A Matter of Scandal (24 page)

“And then I’ll concede that after I forced you into the wager, I realized that I had absolutely no chance of instructing the students half as well as you did. When the completely unfounded rumors began, we were both shocked and offended—which was when we decided to have the parents come and view their daughters’ progress. And just to prove that we’re all honorable folk, I will marry you.”

“To prove…” Emma drew a shallow, disappointed breath. “I think that may work for the girls, but offering to wed a headmistress to deflect any scandal? Aren’t you afraid you’ll look foolish?”

He gave a soft smile. “There’s only one person whose opinion I care for—and if she is happy, then I am happy.”

She swallowed, hope soaring. “That’s very nice, even if you don’t mean it.”

“Allow me to convince you, then.”

He captured her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss.
Before she knew it, Emma was sitting in Grey’s lap as he dropped into Sir John’s chair. “This is nice, too,” she said, as he kissed her throat.

“God, Emma, I can’t keep my hands off you,” he murmured, trailing his mouth along the base of her jaw.

“I like your hands.”

At that, one of his hands slipped under the front of her gown to cup her breast. As his fingers caressed her sensitive nipple she gasped, arching her back. In response, he stirred beneath her thighs.

“Does this feel like honor and guilt, Emma?”

His whisper, warm and soft in her ear, made her shiver again. While one hand continued touching and caressing her breast, the other crept down her thighs to begin gathering her skirt.

“Grey!” she gasped.

“Shh. You don’t want anyone outside to hear, do you?”

No, she didn’t want to be interrupted. She longed for this, and had missed him every second that he wasn’t in her presence. After Saturday, after the wager was over, he would have no more reason—and no more excuses—to extend his stay in Hampshire.

Whatever he said about marrying her, it was probably just guilt and lust. He slipped an arm around her waist, lifting her so he could pull the gown up over her hips. In a moment her bare bottom settled back down on him.

And she was grateful for
his
lust, because she loved being the focus of his attention and his desire. Angry as his arrogance made her sometimes, she loved him, and these few delicious encoun
ters made it all right. Once reality returned he would realize they could never marry, but at least she would have this.

His hands curved up the insides of her bare thighs, his hands so warm and knowing they practically left her panting with want. “Grey,” she whispered.

“Lean forward.”

Grasping the edge of the desk, she bent forward, and he freed himself from his breeches. With his hands guiding her hips, she sank back down again, feeling him sliding hard and hot inside her. He moaned, their joining clearly giving him as much pleasure as it did her. Grey lifted his hips against her as she rocked against him, gasping as fire flooded her veins.

They came together, and Emma couldn’t help her deep, satisfied sigh, as he slid his hands slowly around her waist and pulled her back against him again. “Perhaps when this mess is finished, and I find a position…somewhere, you could come and visit me every so often,” she said, turning to kiss him. “And we could renew our acquaintance.”

He froze mid-kiss. “What?”

“It wouldn’t be hurting anything, you know. The damage has been done. I like being with you, and it’s not as though I have any prospects.”

Grey took her shoulders and held her away from him. “You have one very willing prospect, damn it!”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” she insisted.

“Emma,” he said, his low voice resonating deep inside her, “I have recently discovered that sometimes not making sense is the only thing that
makes sense.” He set her upright, tugging her skirt back down for her. “You’re the Academy’s mistress. I want you for my wife.”

“But—”

“Just think about it.” He scowled as he shoved his rumpled shirt back into his trousers. “No, don’t think about it. You think too much as it is.” While she stared at him, trying to follow his half sentences and mutterings, he leaned down and kissed her slowly and possessively.

“I’ll see you Saturday, at ten in the morning,” he continued, returning the desk and the chair to their former condition. “Be ready for anything.”

He opened the door and exited, pulling it closed behind him. Blinking, Emma sat in the chair again. “My goodness,” she murmured, trying to straighten her hair, which seemed to have become rather disheveled.

What her heart wanted and what her mind knew was possible were becoming further and further apart. He claimed he wanted her not just for an evening, not just for pleasure, but for the rest of their lives.

But did he truly love her—and enough to be laughed at and scoffed at by his peers? What of his mother, who thought her a common strumpet?

Standing, Emma headed for the rear of Sir John’s office. A small tray with a few bottles sat on a cluttered table. She searched for a moment, found a glass and then the brandy, and poured herself a stiff drink. She had the feeling that by the end of the week she would be needing quite a few of these.

T
he coaches arrived early. Emma, tying the ribbon at the waist of her plainest, most conservative gown, peered down through her bed chamber curtains. Four coaches, and four sets of parents, stepped onto the Academy’s long, gravel-covered drive. The morning’s drizzle had deepened into a steady rain, as though the heavens had sympathy for her plight.

As she watched, two more coaches and then a third rolled onto the grounds. Emma frowned. “Who could that be?” More trouble, undoubtedly; she couldn’t imagine more assistance arriving at this late date.

Her office door opened. “Emma?”

“In here,” she called, sitting at her dressing table to pull her hair up into a conservative bun.
Her hands shook so much she could barely hold her brush, but she was determined to have a professional appearance.

Isabelle slipped through the half-open door. “We have a problem.”

“Another one?”

“I’m afraid so. More parents arriving; even the ones whose daughters haven’t been involved with the wager.”

Emma nodded. “I’m not surprised. The wager isn’t the problem; I am.”

“Nonsense. You are not to blame for any of this.”

She was, but her first priority was to make sure the reputation of her students remained unblemished. Whatever Grey’s plan, she couldn’t leave the Academy’s future to the fates.

Even the parents not attending today’s events had sent her letters maligning her judgment and questioning the soundness of her mind, and she knew, if all else failed, what it would take to save her aunt’s school: she would resign. It left her sick with guilt and worry to even contemplate it, but if that was what the parents required, she would do it.

Emma took a deep breath. “Well, my dear, let’s gather our students and show their parents how much they’ve accomplished.”

Lifting the heavy binder which held her part of the wager, Emma led the way to the morning room where Grey’s students had gathered. The girls wanted to conclude the wager, to prove the Academy’s schooling better than Grey’s. They naturally didn’t realize that the wager was important only in that it gave her and Grey a legitimate rea
son to be seen in one another’s presence—just as her estate plan, hard though she’d worked on it and proud of it as she was, was pertinent only because it illustrated that she’d been occupied with things other than the Duke of Wycliffe.

The most awful part of all this was that all her protests of innocence would be lies. She
was
carrying on an affair with Grey, and even with this disaster she didn’t want to give him up. Since her cousin’s betrayal when she’d been twelve she’d hated lying, and had made every effort to instill that same sentiment in her students. It would be so hypocritical to lie to save the Academy.

“Miss Emma, I wore my most professional gown,” Lizzy announced.

Emma followed the French instructor into the morning room as Lizzy twirled up to her. “You look lovely,” she said, forcing a smile. “All of you do.”

“We’ll do our best, Miss Emma,” Jane said, taking her hand. “We promise.”

“I know you will. You are all fine students, and even finer young ladies.”

She’d tried to make it clear that they would be defending their own reputations, and that of the Academy; whatever was said about her was a completely separate issue. It wasn’t really, and even with the financial situation of the school resolved thanks to Grey, if no students were allowed to attend, Miss Grenville’s Academy would be ruined. She’d tried not to put too much of a burden on the girls’ shoulders, tried to hide her own anxieties from them, but even so it seemed such a large task for such young ladies.

“Is Grey here yet?” Lizzy asked. “We can’t pretend he’s silly if he’s not here.”

Her nerves shrieking, Emma glanced at the nearest clock. “The meeting isn’t to begin for another few minutes,” she said in her calmest voice.

The morning room door squeaked open, and she jumped, whipping around with her hand to her chest. Her leaping heart hoped it would be Grey, but it was Miss Perchase’s pale face that leaned into the room.

“Your friends are here, Miss Emma,” she said in a shrill, nervous voice. “I did as you said, and put them in the dining hall with the parents.”

“Thank you, Miss Perchase. We’ll be down in a minute.”

The Latin instructor bobbed her head like a frightened quail. “They…it’s a bit…tense in there,” she squeaked.

Emma’s pulse accelerated again. “Thank you,” she repeated, her own voice shaking.

Pacing back and forth while the girls chattered nervously, Emma resisted looking at the clock until the larger one out in the hallway began to strike ten. Grey had said he would be there, yet there was no sign of him. She swallowed. Perhaps he’d changed his mind about lending his assistance. She’d warned him about the scandal this might cause, and perhaps he’d finally listened.

Emma squared her shoulders and made for the door. So he had abandoned her. It wasn’t the first time someone had done so. A tear squeezed from one eye, and she impatiently brushed it away. So he hadn’t meant it when he’d suggested they marry—she had heard that men would say al
most anything when in the throes of passion. Obviously now better sense had prevailed.

“Miss Emma, are you all right?” Lizzy asked, taking her hand.

“Yes. I’m just fine.” Her heart was broken and she was about to lose the Academy, but she could still help the girls—she hoped. She faced her students. “Well. With or without His Grace, we must proceed. Follow me, ladies.”

“I don’t know.” Grey scowled at his reflection in the dressing mirror. “Are you certain I don’t have anything more respectable-looking than this?”

Bundle’s left eye twitched. “Not in Hampshire, Your Grace.”

Grey glanced over at the clock on his mantel. Nine-fifteen. He should have been at the Academy already, but if he arrived too early, he wasn’t certain he would be able to keep his hands off Emma.

He wanted to grab the headmistress, sweep her off her feet, carry her into his coach, join her inside, and instruct the driver to take them to Gretna Green. If he didn’t allow any stops except to change horses, they might make it to Scotland and the closest church therein before she managed to escape him.

He strode to the rain-streaked window which overlooked the garden. “You told Hobbes to have my coach hitched up, didn’t you?”

“I did, Your Grace.”

His door rattled and opened. “Sweet Lucifer, Grey, even Beau Brummel would be dressed by
now.” Tristan slipped inside and shut the door behind him.

“I
am
dressed. This is a strategic delay.”

“The parents will probably be there by now. Are you certain you don’t want us mingling to soften them up?” Tris asked.

Grey didn’t particularly feel like being friendly or conciliatory; these people had insulted his Emma, and they all deserved a good thrashing. On the other hand, they were the parents of his students, chits he had come to look upon with a great deal of fondness.

“I don’t think we’re the appropriate parties to soften anyone up, considering,” he muttered. Grey paused, looking at Dare with his dark blue jacket and polished Hessian boots. “In fact, Tris, I don’t think you should go, at all.”

The viscount frowned. “Why in damnation not?”

“Because the rumors—” Grey stopped, pinning his valet with another glare. “Out.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Once Bundle was gone and the door closed again, Grey folded his arms. “Because the rumors concern Emma’s improper conduct with you.”

“And with you,” Tristan snapped. “At least my rumors are unfounded.”

“But the wager gives me a legitimate connection to Emma and to the Academy. Your being there might cast more suspicion on the entire aff—”

“All right, all right,” Dare grumbled, throwing his hands up. “You’d damned well better tell me what happens.”

“I will.”
Probably, anyway
.

The patter of water against the window caught his attention again as he took a last look at himself in the dressing mirror. He supposed he looked as unobtrusive as a man four inches above six feet tall could look.

“The rain’s getting harder,” Tristan said unnecessarily, following him into the hallway and down the stairs. “The road’ll be a mess.”

“It’s only two miles. I think I’ll manage.”

“Are you certain you don’t want m—”

“Stay here, Dare,” Grey interrupted.

“I will. But I won’t like it.”

Grey nodded at Hobbes as they entered the foyer. “If my mother inquires, I’m not certain when I’ll be back.”

The butler remained where he was, one hand on the front door handle. “Ah, Your Grace?”

Dread touched Grey’s heart. Emma hadn’t fled, had she? He’d never even told her he loved her, for God’s sake. “What? What is it?”

“The, um, the coach, Your Gr—”

“I told you to have it hitched up,” he interrupted, scowling. Grey pulled out his pocket watch. He needed to be at the Academy. Emma would be wondering where he was.

“I did, Your Grace. It’s just that—”

“
What
, damn it?”

“Her Grace and Lady Georgiana took the coach, Your Grace.”

Grey stopped. “Took it where?” he enunciated, his jaw clenched.

“They didn’t say.” Hobbes pulled at his neck-cloth. “I would assume they went to the Academy, Your Grace.”

“So would I.” Grey cursed.

“I’m having one of Her Grace’s coaches prepared, if you care to wait a mo—”

“Saddle Cornwall. I don’t have time to wait.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Yanking open the door, Hobbes hurried out into the rain, Grey on his heels. Damn the duchess, anyway. Was she trying to delay him, to take away any chance he would have to defend Emma? If that was her plan, it was going to fail. He had a few plans of his own.

The girls, Isabelle, and Miss Perchase trailing behind her, Emma reached the bottom of the stairs and turned up the corridor toward the dining hall. A different kind of dread had settled in her heart; one that had nothing to do with the loss of her reputation and her Academy, and everything to do with the thought of never seeing Grey Brakenridge again. Never hearing his voice, never seeing his face, never feeling his touch, ever again. She might as well be dead. She’d wanted independence; well she had it now.

The sitting room door opposite her opened. “Miss Emma.” A tall, willow-thin woman with silvering dark hair stood in the doorway, her dark-eyed gaze on Emma.

Starting, Emma faced her. Her mind scattering in a hundred different directions, she curtsied. “Your Grace.”

“I wasn’t sure you would remember me, considering that you were unconscious for the majority of our first meeting.” The elegant duchess looked her slowly up and down, while the girls began whispering behind her.

“Yes, I remember. I…thank you for your assistance.”

The duchess’s mouth tightened. “Considering that my remarks were what caused you to faint, I find your thanks to be overly generous.”

Lizzy stepped forward. “You made Miss Emma faint?” she demanded.

“Hush, Elizabeth. It was a misunderstanding.”

Frederica Brakenridge lifted an eyebrow, the expression reminding Emma painfully of Grey. “A misunderstanding,” the duchess repeated. “That remains to be seen.”

“Your Grace, I would appreciate if we might continue this discussion at a later time,” Emma suggested. For heaven’s sake, she had too many other things to worry about right now. Interpreting insults—and the duchess’s presence at the Academy—would have to wait until she had more time. “If you’ll excuse us, I’m afraid we have a very full schedule to—”

“Yes, you do. This, however, will only take a moment.” Frederica stepped aside, motioning Emma into the sitting room behind her.

“I—”

“If you please, Miss Emma.”

All she needed was for Grey’s mother to call her a whore in front of the girls. “Very well. Ladies, please wait for me in the hall.”

The Duchess of Wycliffe followed her inside the room and closed the door behind her. “You’ve created quite a stir, my dear.”

“I have participated in a wager which has unfortunately garnered more attention than I had anticipated,” Emma corrected, trying to keep
from hunching her shoulders. “A great deal of the blame for which falls on my shoulders.”

“But not all the blame.” Frederica Brakenridge crossed the room to sit in one of the overstuffed chairs beneath the window. She didn’t invite Emma to join her.

Emma preferred being close by the door, anyway. She wasn’t quite certain what the conversation was about, or why the duchess had taken over the sitting room as though she owned it, but for goodness’ sake, the woman might have had a little compassion. She was nervous enough, already. “No, not all of the blame is mine. At the moment, though, all I can do is lament my poor judgment and attempt to salvage what I can of the Academy’s reputation.”

“And what of your own reputation?”

“I have no illusions where my reputation is concerned. I simply don’t want what I may—or may not—have done to reflect upon my students or upon this school.”

“And which is it? May? Or may not?”

She tried to stop her sudden scowl, and thought she’d managed to hold back everything but a twitch in her left eye. “As I said, that doesn’t signify today, Your Grace.” The personal questions began to annoy her. “And if I may be so bold, Your Grace, why does my folly interest you so much?”

The duchess sat back, stretching her hands along the chair’s arms. “
You
interest me, Emma Grenville. Something about you has intrigued my son enough to keep him in Hampshire for a month.”

“Are you certain it was me?” Emma asked, trying to keep from blushing.

“Reasonably so. He has been known to tire of Society and disappear for a week or ten days with his friends and his…entertainment, until they bore him as well and he returns. Obviously, though, this time my son has not returned to London. The question becomes why. Or rather, why not.”

For all Emma knew, he might be on his way back to London at this very moment. She swallowed. This had been easier when they’d been discussing her reputation. Poor as the day looked to end up for her, she didn’t want to begin lying; not now, and not to Grey’s mother. Misdirection, though, was another matter entirely. “His Grace did make a wager. I gathered that he dislikes the idea of losing.”