Lady Be Good (9 page)

“Yes, quite.” His amiability didn’t fool her. She’d already learned that the Duke of Beddington was a man who’d do anything to get what he wanted. She thought of his two dead wives and shuddered. Not that there had been anything suspicious about either death—one had lost her life in childbirth, the other had been caught in an avalanche during a ski holiday in the Alps. But between his physical resemblance to Henry VIII, the deaths of his wives, and the two young daughters he’d tucked away at a school far more prestigious than St. Gert’s, he made her skin crawl.

“You’d told me you hired a driver, but you didn’t mention he was one of the most famous professional golfers in the world. I know how naive you are, my dear, so I’m certain it hasn’t occurred to you that this arrangement won’t do at all.”

She experienced a small stab of satisfaction. “Please don’t concern yourself, Your Grace. My friend Francesa recommended him.” She didn’t bother asking him how he’d learned that Kenny was escorting her, since Hugh Holroyd wasn’t a man to leave anything to chance. From the moment she’d announced the trip, she’d known he would hire someone to keep track of her.

“I’m sure you didn’t stop to consider how this would look. I know you enjoy Francesca’s company, but she’s in television, my dear, which makes her barely respectable. And as the future Duchess of Beddington, you need to think about such things.”

She curled her fingers tighter around the phone cord. “Oh, I’m certain it won’t be a problem. I only have two weeks to finish my research, and I needed someone reliable. Mr. Traveler is very familiar with the area.”

“Darling, that’s not the point. We’ll be announcing our engagement as soon as you return, and it’s not at all the thing for you to be spending so much time with another man, even though he’s only your escort.”

They weren’t going to be announcing their engagement, but he didn’t know that yet. Just as he didn’t know she was going to do everything in her power to protect St. Gert’s from his blackmail. “I’m in Texas, Your Grace. None of your circle of acquaintances will ever know.”

“You forget that I have business interests all over the world. As a matter of fact, I have to go to New York just when you’ll be on your way home. I’d hoped to meet you in London as soon as you returned, but I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone that. Actually, my dear, the more I think about this, the more I believe that you need to come home right away. From the very beginning, this trip has displeased me.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m afraid that’s impossible. I know you don’t want me to continue as head-mistress after the engagement is announced.”

“Quite right. It would be most inappropriate.”

Only in the seventeenth century, you awful man!

“Then you see why I must stay. I’ve promised the editors of the
New Historian
I’ll have my paper finished for them by the first of May, and I’m sure you agree that I can’t go back on my word.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Only think how it would look if the future Duchess of Beddington didn’t meet an obligation.”

She knew she’d made her point when she heard the fretful note in his voice. “Still, I don’t fancy having you escorted by a man who’s so notorious. I know I sound like a doting husband, my dear, but I couldn’t forgive myself if I let the slightest breath of scandal attach itself to your name.”

“It won’t, Your Grace.” She narrowed her eyes at her blatant lie. If all went well, she would create a scandal just large enough to put an end to any idea of an engagement and, at the same time, ensure that St. Gert’s would remained a safe, comfortable haven for another generation of girls.

When she finally hung up, she was shaking, and she flung herself out of bed. Dealing with two horrible men in less than twenty-four hours was far worse than dealing with a classroom of unruly students. At least she hadn’t been forced to work with Hugh until recently. Up to the time of her death, the dowager duchess had been Emma’s only contact with the family, although she’d known Hugh by reputation for years because of his well-publicized talents for making huge profits by investing in cutting-edge technology. But despite his facility with high finance and modern technology, he was an old-style aristocrat, a man so puffed up with pride over his illustrious family name that adding to his consequence had become even more important to him than making money.

His two marriages had produced only female children, and, like Henry VIII, he was obsessed with the need for a male heir. Unless he had a son, his ancient title would go to a long-haired nephew who was a drummer for a rock and roll band. It was unthinkable, and only months after his second wife’s death, he’d set his staff on a search to find his next wife. She had to be well-born—that went without saying. And solid, without a hint of scandal. No flashy Sarah Fergusons to bring his name into disrepute. He would also prefer a virgin.

She could just imagine the reaction his staff must have had to that. Later she’d learned that the only women they’d been able to come up with who fit his criteria were thirteen years old.

It was Hugh’s sister who thought of Emma and suggested that Hugh, instead of herself, represent the family at St. Gert’s annual Founder’s Day festivities. As Emma had served him tea in her office that first afternoon, he’d reprimanded her for taking a phone call from an anxious parent in the middle of their conversation and frowned at the glitter-encrusted necklace she was wearing, a handmade birthday present from one of the seven-year-olds. She couldn’t abide him.

He reappeared the next week and the week after that. She made up excuses to avoid him, but one afternoon he caught her in his office and, with a great deal of haughtiness, informed her that he’d decided she would make him a suitable wife. Their engagement would be announced as soon as she resigned her position as headmistress.

Emma was flabbergasted. She had to resist the urge to check her desk calendar to see if she’d inadvertently time-traveled back to the Regency. “Your Grace, I have no intention of marrying you. We barely know each other. The whole idea is ridiculous.”

Her bluntness was a mistake. He narrowed his eyes, puffed himself up, and told her the matter was settled.

“It’s not settled at all!”

“You’re a titled virgin of the proper age with an exemplary reputation and an unassuming appearance,” he replied. “There’s nothing left to discuss.”

Hearing herself reduced to such a boring description stung, and she made the fatal mistake of losing her temper. “I’m not a virgin! I’ve slept with dozens of men. Sailors, lorry drivers, the school handyman just last week!”

“Don’t be infantile. I know that you’ve never had a serious relationship with a man. If you aren’t a virgin, the experience happened so long ago as to be insignificant.” With an expression of disdain, he’d moved toward the door of her office. “Our discussion is over, Emma. If you aren’t intelligent enough to understand the honor I’m doing you, you certainly aren’t intelligent enough to run St. Gertrude’s, and you’ll be dismissed.”

His threat stunned her, and it was a moment before she recovered. “What difference would that make? If I do as you ask, I’ll lose my position anyway.”

The door shut, and she felt as if the familiar room were spinning around her. His threat made her heartsick. She slumped down in her chair and tried to absorb this violent, absurd disruption to her well-ordered life.

When Hugh’s sister called the next day to fix a date for the engagement announcement, Emma told her there would be no wedding.

A week passed, and she heard nothing. She was just beginning to dismiss the bizarre incident when she saw a surveying crew moving across the school grounds. Heart pounding, she rushed to question them and was informed that they were acting on the orders of the Duke of Beddington.

He answered her call so promptly she suspected he’d been waiting for it.

“Your Grace, tell me at once what’s happening. Why did you send surveyors here?”

“Didn’t I tell you? It must have slipped my mind. I’m contemplating selling the property to a developer.” He paused to let the words sink in. “He’d be tearing down the buildings to put up some very expensive homes.”

It took her only a moment to realize he was subjecting her to the most blatant sort of blackmail. The school was the only real home she’d ever had, but her emotional attachment wasn’t all of it. Over the protests of Hugh’s mother, she’d arranged to have a group of bright, ambitious scholarship students admitted. What would happen to them when they were sent back to schools far inferior to St. Gert’s? She remembered how unsteady her voice had been as she’d asked him, “And if I were to marry you, what would happen to the school?”

“Why, my dear, I could hardly sell off a place so dear to the heart of the Duchess of Beddington, now, could I?”

That was when she decided that he was more than a little mad.

She sat up for two nights before she came up with her plan. The next day she reached him at his office. “I’m sorry I was so difficult, Your Grace. It was the shock. Of course I’ll be thrilled to accept your offer . . . that is, if you haven’t reconsidered marrying someone so far beneath you.” She waited hopefully.

“Reconsidered? Of course not.”

Hardly able to conceal her distress, she’d told him that the engagement could be announced just as soon as she completed her professional obligations, which included making a trip to the States between the winter and spring terms so she could finish working on a research paper she’d begun for the
New Historian
.

She was telling the truth about the paper, but what she didn’t tell him was that it wouldn’t take her more than a few days to complete her research. The rest of the time she would use for something more important.

Losing her good name.

Her plan was hardly foolproof, but it was the best she could come up with. She had to alarm Beddington just enough so he’d withdraw his offer, but not enough to make him suspect that she was deliberately manipulating him. If that happened, he was vindictive enough to destroy the school for revenge.

Unfortunately, she could think of no plan that would allow her to continue her career at St. Gert’s. There was no possibility of him allowing anyone with a spotted reputation to stay on there, but she’d find a new position somewhere. St. Gert’s had taken care of her when she was most vulnerable, and now she would do the same.

A
s Emma walked into the hotel lobby toward Kenny, she
saw that the hard-eyed stranger who’d brought her to the hotel the night before had disappeared and the affable loafer had taken his place. This time, however, she wasn’t fooled.

For a moment she forgot what a scoundrel he was and simply enjoyed the sight. He’d left his Stetson behind, and his crisp dark hair gleamed in the light coming through the atrium. He wore a faded University of Texas T-shirt, tan shorts, and brown work boots with an inch of snowy white sock visible at the top. Her sanity returned as the corner of his mouth kicked up.

“Mornin’, Lady Emma. Glad to see you brought your umbrella. It’s sure to rain sometime this year.”

She glanced down at her floral brolly as if she couldn’t imagine how it had gotten there, then regarded him with a cheery smile and deliberately jabbed it toward the door. “Let’s be off, then.”

She had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes narrow. “Breakfast first. Then business.”

“I’ve already eaten.”

He gazed down at her with those lazy violet eyes, then used his slow drawl to whip her into line. “Now, Lady Emma, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten whose payroll you’re on.”

She should have expected this.

“I’m going to have some blueberry pancakes this morning.” His fingers wrapped around her upper arm. “How about you?”

She considered mentioning her pleasant conversation with Francesca less than half an hour ago and the fact that she could call her good friend back at any moment, but then she hesitated. It would be wise to reserve her Francesca ammunition for bigger battles. Whether or not she ate a second breakfast this morning wasn’t that important.

As they settled at a booth in the coffee shop, she thought about what she’d nearly done with this man yesterday and wondered if jet lag had deprived her of her common sense. What had she hoped to accomplish by jumping into Kenny Traveler’s bed less than twelve hours after she’d arrived in this country? If she intended to sleep with someone, she should at least have made certain that Hugh had his watchdogs in place. Her impulsiveness was uncharacteristic, and it made her uneasy.

“Just tea for me,” she said as the waitress approached to take their orders.

Kenny beamed his approval at her. “Good choice. But add some blueberry pancakes to her order, along with a side of bacon, and I believe I’ll have the same for myself, except forget the tea and bring coffee instead.”

He was deliberately provoking her, but she simply smiled. “Change the blueberry pancakes to toast, if you would. And substitute a bowl of strawberries for the bacon.”