Marshall closed the front door of the school gently behind him. He had handled that badly. Athena was not a woman who responded well to demands, even if they were in her own best interest. He shook his head. What a handful she was. She was uncharted territory—independent, clever, and yet strangely vulnerable. Her badinage always left him exhilarated, and her beauty kept him in a state of thorough arousal. Half the time he wanted to fence with her, the other half he wanted to spend wrapped in her limbs like he did tonight. Of one thing he was certain . . . Miss Athena McAllister took his breath away, and he’d never get it back again.
“Lord Warridge.”
Marshall turned, startled more by the form of address than the unexpected voice. “Who’s there?”
Through the fog, he saw a flicker of light. A man broke through the mist, his cigar glowing in the night.
Marshall looked him up and down. He was a slender man, dressed in a weathered coat and worn pants. His hat hung askew, and his face was shiny with dew. Whoever he was, he’d been sitting out in this fog for some time.
“Edward Nance, at your service.”
The man extended a hand, and Marshall took it. He hoped he heard the name aright, distorted as his words were with the thick cigar between his teeth. “Do we know one another, Mr. Nance?”
“Not yet, but I’m hoping we’ll become discreet confidants. I’m a journalist, and I’m working on a story for my paper.”
“Ah. Mr. Nance. I understand you’ve been to my home. Are you following me?”
“Consider it a desperate act born of an urgent need to speak with you.”
Marshall’s scowl blackened. “I don’t take kindly to having my steps shadowed. And I don’t particularly care for having my family hounded either. If you wish to have an audience with me, you can write me to request an appointment.”
Nance smiled down into the cigar between his fingers. “I’m afraid that would be quite impossible. You see, I have time constraints, and my paper demands my story soon.”
“Then I’m afraid I cannot help you. Good evening.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know what it’s about?”
Marshall stopped in his tracks. A sickening feeling rose up inside him.
Nance laughed. “Don’t worry. It’s not about your sister. Not directly, anyway.”
Marshall turned and faced him. “Mr. Nance, have a care what you print about my family, or I will haul you into court so fast—”
Nance waved his cigar in denial. “No need to worry, Lord Warridge. I’m not after your family. Just answer me this . . . what were you doing in that school across the street?”
Marshall’s fists clenched. “None of your damned business.”
“Now, now. I’m not dim-witted. A gentleman like you . . . leaving a school for women at an indecent hour . . . with your coat in your arms . . . What’s a worldly man supposed to think?”
“I don’t give a damn what you think.”
“Yes you do. Let’s not play games, Lord Warridge. Your shows of outrage don’t move me. Quite frankly, if I had your kind of capital, I’d be in there myself.”
“I’m warning you, Nance—”
“I apologize. I don’t want to offend you. I need you. More to the point, we need each other. I want your cooperation for my story. If you help me, I promise to keep any mention of you or your sister out of the article.”
“What do you want from me?” he growled.
“It’s this school I’m after. I’ve heard there are disreputable things happening behind that door. Things that wouldn’t shock the likes of you and me, but to the public, it would make for very interesting reading. Unmarried ladies learning sexual promiscuity? It’s an outrage. All I want from you is a little information. Tell me what goes on in there.”
“What makes you think I know anything about a girl’s school?”
His eyes became hard slits. “People I know have told me what you’ve been up to in there. Men being paid to teach ladies how to kiss. Oh, I know all about it. If I were a handsome man like you, I’d be first in line for that sort of job. But to the decent and moral people of this city, it’s depraved. Corrupt. I wouldn’t be surprised if a trial ensued. Indecency, debauchery . . . male prostitution. Who knows?”
Marshall went cold. If the school was exposed, the ensuing storm would leave Athena ruined. She was a strong woman, but she wouldn’t be able to keep the wolves at bay before they completely devoured her. He couldn’t stomach something like that happening to her.
“So what does go on in there?”
“It’s a school for women. They teach embroidery and needlepoint, nonsense like that.”
His dark eyes sparked to life. “And sex?”
“No!”
“Come now, Lord Warridge. At least give me the truth so I have a choice what to print.”
Marshall shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I give you my word that nothing untoward goes on in there.”
Nance shoved his cigar into his mouth, snarling his lips. “Not good enough. I want the facts.”
He expelled a labored breath. “You and I both know that you are not interested in facts. You want a titillating read. Nance, reflect . . . you could do a lot of damage by casting aspersions on these women. There are a lot of lives at stake. Spinster women and old maids, guilty of nothing. Assassinate their character and they’ll be damaged for life.”
“I don’t assassinate character, Lord Warridge, I just reveal it. Help me to get my facts correct. Tell me what you know. You don’t have to say much. I’ve already got most of the details I need.”
His head jerked back. “From whom?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. Suffice to say that my source has a firsthand knowledge of what’s been going on in there.”
A stormy expression clouded over his face. Rutherford! He’d stake his life that the blackguard was doing what he did best . . . pitting people’s actions against their reputations, forcing them to compromise everything they hold dear to protect the only thing they value. The bastard probably threw Athena to this wolf Nance when Marshall snatched Rutherford’s lucrative position away from him. A tide of guilt engulfed him. He had inadvertently set in motion the events that threatened to bring about Athena’s downfall.
“All right, Nance. I know what this is about. How much do you want to keep from implicating this school in a sordid scandal?”
Nance crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Must be considerably salacious what you did in there. The fact that you’re willing to pay a blackmailer’s fee confirms everything my source has told me.”
Marshall had had enough. “Damn you and your source! If you’ve got all the information you need, what in blazes do you need me for?”
Nance took his cigar and jabbed it in Marshall’s direction. “I need you to give my story credibility. When this story breaks, legions of prominent and wealthy families are going to descend on the paper en masse clutching sheaves of lawsuits in their hands. I’ll be the first to admit that the word of my source alone isn’t going to be enough to repel those sticky accusations of slander. But a gentleman like you—marquess from an upright and noble family, an officer in His Majesty’s Navy—your imprint of truth will carry a lot of weight.”
Marshall gave a mirthless chuckle. “Then the devil take you. I’ll not be a party to this, this . . . stoning.” He turned on his heel and started down the street.
“Story’s going to run anyway, Lord Warridge. Whether you put your seal upon it or not.”
Marshall faced the man once more.
Nance turned to stare at the school, his cigar casting a red glow on his shiny face. “Once the constabulary investigates, my story will be corroborated by their investigation anyway. I’m giving you a choice. You can either appear in my story as a witness . . . or as an accomplice.�
�� He gave Marshall a meaningful look. “Think it over.”
And then, like a cat that has tired of toying with a mouse, Edward Nance disappeared back into the fog, leaving Marshall to bleed worry onto the rain-soaked street.
EIGHTEEN
“Look what I bought yesterday,” exclaimed Hester, bouncing into the school clutching a bundle of hair ribbons in a rainbow of colors. “We can give them to the ladies next month when the term ends as a farewell pres—Athena, what’s wrong?”
Athena had been sitting alone on the settee in the parlor, nursing a cup of coffee while the ladies took breakfast in the dining room. Her glazed eyes had been staring into the empty fireplace when she glanced up at Hester. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, for one thing you’re as white as a sheet. And for another, your dress isn’t.”
Athena looked down at her lap. A large dark brown stain had spread across the front of her eggshell-colored dress.
“Oh, dear!” she cried, putting the cold cup and saucer down on the table. She grabbed the linen napkin and dabbed at it, but the coffee stain had thoroughly dried in. “Oh, dear!” she repeated, her voice sharp with anxiety.
Hester went to ring for Gert. “Lemon water will get that stain out.”
“If only it were that simple,” Athena shrieked, and crumpled into the chair.
“Whatever’s the matter with you?” Hester knelt in front of Athena, staring up into her face.
Athena’s hand pressed against her chest, as if she could somehow still its pounding. “Oh, Hester. I’ve done an awful thing. Last night, after you left, Mr. Marshall came here.” Athena described everything that had happened in accurate detail—even to the moment that they made love.
“Athena,” breathed Hester, her hand obscuring her mouth. “What were you thinking?”
Her eyebrows tented in dismay. “I wasn’t thinking. I was just sort of doing. It wasn’t really my fault, except . . . well, he was so handsome, and it was all so passionate, and then . . . it just happened.”
“Here? With all the girls around?”
“Well, they weren’t in the room with me,” she said defensively. “Oh, I knew the moment that man set foot in this house that it would mean disaster. Look at me now. He’s ruined me.” Athena, the goddess dethroned.
“He’ll offer for you, surely.”
“I don’t want to marry him!” Athena exclaimed, rising off the settee. “Do you know why that lout seduced me? To get my school! He only wanted me to fall for him so that I would do his bidding.”
“I can’t believe that.”
“It’s true. After he made love to me, the first thing he told me to do was to close down my school!”
“But why?”
“I don’t know . . . maybe he wants to start a school of his own and he’s trying to close down the competition. Maybe he wanted a portion of our income. Maybe he wanted to assume more authority here. What does it matter why? He took my virginity and then he demanded my obedience. He is a blackguard and a cad, and I can’t believe I was foolish enough to think I loved him.”
Hester breathed a deep sigh, and sat in a chair. “I don’t see you have a choice. If he’s sullied you, you’re not fit to marry anyone else.”
“Don’t be absurd. I can’t marry a penniless gentleman. What would my grandfather say? Oh, Hester,” she said, her tone changing to panic, “what would my grandfather say?”
“Your grandfather dotes upon you. He’ll love you no matter what your condition.”
She bit her lip. “I do have a condition, don’t I?”
“Calm yourself.”
Athena started pacing the room, worrying her moist hands. Women of loose morals are ten a penny, he had once told her, and they dwell in the darkness of their own choices. She had given herself to this man, but what did she really know about him? His whole life was a mystery to her, and she had deliberately kept it that way. Now their relationship had advanced far ahead of its time. “Oh, Hester, I feel such a harlot. I don’t even know that man’s first name.”
“I think you ought to—”
“Lady Ponsonby was right. The forbidden fruit isn’t shaped like an apple. It’s shaped like a banana.”
“Athena!” Hester rarely raised her voice, as she was practically incapable of doing so. “Sit down so we can talk rationally.”
Athena perched herself on the edge of the settee, her eyes desperate. “Tell me, please . . . what must I do?”
Hester clasped Athena’s hands. “You must accept Calvin’s proposal.”
Athena pulled her moist hands away. “These are my choices? Calvin or him?”
She nodded. “Calvin knows he hurt you, and he knows how he hurt you. He should jolly well be the last person to judge you.”
“I don’t want to marry Calvin.”
“No other gentleman will have you. And don’t think you can deceive a man after he’s wed you. That will bring irreversible shame to you and to your grandfather. The only other choice is to remain a spinster, which is almost as disgraceful.”
Athena’s shoulders slumped as she contemplated the courses of action. “Either way, I’m to live happily never after.”
A polite knock sounded on the door. Gert entered. “A letter’s just arrived for you, miss. The messenger said it was urgent.”
Athena tore open the letter. “It’s from Grandfather. He asks me to return to Endsleigh Grange straightaway. But he doesn’t say why! Oh, I hope nothing’s happened to him. Gert, put some clothes in a valise for me. And I’ll need to change into something else. Hester, could you stay with the girls for a day or two? I’ll be back to the school as soon as I can.”
It was almost a relief. Now that the focus of her anxiety had shifted from herself to her grandfather, she felt quite her old self again.
Endsleigh Grange was ensconced in a cramped dell between two wrestling hills. The house was indicative of her grandfather’s reduced circumstances, far different from their former residence at Tigh na Coille, where she had grown up. Her Scottish home had been a flourishing estate that provided meat and vegetables for the entire household with enough left over to sell at the village. In summer, wild strawberries were everywhere. And the fruit orchards were so plentiful that Athena could lean out of the kitchen window and pluck the pears right off the branches.
By contrast, the house at Endsleigh Grange was isolated, hemmed in by trees and bushes overgrown to the extent of some years. A single servant tended to the cleaning and cooking, and half the house was shuttered up for lack of capital necessary to restore it to its former usefulness.
Having lived in London these past months, Athena had almost forgotten the disrepair the house was in, largely unreversed since she and her grandfather had moved in. The front garden was a jungle of green foliage, completely bereft of flowers. A crippled carriage still leaned against one side of the house. Chickens scrambled from her approaching feet as she made her way to the front door.
The woman from the village who looked after the place opened the door. “Hello again, Miss Athena.”
“Hello, again, Mrs. Tassel. You’re looking well. How’s my grandfather? Is he all right?”
“Fit as ever! He’s in the ballroom with his guest.”
With characteristic good humor, her grandfather had named the house’s smallest living space “the grand ballroom.” It served as his study, which he kept piled with ancient tomes on his favorite subject, the exploits and quests of knights errant. Athena puzzled over the affirmation of his good health as Mrs. Tassel took Athena’s valise and spencer.
“Can I go straight in to see him?”
“ ’Course. He’s been expecting you. Mind you, he’s in a temper. Word to the wise—have a kind remark on your lips.”
What could have put her customarily genial grandfather in a foul mood? Athena’s mind swiftly ticked off all the possible causes without settling on one. She wended her way to the ballroom and knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
Athen
a walked through. “Grandfather! How wonderful to see you!”
He rose slowly from his chair behind the desk. “Athena,” he responded tersely. His grave tone was like an invisible arm holding her back from running into his embrace.
Her eyes darted to the man sitting across from his desk, his back turned to her. He was dressed in a navy blue military uniform, and her frantic mind immediately turned to bad news from the war.
The man stood and faced her. Athena could not possibly have been more shocked. The man wearing the crisp blue coat was none other than Mr. Marshall.
Her round eyes swept over the gold braid edging the high collar, lapels, and cuffs. Gold epaulettes ridged his shoulders, and gold buttons marched down the front of his coat. Though her fractured mind failed to absorb the incongruence, it was him. The man she thought was an impoverished gentleman desperate for work was standing in front of her in a hero’s mantle. Here, in her home, standing with her grandfather, was the man who had secretly shared her bed the night before.
“Good afternoon,” he said. There was a significant look on his face, but she couldn’t make out what it was she was supposed to know. How much had Mr. Marshall told her grandfather? Her eyes darted back to the older man.
Her grandfather’s lips pursed. “Captain Hawkesworth came to see me this morning. He’s told me all about it.”
Captain Hawkesworth? Athena’s eyes jumped from the man’s gleaming black boots to his white breeches to the sword hanging from his belt. Mr. Marshall was a naval officer?
“All about what, Grandfather?”
“You know perfectly well what!”
Her eyes flew to Mr. Marshall’s face. His expression was grave.
“I informed Lord Penhaligan of our discussion concerning your school, Miss McAllister.”
“School!” spat her grandfather. “It’s a bawdy-house . . . a seraglio. Except that the women pay the men!”