Your concerned cousin,
Michael
A
nthony paced the hall, his temper rising. The servant had assured him that Miss Prescott would join him shortly, yet here he stood cooling his heels outside her classroom. A gaggle of giggling girls had trooped past ten minutes ago, come up from breakfast. Occasionally one peered out, then returned to the others to whisper. He felt like a circus attraction.
God rot Miss Prescott— no doubt she was keeping him waiting for some nefarious reason of her own. And he hated being made to look the fool.
Could he have misunderstood her instructions? Surely she hadn't meant for him to begin teaching these silly lessons alone. He still wasn't sure what she wanted him to say.
Just as he'd decided to go to Mrs. Harris's office, he heard someone racing up the stairs. He whirled in time to see Miss Prescott vault onto the top step, then freeze at the sight of him.
Her glorious hair was a mess, half-falling down about her shoulders, and her cheeks shone the same color as her poppy red gown. A series of ragged breaths stuttered from her lips. "L-Lord…N-Norcourt," she stammered, trying vainly to catch her breath. "G-Good…morning."
His annoyance faded, replaced by a devilish satisfaction. He hadn't misunderstood. She was simply late.
Oh, this was too rich for words. It made up for his having to rise at an ungodly hour, for the frenzied pace he'd set for his horse, and even for having to forgo carousing with Stoneville.
He could hardly restrain his glee. "Miss Prescott," he drawled. "We've been waiting for you." Removing his pocket watch, he gazed at it with exaggerated interest. "You did say eight, didn't you? In the morning?"
As she restored her hair to its proper condition, she hastened toward him.
"I could have sworn you did." He shook his watch, then looked at it again. "Either my watch is broken, or you aren't terribly— "
"— punctual," she finished for him through gritted teeth. She halted a few steps away. "Very good, Lord Norcourt. You've proved you can tell time."
Without bothering to hide his smile, he restored his watch to his pocket. "And you, Miss Prescott, have proved that you cannot."
If eyes could kill, he would be laid out on the floor. But not even her fiery glance could ruin his enjoyment. He followed her into the classroom in a far better humor.
The students who'd been milling around inside hurried to greet her. "Are you all right, Miss Prescott?" asked one of them.
"You weren't at breakfast," said another, her young face worried.
She turned fond glances on them. "I'm perfectly well, I assure you."
"Your father's not ill again, is he?" one girl asked.
Anthony's enjoyment at her lateness dimmed. Could her interest in nitrous oxide be related to her father's health?
If she'd already begun an article on the subject, surely she knew the gas had no healing properties. Besides, if that had been her aim, why not just say so?
With a furtive glance at him, she said, "Papa is fine. I simply overslept. It was rude of me, and I'm sorry if it alarmed you." A genuine smile crossed her features as she gazed at them. "I appreciate your concern."
He had to admire how she treated her students, a far cry from how he'd been treated at their age. That probably explained why they were so solicitous of her.
She clapped her hands. "Now, girls, it's time to take your seats. We have a special guest, so I'll expect you to be on your best behavior this morning."
Thirty pairs of eyes swung to him in curiosity, but the girls did as they were told without dawdling. He grudgingly admitted that Miss Prescott seemed to be good at her profession. Yet another reason to fight for Tessa's admission, if the other teachers were as competent as she.
"Ladies," she said, as soon as they were seated, "we are honored to have the Viscount Norcourt join us today. Lord Norcourt's niece will be enrolling here soon, so he's been gracious enough to offer…that is…he will be revealing to you girls…"
Taking pity on the flustered Miss Prescott, Anthony stepped forward. "I'll be giving you lessons on men."
That got their attention. They sat up straighter and exchanged meaningful glances that made him wonder again what the devil he would tell them.
Miss Prescott flashed him a grateful smile. "Lord Norcourt shall reveal what he has learned from his vast experience in society. His instruction will focus on how to identify the wrong kind of men."
"So that when you run afoul of them," he added, "you know how to get them to leave you alone."
A hand shot up in the back of the room. He glanced to Miss Prescott, but she gave him the floor. Damn. He'd hoped she'd guide him through it the first time.
Stifling his irritation, he smiled at the girl with the raised hand. "Yes?"
The young lady stood. "I am Miss Lucinda Seton." She tipped her nose high. "My father is a colonel. He says if a soldier or any other man tries to touch me, I'm to slap his face and tell him my father will shoot him at dawn if he tries it again."
Miss Prescott's groan told him this wasn't the first time Miss Seton had offered such advice. No wonder they wanted the girls to have lessons.
"Does that stratagem work for you?" he asked.
Miss Seton blinked. "I-I don't know. I've not had occasion to try it yet."
"With so many soldiers about, you've never had one be impertinent?" He eyed her closely. "Or is it just that no one you
disliked
was ever impertinent?"
With a blush, she sat down.
When the other girls tittered, and Miss Seton's blush deepened, he added, "But your father is right. His tactics will work on a certain sort of man."
Warming to his subject, he began to pace the room. "Listen well, ladies. There are three kinds of men: beasts, gentlemen, and beasts masquerading as gentlemen. Contrary to what your parents may say, neither a man's connections nor his rank nor his money will help you distinguish one from the other. I once saw a blacksmith offer his coat to a beggar girl, and an earl rudely eject a dowager from his carriage because she coughed on his seats. Men are a tricky business, no matter what their rank. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
He halted to gaze at the susceptible young females before him, and an unfamiliar panic gripped him at the thought of being responsible for these girls' opinions. Then Tessa's tearful face at the funeral swam into his mind, and he considered what he would tell
her
. Instantly the panic fled.
"That's precisely the problem," he went on. "A beast is easy to spot. He leers at you or paws you when you dance with him. He catches you when you're alone and tries to force a kiss on you even when you protest." He smiled at Miss Seton. "Slapping him and threatening him with Papa's wrath is entirely appropriate. Braining him with a flowerpot wouldn't be amiss, either."
The girls laughed. Even Miss Prescott managed a smile.
"But call them rogues or whatever you wish— beasts masquerading as gentlemen have one thing in common. They're hard to detect. They don't wear signs that say, 'I've come to tempt you into wickedness.' No, they smile and charm their way into your good graces.
Then
they tempt you into wickedness."
The girls' skeptical expressions made him wonder how often they'd heard this from Mrs. Harris and her teachers, probably with a healthy dollop of dull moral instruction. And what girl wanted to believe that all men weren't the dashing fellows they longed to marry? Especially when those dashing fellows deliberately made the girls' hearts melt and their pulses race.
These girls needed something more powerful to convince them.
He waited until their giggles died. "Before I go on, I wish to learn more about you." Gesturing to a plain chit in the front row wearing spectacles, he said, "Why don't we start with you, Miss— "
"Bancroft," she said warily. "Elinor Bancroft."
"That's a lovely name." A familiar one, too. Where had he heard it? "It's fitting for a girl with your elegant manner."
As the other girls giggled, she glared at them. "Thank you, sir."
"And where are you from, Miss Bancroft?"
"Yorkshire, sir."
Now he knew who she was. She was widely deemed the richest heiress in northern England. "Ah yes, I could tell. You have that air of confidence that I find in so many people from Yorkshire. It's the bracing northern air— it strengthens one's stamina." Sidling near her desk, he smiled. "It's probably also responsible for your fine complexion."
Coloring a little, she straightened in her seat. "Thank you, sir."
He picked up the book sitting upon her desk and glanced at the title. "You're reading Shakespeare's sonnets?"
"They're my favorite," she confessed.
"Mine, too. What is that line, 'a rose by any other name…'"
"No, sir," she protested, "that is from the plays.
Romeo and Juliet
."
Pasting a look of chagrin to his face, he said, "You're right." He hung his head. "I'm not good at remembering verse, Miss Bancroft. I'm always embarrassing myself. You must think me a complete dolt."
"No, indeed I do not!" she hastened to assure him.
"Oh, but I'm sure you do, a clever girl like yourself."
"Really, sir, anyone can learn to recite poetry if they work at it."
"I wish that were true. My poor, blind mother is always asking me to recite verse for her, and I can never oblige her unless there's a library near to hand. I so hate how often I'm forced to disappoint her."
"I could show you an easy way to learn if you like."
"Would you?" He seized her hand. "It would mean so much to my mother."
She blushed violently. "I would be honored to help you."
He squeezed her hand. "I'll hold you to your promise, Miss Bancroft."
"Certainly, sir."
She tried to pull her hand free, but he turned it over to look at it. "You have ink on your fingers. I daresay you write poetry, too."
Her hand relaxed in his. "Indeed, I do."
"Might I be permitted to read it sometime?" He played with her fingers as the girls around her strained to see. "I do so enjoy good verse."
"I will give you some of my poems tomorrow, if you like."
"I'd enjoy that very much." He frowned. "Ah, but I forgot— I won't be here. Might you go up to your room later and fetch it? I could meet you in the library."
She blinked at him.
Releasing her hand, he stepped back, then faced the girls who watched him with shocked expressions. "
That,
ladies, is a beast masquerading as a gentleman."
Glancing over at Miss Prescott, he found her fighting a smile. He winked, and she shook her head. But her pretty eyes danced, and the sight of it sent a shaft of need right through him, which he forcibly ignored.
Unfortunately, when he turned back to the students, Miss Bancroft looked devastated. "I should have known you didn't think me elegant," she said softly. "No one really thinks me elegant."
Her wounded tone cut at him. Despite her riches, she reminded him pitifully of Tessa. "I don't know you, Miss Bancroft," he said gently, "so I can hardly think you elegant or otherwise. But our conversation told me one thing. You have a kind heart. And that's more important to a man than any amount of elegance."
When she cast him a grateful glance, he turned to the others. "Unfortunately, girls with kind hearts also make fine prey for scoundrels. Such fellows will say anything to convince you to go off alone with them. They will speak of their poor sainted mothers if that will gain your sympathy. They will tell you with apparent modesty of being wounded in France if that will soften your heart."
Glancing to the back of the room, he called out, "Miss Seton, if we'd had the same conversation and I'd taken your hand in the same manner, would you have slapped my cheek and threatened to send your father after me?"
Miss Seton chewed her lower lip, obviously debating whether to tell the truth. At last she sighed. "I expect not." Then she thought a moment before gazing at him consideringly. "But you're a better catch than most of the soldiers I meet, so I don't think Papa would mind terribly if I encouraged you."
He laughed. "That depends on how much he knows of my reputation."
A girl sitting near the front muttered, "
I
would never fall for such nonsense."
"Perhaps not," he said, addressing her directly, "but that's because I said only things that suit Miss Bancroft. Any scoundrel trying to tempt
you
would tailor his lies accordingly. The more clever the rogue, the less blatant he is. His compliments will be subtle, of the kind you'll wish very much to believe."
He pinned Miss Bancroft with his gaze. "What was it that first made you soften toward me, Miss Bancroft?"
