She glowered at him. "We will never be in private if I can help it."
By God, they would. It might be the only way to crack her shell of reserve to unveil her secrets. "Then why not use my Christian name? It's a small enough price."
"Not if I slip up and say it before my girls. Not if they go running to Mrs. Harris bearing tales and lose me my position."
Her real worry gave him pause. He glanced over to where the girls watched them avidly, thankfully unable to hear over the thundering piano. "They adore you. They wouldn't tattle to your employer."
A sudden pain darkened the sweet amber of her eyes. "People can surprise you. You think they know your true character, then they— " She broke off with a forced smile. "My girls are no less inclined to spread gossip than anyone else. As you said yesterday, gossip is the legal tender of our society. Even my girls have their price."
The lost look on her face made something twist inside his chest, made him want to shake her and find out who had threatened her with gossip in the past. It made him want to defend her honor.
How ludicrous. For all he knew, she had no honor. Pretty women, even ones without fortunes, usually ended up married by the time they were old enough to help run a school…unless for some reason they'd made themselves ineligible for marriage. There was only one way she might have done that.
Still, her anxious gaze haunted him until he grudgingly moved his hand to its proper place. "I'll try to be more careful around them."
A grateful smile touched her lips. "I would appreciate that…Anthony."
The sound of his name on her lips stirred up a hot maelstrom of emotion inside him, sweet memories of his parents whispering together. Until Mother had died, and the idyllic life he'd known had ended.
Good God, where had that come from? And why now, with this slip of a schoolteacher? He'd have to keep a much tighter rein on his emotions around her. She wasn't like the featherheaded females he usually seduced— she might get under his skin, and that mustn't happen.
Especially with a woman he couldn't trust. She was as much a schemer as any rakehell— just better at hiding it.
"What shall I play now?" came a girl's voice from the pianoforte.
Damnation, the music had stopped. And neither of them had noticed.
Madeline blanched, then glanced at the clock. "You'll miss your meeting with your steward if you stay any longer, Lord Norcourt."
She was dismissing him, and he knew why. She couldn't take much more of their semiprivate encounter. Nor could he, for that matter.
"Yes, I suppose I should be going," he said.
As a chorus of disappointed protests followed his pronouncement, he turned to smile at the girls. "There's always tomorrow. I have no set appointments then."
"But we'll be elsewhere tomorrow," Miss Seton complained.
Madeline started. "Lord, I completely forgot about our trip to see the menagerie." She turned to him. "The entire school is going. We've planned it for months."
"May I accompany you?"
"That's an excellent idea," she surprised him by saying. "Mrs. Harris likes to have male escorts for such outings if we can get them. So assuming that it's fine with her, we'll meet you here at eight." A taunting smile touched her lips. "If you think you can rise early for two mornings in a row, that is."
"I can if
you
can, Miss Prescott." He added, "Don't worry, I can do just about anything I choose."
Including seduce a certain schoolteacher under the nose of her employer.
The possibility seized hold of him and wouldn't let go. Why not? He watched her walk over to her pupils with her lovely bottom swaying. He'd tried stalling her until he could find out why she wanted that damned party, and that had only made her more determined to force his hand.
So perhaps he should try seduction. That might ensure that she kept her promises, no matter what happened with the nitrous oxide party. If she succumbed, he'd have something to hold over her, to help him hedge his bets.
You said she was the marrying sort,
his long-dead conscience clamored.
You were sure she was a virginal innocent.
At first, yes, but now he doubted it. Her reaction to their talk of gossip, her willingness to risk her position…her few blushes proclaimed her to be a woman of some experience. He would swear she was hiding something— an unsavory past, perhaps a feckless lover.
She'd claimed not to be tempted by seduction. And why not, if morality wasn't important to her, as she'd said? Most women would be eager to have a lord's attentions. They would flirt and try to draw him in, hoping to gain marriage. If she actually believed herself immune to temptation, it had to be because some idiot had put her on her guard around men by bungling his seduction of her.
He wouldn't.
At the thought of the cool Miss Prescott lying naked beneath him, the devil in him danced jigs. How he would relish watching those cat's eyes finally warming to him during the "reckless" pleasures of lovemaking.
You just want her in your bed,
said that same niggling voice.
That's the real reason you're determined to believe her a schemer— so you'll have an excuse to seduce her.
He scowled. He'd never needed an excuse before; he certainly didn't need one now.
Seducing her is dangerous, and you know it. Yet you're willing to risk everything to have her. And why? Because she's the first woman whose company you've enjoyed outside the bedchamber.
The possibility made him break out in a cold sweat.
With a curse, he headed for the door. That was absurd. He might enjoy her quick wit, but he wasn't fool enough to let a sweet-faced schemer turn his life upside down.
Bedding her was just part of his plan to make her keep her promise to get Tessa enrolled here. Nothing more than that.
Chapter Eight
Dear Cousin,
I'll toy with you no longer over Lord Norcourt, though I
do
enjoy your disgruntlement. I know you will keep this secret— Lord Norcourt wants to enroll his niece here, so Miss Prescott suggested that in return he teach my girls lessons in recognizing the rakehell. He agreed. You will probably disapprove, but after hearing her pupils describe his first lesson, I begin to think her idea inspired.
Your teasing friend,
Charlotte
M
adeline slipped inside the school and hurried up the back stairs, grateful no one had noticed her arrival at the rear. Everyone was gathered on the lawn in front, sharing a quick breakfast of cross buns and tea as they awaited the carriages.
But she'd come through the woods, needing a few moments alone to gather her thoughts and prepare for the day.
She had to be in top form when the viscount arrived, and have herself under full control. Anthony would not catch her off guard just because—
A groan escaped her. She mustn't call him Anthony, even in her head! That was the surest way to slip up and say it around the students. Besides, he'd be gone in two weeks. No sense in thinking there could be any future between them.
Still, his Christian name fit him very well. And he had
asked
her to call him Anthony. Remembering the smoldering glint in his eyes at the time made her feel all swoony…
Swoony? That wasn't even a word! She was as bad as her girls, succumbing to his flirtations because he made her light-headed. It wasn't remotely sensible.
If only he didn't excel at flirtation, like his ability to know exactly where to touch a woman. Whenever he'd brushed her hand, her pulse had jumped. And yesterday, when he'd rested his fingers just above the curve of her bottom while dancing, she'd imagined them slipping down, sliding lower…
A scowl furrowed her brow. Why was he so blatantly trying to seduce her, anyway? Other gentlemen never attempted it, not after they discovered her peculiar interests. Watching her count the teeth of a dead hedgehog generally dampened their ardor. Especially when she showed the same enthusiasm for her natural history that another woman would show for embroidery.
Men wanted to marry the women who enjoyed embroidery.
Of course, Anthony hadn't witnessed her do anything but teach and dance, so he hadn't yet seen her at her most unmarriageable.
With a snort, she went to her desk to stuff items for their outing into a satchel. As if his flirtations had anything to do with courtship. They were merely a way to keep his rakehell skills fresh while he rusticated at a girl's school. That's why he used his sultry gaze to scour off her clothes and make her feel exposed…desired. He was practicing his technique, much as a fencer did lunges to keep his muscles in fine form, nothing more.
Unless…
A chill skittered down her spine. Unless he didn't believe her reasons for wanting her party. Unless he suspected she had another motive and was using flirtation to uncover it.
But that was absurd. How could he possibly guess that; he had no reason to do so. She was just being overly cautious.
Something clattered to the floor. Lord, she'd knocked off her notebook in her agitation.
As she bent to pick it up, she noticed that a newspaper clipping had fallen out. Mrs. Jenkins, to whom she'd had to reveal her purpose for being in London, had slipped it to her this morning and she'd thrust it inside her book until she could read it.
Tucking the book under her arm, she straightened to read the clipping:
According to reliable sources, Sir Humphry Davy, the current President of the Royal Society, and his wife, Lady Davy, are planning a removal to Cornwall next week so that he may recover his failing health at his mother's Penzance home during the Easter season.
Next week!
That scarcely gave her any time!
She must impress upon Anthony the importance of arranging this party
soon
.
"You're here early," said a voice from the doorway.
She whirled to find the dratted viscount himself standing there. "I'm always here at this time," she lied.
"Except for yesterday."
She winced. "I overslept. I told you."
He stalked into the room and closed the door behind him, trapping her there like a beast tracking his prey. "Because of your ill father?"
Oh, dear, how to answer that? Did it matter if he knew?
Even if it did, he could easily find out the truth from the girls. Making an issue of it would only call attention to it. "Yes. He has…trouble at night."
"What sort of trouble? Has he seen a doctor?"
"His isn't the sort of illness anyone can heal." Not with medicine, in any case.
"Is he dying?"
The thread of genuine concern in his voice surprised, then alarmed her. She couldn't have him asking questions about Papa. "Did you want something?"
With an arched eyebrow that acknowledged her refusal to discuss the matter, he pointed to her hand. "What's that?"
Quickly, she shoved the clipping into her pocket. "Nothing. A recipe."
"Ah." Judging from his narrowed gaze, he didn't believe her.
"You shouldn't be in here alone with me. It's dangerous."
A devilish smile curved up his mouth. "I like danger."
"No surprise there," she muttered. "But I don't. And if anyone should realize we're up here by ourselves— "
"They won't. I rode in the back way, then entered unseen from the stables. Everyone else was too busy in front to notice." He lowered his voice to a sensual rasp. "I wanted a few moments in private with you."
Her pulse began to drum most annoyingly. He'd sought her out, which was definitely dangerous. No one knew either of them was up here, so he could do anything to her, and no one could stop him.
Yet since they were alone, what better chance to ask for what she wanted?
"Actually, I'm glad you're here. I need to speak to you about something."
"Oh?" Amusement turned his eyes a vivid, dancing blue as he approached.
"We have little time, so we must make it quick. The others will wonder why I haven't yet arrived. And probably why
you
haven't as well."
"So your employer has agreed to include me in your outing?"
"She suggested it before I could even ask. She must have thought it would be useful to have a man along."
His gaze drifted to her mouth. "And you? Do you find it useful?"
She found it invigorating. "It's useful for the girls."
"I didn't ask about the girls. I asked about you." He stepped close, too close. So of course her pulse launched into its silly drumming, and her belly betrayed her by going all quivery inside. Lord, she was as predictable as a ewe in heat.
