A Matter of Scandal Read Online Free PDF Page B

give a raison? He and the countess have always supported the school.”
    “It wasn’t he, I’m sure.”
    “I do not understand. Who else—”
    “Someone I hope you never have the displeasure of meeting.” Miss Santerre was beginning to look at Emma as though she’d become rabid, but she couldn’t keep the scowl from her face. That arrogant lion of a man was impossible. She had been trying to have a civil discussion with him, and he kept looking as though he wanted to leap on her and devour her for luncheon. For some reason, the thought made her blush. “Lord Haverly’s nephew. The glorious Duke of Wycliffe,” she sniffed.
    “A duke? A duke is making us pay more rent?”
    Emma clenched her hands together. “He is not doing any such thing.” In the two years since she’d become headmistress, she’d managed irate parents, lovestruck young ladies and their beaux, storms, influenza, and innumerable calamities without ever being this…annoyed. “Do you know what he called me? A matchmaker! A paid matchmaker! He practically accused me of being a…a…procurer of flesh!”
    “ What? ”
    “Yes. He obviously has no idea what we do here.” That sparked an idea, and she gave a grim smile. “I shall have to enlighten him.”
    She yanked open a drawer and pulled out several sheets of paper. Stacking them neatly on thedesk, she dipped her pen in the inkwell. “‘Your Grace,’” she said aloud as she wrote, “‘Our recent conversation has made it clear to me that you have several…misconceptions concerning the curriculum of Miss Grenville’s Academy.’”
    Isabelle stood, gathering up her papers and books. “I shall leave you and your correspondence in peace,” she said, her tone amused.
    “Laugh if you want, but I will not tolerate any abuse—verbal or otherwise—directed at this Academy.”
    “I’m not laughing at you, Em. I am only wondering if His Grace has any idea what he is in for.”
    Emma dipped her pen again, ignoring as best she could the anticipation that coursed through her at the French instructor’s words. “Oh, he will—soon enough.”
     
    Grey glanced up as the office door opened, then went back to his calculations. “How was Basingstoke?”
    Tristan dropped into the opposite seat. “Dull as wet sheep.”
    A small breath of satisfaction went through the duke. “You didn’t find anyone interesting to chat with, then?”
    “I’m beginning to think we imagined her. There aren’t that many places in west Hampshire she could be hiding. Winchester Cathedral’s too far a walk, so she can’t be a nun, thank God. I’d ask your aunt, but I think she’s been corresponding with your mother. Your entire family hates me, you know.”
    “I know. And I’m sure you’ll run across yourmystery woman sooner or later.” Grey wasn’t certain whether he was simply torturing Tristan, or whether he just wanted to keep the knowledge of Emma Grenville’s whereabouts to himself. Either way, the idea of extending his stay had become much more tolerable.
    “Is that what you’re going to be doing the entire time we’re here?” the viscount asked, gesturing at the mounds of paperwork on the desk Grey had commandeered from his uncle.
    “Probably.”
    “Ooh, fun. We might have stayed in London.”
    Grey felt his jaw clench. “No, thank you.”
    Tristan lifted an almanac, then with a grimace replaced it on the desk. “You escaped her, you know. It’s not likely that she’ll confront you again.”
    No one but Tristan would dare even speak to him about Caroline, and he wished the viscount had chosen a different topic of conversation. “I knew she wanted to marry me,” he said slowly, “but for God’s sake—disrobing in the coatroom of Almack’s?”
    “How do you think I felt? I was just looking for my hat.”
    Grey scowled. “If it had been someone besides you coming through that door, that damned female would—”
    “—Would be Her Grace, the Duchess of Wycliffe, by now. But