Schooling the Duke (The Heart of a Scandal, #1)

by Christi Caldwell

  Was he upset with her for not adequately instructing his ward? Or worry about how the girl would be received? “Because she skips, Graham?” she said from the side of her mouth.

  “Yes, because she skips. And because she curses and laughs freely and—”

  “And this from the same gentleman who only just now spoke to me of doing those very things,” she shot back.

  His mouth opened and closed. Good. Let him be flummoxed. “It is entirely different.”

  They reached the carriage when that sputtered reply left his usually every composed sentence.

  “Because she’s a duke’s ward.”

  His cheeks flushed red. “Hardly. I wasn’t insinuating... I didn’t mean to suggest...”

  Rowena made to accept the waiting footman’s hand, but Graham gave him a pointed stare, and the crimson-clad servant backed away. Graham shifted, angling his tall frame to cut their exchange off from Ainsley’s view. “You insist that she should be spirited and passionate, and yet you’d bury those parts of yourself.”

  “Yes,” she said emphatically, giving a nod. “Because some of us do not have the luxury of that zeal and innocence. I’d protect her.” As I wasn’t protected. With that, she slipped around him and climbed without assistance inside the carriage. She took up the spot beside Ainsley.

  A tense silence ensued between them, when he’d claimed the spot on the opposite bench, and the carriage started forward. Ainsley’s discordant humming filled the quiet, and grateful for the young lady’s presence, Rowena looked outside.

  The rub of it was, Graham had been right in his question. Except, he couldn’t understand. Not even if she explained it to him every day in every way she knew how.

  She would deliver lessons to help guide Ainsley on societal expectations. She’d help her to understand the unkindness she’d face by not conforming. But she would not drill those lessons into her, beating out all hint of her spirit. She’d done that to too many students over the years. Shaped them. Shaped herself. Ainsley had the same joyous spirit Rowena had once been in possession of... but the girl also had something more, something she had never had: the support and connection to nobility behind her. With that combination, Ainsley could... and should be anyone she wished to be.

  After an interminable ride through the busy London streets, they arrived in front of a pale yellow stucco Mayfair townhouse. Graham made his exit, handing down his ward. Rowena froze briefly in the doorway, staring at the home. This was a side of London she’d never been part of. Not in this way. Stepping down with the driver’s assistance, she followed along at the requisite seven paces behind a nobleman as Mrs. Belden had advised. With every step that brought her closer, she focused on every lesson she’d delivered. Yet, somehow, although she’d instructed women who’d grace these halls, this was an altogether different experience. It was the ultimate reversal of roles, where Rowena now belonged to their world.

  Graham glanced back. The full moon’s glow illuminated his scowl. She frowned. What reason did he have to be upset now? He said something to the young lady on his arm, and then doubled back to Rowena’s side. “I haven’t hired you to be a subservient in my employ,” he said in hushed tones. “I’ll not ask or expect you to walk behind me or Ainsley or anyone, as though you’re lesser, Rowena.”

  The sharp anger and indignation there lost to the meaning of his words. She paused, mid-step and then forced herself to complete the stride. That command he gave wholly at odds with who his father had been and whom she believed him to be, and it only threw her into further confusion. “Who are you, Graham Linford?” she whispered, frantically searching his face.

  “Are we clear?” he demanded, ignoring her question.

  She gave him a long look. “I cannot walk beside you, Your Grace.” She deliberately invoked his title. “Not here. Nor at any of these events. Not without raising questions and earning whispers, and that Ainsley does not need.” His green eyes pierced her, and the strained white lines at the edges of his mouth hinted at a man prepared to fight her. “You know I’m right,” she said quietly. Then, he stalked off to where Ainsley waited.

  They were admitted a moment later. Entering another marble foyer, Rowena waited in the wings while Graham and Ainsley were divested of their cloaks. As more an afterthought than anything, another footman came over and collected her coarse brown wool one. Turning it over with a murmur of thanks, she immediately fell into step behind the pair as they were escorted through the dark hardwood floors of their host’s home.

  “I confess, Hampstead, a card party is the perfect first event for me to attend,” Ainsley praised. “Of all my skills I’m most proficient in hazard, whist, and faro.”

  From several steps ahead, the butler choked.

  Graham winced, sending Rowena a desperate glance. Her lips twitched. She will be fine, she silently mouthed. They turned the end of the corridor, and the loud hum of conversing guests spilled out into the hall. A moment later, he and Ainsley were introduced to the small assembly. Rowena escaped an introduction... and notice. After all, a companion of nearly thirty years in dragon skirts would hardly be noticed by the Duke of Wilkshire’s esteemed guests.

  “Hampstead.”

  That booming voice, which stank of arrogance and power, could only belong to another duke. “Wilkshire,” Graham confirmed a moment later with a bow for the monocle-wearing lord.

  Introductions were performed, and as pleasantries were exchanged, just like that Rowena was alone within a nest of hornets, trying to emerge unscathed. Rowena wandered over to the corner of the parlor and settled herself into one of the Hunzinger folding chairs where a snoring matron sat, a pug on her lap.

  With all the room’s attention trained on the recently arrived duke, Rowena used their distraction to study Graham, so wholly in his element as he performed introductions between his ward and the other noble guests. He moved and spoke with an ease that could only come to one born to his station. She stared on wistfully as guests bowed and preened, seeking his favors. Who would have imagined when she’d first met him all those years ago, and fallen so desperately in love, that this was the future that awaited him? Had she known, had she the foresight to see he’d been just one brother away from that esteemed title, she’d have recognized their fates could never have been as one.

  I wanted him as he was...

  A duke’s second son, who didn’t give a jot about whether people were refined or mettlesome. She wanted him... as he’d been outside a short while ago. Challenging the social divide that required she be relegated to a place behind. Urging her on to laughter. Now, he waffled between two very different people: one who was coolly indifferent and unfeeling... and one who still caused her heart to miss its beat.

  He motioned for Ainsley to join one of the tables of whist going on. Instead of claiming a seat there, or at any of the others, Graham stood at his ward’s shoulder, protective, watchful. By his steadfast positioning, his message of support rang clear for the roomful of guests and, God help her, Rowena lost a piece of her heart to him all over again. That devotion marked him different from the other lords and ladies present... and from even the man she’d now taken him to be.

  Her skin pricked with the feel of being studied. Which was peculiar as it was silly to think possible, and yet—Rowena did a cursory search of the room. An elegant gold satin-clad lady seated at a piquet table stared back at her with bald curiosity. There was something vaguely familiar about her, and yet even as Rowena scoured her mind, she took in the magnificent sapphires draped about the stranger’s neck and glittering in her gold curls. She exuded wealth and privilege, and as such, was one who’d never mingle with the likes of her. And yet... why is she staring at me still? Rowena’s palms grew moist as the oldest fears that were never far from her resurfaced. The flawless English beauty’s attention was recalled by her partner. Some of the tension left Rowena. Of course the woman didn’t know of her or her secret. It was silly to think anyone would... or remember the famous courtesan’s dau
ghter who’d left London years earlier. Why, Graham himself didn’t seem aware of that secret she kept. Now she wondered what would he say to that discovery. Would he be the unrepentant man who expected her to make apologies to no one? Or would he cast her out as his father and her own family had?

  A sharp, familiar snorting laugh slashed into the din of the activity, and Rowena instantly found Ainsley. She’d said something that had brought a blush to the cheeks of the gentleman next to her and a frown from the lady on the other side. Ainsley glanced in her direction, and Rowena met her smile with one of her own and a slight wave. Her charge gave a cheerful wave.

  No matter what Graham wished, she’d not stifle the girl.

  Ainsley’s table settled down into a quiet play. Again feeling that stare trained her way, Rowena looked immediately to the source. Near an age to her years, the lady couldn’t have been a student. She searched her mind for a memory of the woman with dark curls and flawless white skin. Unnerved, this time, it was Rowena who looked away and froze.

  Graham stood conversing with another guest, and yet something in their positioning, and the young lady’s determined smile suggested she was not simply any other lady. Rowena had never been the proud sort, with a taste or even appreciation for elegant fabrics and fine gowns. Dresses and clothing were simply a matter of necessity and, as such, they served a functional purpose. Seeing Graham alongside the delicate English beauty, a woman attired in a soft satin pink gown trimmed in diamonds along the daring décolletage, Rowena felt her first dose of envy. The Duke of Wilkshire joined the pair, and then led them to a small table where he joined them for a game of loo.

  Rowena sat motionless, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid to so much as blink. For when she did, she would have to give in to feeling the white-hot, unwanted envy snaking its way through her. Ugly, vicious, searing envy. It was one thing accepting that a future between them had been an impossibility. It was an altogether different thing to have it play out before her like a Drury Lane production.

  It was too much. Needing a moment to separate from this and restore herself to the dragon she was, Rowena pushed to her feet.

  “Escaping?” that dry observation put an immediate cessation to her hope for escape. Tall, blond, faintly bored, and dangerously handsome, the man bore every mark of a rake and rogue that she’d ever warned her students away from. He raised his half-empty port glass to his lips and sipped. “I must say I certainly cannot blame you. Miserably dull affair.”

  She wetted her lips, struggling to evoke every lesson she’d given her students should they be presented with this very situation Rowena now found herself in.

  Seeming content to carry on without a word from her, he gestured to the snoring matron. “Lady Aberney has the right of it, I’d say.” He followed that with a wink.

  A laugh burst from Rowena’s lips, and she instantly closed her mouth. Scandalized she glanced about. Alas, the guests were otherwise engrossed.

  “Worry not. They won’t see you here,” he whispered. “Too pompous to look to the corner.” He dropped his voice to a low whisper. “It’s why I’ve taken to hiding out at these very spots.” The gentleman with his blond curls, dropped a bow. “Lord Morgan Montgomery, the Marquess of Midleton.”

  Lest she offend the gentleman, Rowena fought back a smile.

  Glass dangling lazily in his fingers, Lord Midleton folded his arms. “Yes, well, there is some consolation knowing I’ll someday inherit a dukedom and break up the stream of “M’s” my parents saddled me with.”

  Giving up all her best attempts at serenity, Rowena laughed.

  “And that is the first honest reaction from anyone this entire evening,” he said on a grin. “Except for perhaps that one,” he nudged his chin, and Rowena followed that gesture to where Ainsley sat.

  All mirth gone, Rowena stiffened her shoulders. Whether he’d intended that statement as an intentional or unintentional slight, she’d not keep smiling company with one who’d speak of her charge in any way. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord,” she said stiffly. “It’s hardly appropriate for us to converse, given no formal introductions have been performed, and my status here as “that one’s” companion.”

  Instead of being affronted or chagrined, he flashed her another even, pearl-toothed grin. “The companion?”

  “The same.”

  “I see,” he said, with mock solemnity. “And I’m the son.”

  She winced as something he’d said earlier registered. Praying she was wrong... Hoping... “The Duke of Wilkshire’s?” Please let her not have insulted the host’s son.

  “The same.”

  Oh, well drat and double drat.

  “Rest assured, Miss...?”

  “Mrs.,” she swiftly corrected.

  “Rest assured, Miss Mrs.”—Her lips turned up in another reluctant grin—“I didn’t mean any slight against the lady or insult. Mine was a mere observation made after an evening of absolute tedium.”

  Rowena would have personally characterized it as a study in self-torture, and though she conversed with the duke’s son sans a formal introduction being made, she briefly welcomed the diversion from her own earlier melancholy. “Bryant,” she said at last. “Mrs. Bryant.”

  Graham made a show of examining his hand. His winning hand. All the while, from over the top of those cards, he studied Rowena and Lady Serena’s brother, Lord Midleton, and he seethed inside.

  Bloody rogue. The bloody, rotten rake. One of Society’s wickedest lords, recently returned from the Continent, what business had he speaking to Rowena... and what tales did he regale her with to earn her endearing blushes?

  Another one of Rowena’s laughs filtered through the noise and reached his ears, and decided it. He tossed down his cards. “I fear whist has been unkind, though the company kinder,” he said to Lady Serena who looked up with surprise in her pretty blue eyes. “If you’ll excuse me?”

  “But you’ve only just partaken in four hands, Your Grace.” Her perfect bow-shaped lips formed a moue. “I would be so very disappointed if you left now.” She brushed her right hand over his in a bold showing.

  That cloyingness hadn’t bothered him before. It had merely hinted at a woman with ruthless designs on his title.

  Another one of Rowena’s bell-like laughs cut through the noise, and he tamped down a growl, warring with himself. Battling the propriety and logic that said to remain with Lady Serena and this unpleasant seething inside to find out just what Lady Serena’s rake of a brother was saying to Rowena to bring her to that unfettered laughter. In the end, rescue from making that decision came from the unlikeliest of places—or in this case... people. Ainsley stepped up to the table just as Lady Serena began to deal the cards. “You owe me a game of piquet, Hampstead.”

  He opened and closed his mouth several times.

  Lady Serena frowned. “His Grace was just partaking in another match of whist.”

  “Given that you’ve not yet dealt, I expect this would be the perfect time for me to steal him away,” Ainsley boldly challenged.

  Outrage blazed within his card partner’s blue eyes.

  Graham intervened. “Lady Serena.” He gathered her fingers and placed the requisite kiss upon her hand. “If you’ll excuse me? It has been a pleasure.”

  On that, he and Ainsley started for an empty table where they settled into the seats across from one another. “Wilkshire’s furious,” she said quietly as Graham began to shuffle the thirty-six cards.

  “Lady Serena?”

  “Enraged,” she supplied happily, cutting the deal for that hand. She turned over the low card and proceeded to deal each set of twelve cards into groups of four.

  Graham’s gaze crept beyond her shoulder, past a handful of other gaming tables, to where Rowena stood conversing with Lord Midleton. He narrowed his eyes. What in blazes were they talking about? And why did she have that damned smile on her lips and blush on her cheeks, those expressions she’d once reserved for him. And the sight of Wilkshire’s
affable son charming her, he was filled with an unholy urge to stalk over like a primitive beast and knock the damned grin from his lips.

  “He’s a rogue, you know.”

  “I do,” he answered, automatically, and then registering what he’d admitted to, his neck went hot.

  “He’s been eying Mrs. Bryant since we arrived.”

  “He h—” He immediately cut himself off. How in blazes did the girl see so much? And it begged the terrifying question... what else did she see? Careful to avoid her astute eyes, he drew four cards.

  “My father was a rake,” she explained matter-of-factly, taking two cards for herself. “Dangerous fellows for an innocent lady.”

  Indeed. Graham looked over to where Rowena stood conversing with Lord Midleton. It didn’t matter whom the lady spoke with. Her role in his household was strictly of a purpose of serving as Ainsley’s companion. As long as she conducted herself in a respectable manner above reproach, she could freely converse at any ton event they attended.

  Only, he lied to himself. It mattered. Mattered very much, and sitting here, in Wilkshire’s parlor, he confronted these ugly, volatile emotions: burning fury, jealousy, resentment. All of which went against everything he craved.

  He’d shaped himself into a dull, emotionless lord to avoid feeling anything. It was why he’d selected Lady Serena as his future betrothed. Having Rowena here—in his life—was proving as perilous as fighting on those battlefields of the Peninsula. Rowena brought out who he was before, and it scared the hell out of him. At the same time, it gave him hope... and made him despair of ever being that person again.

  Jack is right. It is dangerous having Rowena close.

  Which left him with what alternative? To allow her to return? Or to endure the volatility of yearning, jealousy, and regret all to help his ward?

  “Your play,” Ainsley said, slashing into his musings. She tipped her head sideways over to Rowena’s corner. Blinking slowly, he again found the tall, dark-haired woman who he’d spent years hating.