for him, leapt at the chance to get even. “Men aren’t allowed to stay here,” she said curtly, “as you know. The Marquis of Althorpe and the Earl of Kilcairn Abbey will be lodging at the Red Lion.”

His eyes narrowed. “Althorpe and Kilcairn. Their reputations won’t do much for the Academy’s good name. Reconsider.”

“They’ve already promised their help.” She paused, debating whether to continue, but hurt goaded her on. “I really don’t think you’re qualified to assist where my…honor is concerned.”

His mouth tight, he looked at her for a long moment. “Ladies, please give us a minute of privacy,” he murmured, his gaze keeping Emma rooted in place.

“All right, as long as it doesn’t count as one of our minutes.” Lizzy led the group, and an equally reluctant Tobias, out of earshot.

“Come here,” Grey said.

Emma put her hands behind her back, not feeling all that safe even with a closed gate between them. Her pulse hummed in reaction to his nearness, even when she was furious and hurt. “I’ll stay here, thank you, not that things could get much worse.”

“I don’t want to shout. You can take two steps for the sake of the Academy, can’t you?”

So now he was exploiting her concern for the school. With a frown Emma edged closer. One
step, then a second. “For your sake, this had better be about the Academy.”

“I’ve turned you into a cynic now, have I?” His eyes searched hers again, though she had no idea what he hoped to see.

“I told you before that I don’t blame you for this. I blame myself for behaving in a manner I knew to be improper.”

That wasn’t quite true, because she
did
blame him—but not for what he expected. He’d made her yearn for things she’d never dreamed even existed prior to his arrival in her life.

He leaned closer against the iron bars, his hands still gripping two of them. “I wish you
would
blame me, Emma.”

Her breath stopped. “And why is that?”

“Because if you did, I would at least have a chance of redeeming myself. If you leave me out entirely, I don’t know how to get back in.”

“You can’t get back in.” She paused, but something in the almost vulnerable, almost worried look on his face made her want to continue. “I don’t like games, Grey. I don’t know if you were playing one when we were…together, but I know what the results have been. And I know what the cost is likely to be. I will speak with the girls’ parents on Saturday.
I
will resolve this, because the responsibility is mine.”

“I haven’t been playing with you, Em. At first, perhaps, but not for a long time now.” He reached out one hand, catching her by the front of the dress before she could even gasp. With the same speed he yanked her up to the gate. “Give me some chance to help you. Please, Emma.”

“No, Grey,” she said, her voice breaking.

“Please,” he repeated, his voice a husky, barely audible whisper.

“If you want to keep that hand, Wycliffe, I suggest you let her go.”

She hadn’t heard their approach, but Althorpe stood a few feet behind her, Kilcairn slightly to his left. In a one-on-one fight, Grey outreached and outweighed either of them. Together, she wouldn’t wager much for his chances.

Alarmed, she nodded. “All right,” she whispered quickly. “One chance. Now, let me go.”

He held on for the space of a dozen heartbeats, then released her. “I’ll only need one.” With a smile that touched deep inside his eyes, he backed away from the gate. Only then did he look at the two noblemen. “I’m available anytime either of you want to come outside and play.”

Althorpe shrugged out of his coat, dropping it to the ground. “Now sounds good.”

“No!” Emma put out her hand to stop the marquis.

At the same moment, Lucien caught his shoulder from behind. “Not in front of the children,” he murmured, his icy gray gaze on Wycliffe. “But soon.”

Shaking herself, Emma turned her back on Grey and gestured for the two dark-haired peers to accompany her back to the main building. She was somewhat surprised when they did so. “I promised him ten minutes with his students,” she explained when Kilcairn lifted an eyebrow at her.

Vixen and Alexandra stood together at the top of the steps, watching Emma return with Lucien and Sinclair flanking her. As she approached, she looked back over her shoulder toward the gate.

“What do you think?” Alexandra asked quietly.

“The same thing you do,” Vixen returned, shifting Thomas higher up on her shoulder. “Our Emma’s in love.”

“Mm hm.” Alexandra smiled as they returned to the foyer. “And it’s about damned time.”

H
obbes, at his station by the front door, looked as if he was considering retirement. “Your Grace, Lady Sylvia Kincaid and Miss Boswell departed for London some thirty minutes ago, and Lord Dare is counseling Frederick Mayburne in the billiards room.”

“Why does he need counseling?”

“He did not confide in me, Your Grace.” The butler looked glad of that fact.

Grey sighed. He had a damned lot of work to do, and only two days to do it. Impatient as he was to move forward with his plans, he didn’t want to leave a wild card like Freddie Mayburne loose and unaccounted for.

In the billiards room, Tristan lounged in one corner while Freddie leaned over the table and set
a hard shot against the cushion, scratching the smooth velvet surface in the process.

“What’s happened?” Grey asked.

“He’s ruining the billiards table, for one thing.” Tristan leaned on his cue stick. “I didn’t know what else to do with him.”

Freddie lifted his head. “Ah, Wycliffe. You’ve been busy, I hear.”

Grey narrowed his eyes. “What precisely have you heard?” If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was this idiot spreading still more rumors about Emma.

“Just that you’ve been gadding about the school lifting skirts while the rest of us aren’t even allowed through the gates. I had no idea that while you were advising me about Jane, you were practicing on the headmis—”

Yanking the cue stick out of Tristan’s hands, Grey slammed it against the billiards table. “
Enough!
” he roared.

Jumping at the sound, Freddie belatedly began backing toward the door. “Enough for now, but I doubt you’ll be in Hampshire much longer. The iron maiden looks to be gone even sooner.” He leaned his cue stick against the wall. “Which leaves me, still in Hampshire, with Jane.”

“Get out of this house,” Grey growled, striding forward. “If I see you anywhere near that Academy, I will personally see to it that you become a castrato.” Yanking the door open, he shoved Freddie into the hallway, narrowly missing Georgiana in the process.

Freddie scrambled for the stairs. “That’s my point, Wycliffe. You won’t be here,” he said defiantly.

As he passed Georgiana, she kicked him in the leg with one slippered foot. “And I’ll have everyone thinking you already are a castrato,” she added.

Grey didn’t unclench his hand from around the billiards cue until the front door slammed downstairs. “Damn it,” he muttered.

“Do you really think that’s the best way to get rid of him?” Tristan asked, joining him in the doorway.

It wasn’t, but Grey could only hope the lad was intimidated enough that he would stay clear of Jane until he had a chance to warn her about the blackguard. “It’ll do for now.”

“Hm,” Georgiana said smoothly. “Castratos. You’re one, aren’t you, Lord Dare?”

“Not yet,” Tristan drawled, and returned to the billiards room.

Grey had never quite figured out what had caused the animosity between Tristan and Georgiana, but he thought it might’ve had something to do with the infamous “Kiss Georgie” wager of several years ago, which Dare had won. It was simply better not to allow them in one another’s company for any extended period.

“Georgie?” He lifted an eyebrow.

She smiled and strolled toward the music room, where he could hear Aunt Regina playing the pianoforte. “Just two friends, jesting,” she said lightly.

Georgiana and Dare were closer to blood-crazed enemies than friends, but he liked the word. That was what he and Emma had become; friends. He liked chatting with her and learning her mind as much as he enjoyed learning her
body. When this was over with, he could envision nothing more pleasurable than to go strolling through the gardens at Wycliffe Park with Emma and talk about crop yield or something. Grey gave a small, grim smile. Good God, he was yearning for domesticity—and even more, for Emma Grenville.

“Hobbes,” he said, descending the stairs, “I’m going into Basingstoke. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Halfway out the door, he paused. Emma was right about one thing; he’d already caused enough trouble, and while he didn’t give a hang what anyone thought of his comings and goings, he
did
care if they caused more hurt for Emma. “Don’t tell anyone where I’ve gone,” he said.

The butler nodded again. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Ah, unless Miss Emma comes by and asks.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Hobbes probably thought he’d lost his mind, but the butler would have been wrong: he’d lost his heart. And whatever the outcome of this mess, he needed to be sure that he didn’t lose Miss Emma Grenville, and that her Academy didn’t have to close.

Sir John Blakely seemed surprised to see him as he strolled into the solicitor’s small office. “Good afternoon,” Grey said, sitting in one of the chairs facing the desk.

“Your Grace. This is unexpected, to say the least.”

Pulling off his riding gloves and dropping them into his hat, Grey nodded. “A bit irregular, perhaps, but I require your assistance. My solici
tors are all in London, and as you’ve pointed out, you are the only one in this part of Hampshire.”

“How may I assist you, then?”

So far, so good. Given Sir John’s friendship with Emma, he hadn’t been certain how cooperative the solicitor would be. “Two things. Or three, depending on your recommendation.”

“I’m listening.”

“First, in your estimation, how much does it cost to put a student through one year of schooling at the Academy? Books, meals, tuition, clothes, et cetera.”

Again the solicitor looked surprised, and delayed a moment before answering. “Well, I have done such calculations before, for…select students. The information certainly isn’t secret, so I suppose relaying the numbers to you wouldn’t be stepping into private Academy concerns. The cost for a one-year term is approximately two hundred pounds.”

“And a recommended course of study is three years, is it not?”

“Yes, though it varies from one to four years.”

And students like Lizzy Newcombe would no doubt find educational opportunities available to them until their eighteenth year. “The fees are paid in advance yearly, I presume?”

“Generally, though a monthly payment schedule may also be arranged. Is there someone you wish to send to the Academy?” The solicitor’s brow furrowed. “Though given your…wager, I can’t imagine you would do such a thing.”

Grey nodded. “I would appreciate if you would draft a paper to transfer two thousand pounds from one of my London bank accounts to
Miss Grenville’s Academy, for sponsorship of up to ten young ladies chosen at the discretion of the faculty board. Said fund is to be transferred on a yearly basis for the next ten years.”

The solicitor stared at him. “I—that is…this is exceptionally generous of you, Your Grace. I was under the impression that you genuinely disliked the Academy.”

“I used to. Now I don’t.”

Sir John had the intelligence not to question him further on that subject. “So I see. You, ah, had a second topic you wished to discuss?”

“Yes. I would like a second account set up, in the amount of twenty-five thousand pounds. This—”

“Excuse me,” Sir John interrupted, his pencil jumping, “but you did say twenty-five
thousand
pounds?”

“Mm hm.” Grey knew the amount of money and power he could wield shocked and impressed a great many people, but he’d grown up with it, and having money had only provided a means to an end. He wanted to charge in on a white horse and rescue Emma and her beloved Academy, but at the moment he was still marshaling his forces.

“Very good, then. Twenty-five thousand pounds. For, ah, what purpose?”

“To be held in trust for the Academy, with the interest to be used as needed for upgrades, repairs, and supplies.”

Something thunked to the floor behind him. “Why?” Emma’s gasp came from the doorway.

Grey cursed as he came to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

“Returning some of Sir John’s research books,” she stammered. “What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

“This is a private business transaction,” he growled, striding up to her, “and none of your damned affair.”

“If it concerns the Academy, it
is
my damned affair.” Putting her hands on her hips, Emma glared up at him. “And I demand to know what sort of game you’re playing now.”

“I’m not playing anything. I’ve come to realize my opinions about the Academy were based on erroneous information, and now I’m attempting to make amends.”

She didn’t look impressed. “Isn’t that a little like shutting the barn door after the horse has escaped, been captured, killed, its hide made into shoes, and the barn burned down?”

“You’ve been saving that one just for me, haven’t you?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Don’t you dare think this is funny. If I haven’t said it plainly enough already, allow me to repeat myself: stay out of my affairs.”

“So you would refuse aid to the Academy, just because it comes from me?”

“There
is
no Academy. Or there won’t be, after Saturday.”

He opened his mouth to reply, then snapped it shut again as he remembered Sir John’s presence. “Outside.”

“I am not going to create a spectacle and be the object of further gossip and scandal by being seen with you in the street.”

Leaning closer, Grey took her chin in his fin
gers. Even angry, she blushed, and his body reacted as it always did. “I need to talk to you,” he said in a low voice. “In private, with no yelling.”

For a moment she held his gaze before she backed out of his grip. “Sir John, I apologize for even asking, but would you mind—”

The solicitor stood. “I’ll be in the bakery, if you should need me,” he said, walking past them to collect his hat and exit.

Emma folded her arms across her breasts. “All right, Grey, I’m listening.”

At least she hadn’t reverted to calling him “His Grace.” “Any more letters?” he asked conversationally, trying to blunt the sharp edge of her anger.

“Only ones answering the invitation. Lizzy’s mother has declined, but the other four sets of parents will arrive Saturday morning. Apparently they will be traveling together.”

Grey winced. A mob, to lynch Emma. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not necessary for you to apologize.”

“Yes, it is.”

“N…” She trailed off. “Is your throwing money at my Academy part of your apology?”

“No. It’s part of my enlightenment.” He took a step closer. The timing for a proposal was abysmal, but neither was it fair to leave her thinking she was out of options, when she had another way to save herself. “I began to tell you part of my plan the other day. Might I do so now?”

Emma shrugged. “If you wish.”

In truth, it upset her immensely that he was there, and that he’d apparently been doing some
thing nice for the Academy. She hoped that whatever he was about to say would make her angry, so she could at least face him without crying.

“Very well.” Grey moved past her to the door and locked it, then faced her again. “My plan.”

She scowled. “Yes, your plan. What is it? Though I don’t believe in miracles. I’m much too old for th—”

“Marry me.”

Emma stopped breathing. “
What?
”

He smiled. “It does tie everything off rather nicely, you have to admit.”

She couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t said what he’d just said. Not the man who’d sworn to all and sundry that he would never step near an altar. “That—that makes no sense,” she stammered, the blood pounding in her ears. She hoped she wasn’t going to faint again.

“It makes perfect sense.”

He leaned down to kiss her, but before he could connect, Emma put her hand against his chest and pushed. It was hardly enough to move him if he’d chosen to press the issue, but he stopped.

“I’m—no!”

Grey frowned. “And why not?”

“I told you I would take care of this. Your offer is…very generous, but I made my own choices, Grey, and they didn’t have conditions attached to them. You don’t need to…sacrifice yourself for my sake.” She was speaking too fast, piling excuses one upon the other, but if she stopped talking she would have to realize that Grey Brakenridge had offered to
marry
her—the kind
est, most generous thing anyone had ever done for her.

“You’re turning me down?” he asked incredulously.

“Of course I am. Grey, I’m a girls’ school headmistress, for goodness’ sake. You are—”

He covered her mouth with his fingers. “Please don’t remind me that I’m a duke again. I know that.”

“But it’s the truth!” she retorted, grabbing his fingers away from her mouth. “You
are
a duke, and besides that, a man with no respect for females. How could I—”

“You don’t believe that any longer,” he said, his voice softer.

“You presume too much,” she managed.

“I never do.” Softly he stroked her cheek with his knuckles, and she trembled. “I am aware, however, that we are pressed for time, and so I leave you the choice: discuss our impending marriage, or the plans to save the Academy.”

Was he deliberately attempting to befuddle her? It was working. “The…the Academy.”

Grey nodded. “I thought so.”

Everything was racing by too quickly for her to make any coherent sense of it. She wanted to talk about why Grey seemed determined to marry her, and she wanted him to hold her in his strong arms and make all of her problems and worries vanish. But she’d chosen the Academy, and he’d accepted that, too.

Concentrate, blast it all
. “You can’t lose the wager,” she forced herself to say. “If the girls look bad, it’s the Academy that’s failed. Not you.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. I’m going to distance myself from the teaching process.”

“How?”

Leaning down, he kissed her softly on the lips. “We’ll make it clear in a roundabout way that your Miss Perchase was keeping up the actual instruction while I was making shockingly bad pronouncements and in general promoting fiddle faddle.”

“So the girls can still look good, and you will lose the wager.” Raising on her tiptoes to touch his lips again seemed such a fine idea that she couldn’t resist. He really hadn’t asked her to marry him, had he? “And then what?”