Chapter Twenty-two

At ten o’clock that evening, Griffin and his aunt escorted Edlyn back to the academy. Lady Powlis chattered benignly for the first minute or so of the drive. Buoyed up on a crest of hope for Edlyn’s future, she seemed to have forgotten that earlier in the day she had denounced Griffin as a demon and threatened to excommunicate him, bell, book, and candle, from the body of the Boscastle clan until he repented of his sins.

For the life of him, he didn’t understand why he continued to put up with her nonsense. He was past the age of embarrassment. She was past the age of doing him a serious injury with her cane. But somehow the thought of a future without Primrose or Edlyn seemed too empty to contemplate.

As did a life without his aunt’s companion. It was tempting to attribute his attraction to Harriet to basic instinct. But it wasn’t physical desire alone that had turned a quiet evening by the fire into one of the most contented he could remember. And it wasn’t sexual need that had provoked him to laugh when Harriet had found the print of him swiving her to a fare-thee-well. Not that he hadn’t imagined engaging in the act those lewd pictures revealed. He’d given himself away, keeping the print right in the drawer where he kept his most important papers, property deeds, marriage contracts, his brother’s journal. Furthermore, he would probably take it out again later tonight and study it when he was by himself.

It might keep him from her door tonight.

Then again, it might just send him there on winged feet.

“I hope you have learned a lesson,” his aunt murmured as the carriage neared Bedford Square.

“What lesson was I meant to learn?” he inquired, girding his loins for his next trial.

“That one can always be improved.”

He blew out a sigh. “Do you wish to turn around and drop me off at the academy, too?”

“Don’t be silly, Griff. I meant that you should look upon Harriet as a source of inspiration, not as a, well, as a young woman to dally with.”

He frowned. “I don’t believe I have ever dallied with anyone in my life.”

“Then you are trifling with her affections.”

“You’re the one who put away all that trifle at dinner.”

She leaned back, shoulders straight, and knocked him on the ankle with her cane. “Don’t you know the proper way to address me by now?”

He bent to rub his foot, muttering, “Why? Are you an envelope?”

“The ladies accepted to that academy attend for one purpose, Griffin.”

“To learn to hurt people with canes when they’re older?”

“For marriage. Harriet Gardner will either find herself a decent husband and enter a state of holy matrimony, or she will stay on as my companion-”

“-in a state of holy misery?” He drew his feet in quickly. “Sorry. Only a joke. No need for corporal punishment.”

“She will never make a good marriage or establish a reputation for service if this scandal continues. In effect, what I am saying is that your actions can ruin any chance of happiness she has worked for.” She paused, her wrinkled face concerned. “Are you listening to me?”

“Indeed, madam. Every word you have uttered is embedded into my skull like a nail.”

“There is no need for rudeness. If you do not take immediate action to remedy this situation, I shall insist Miss Gardner return to the sanctuary of her academy. Yes, Griffin. Sanctuary. That is what I meant.”

“I know what-”

“A consecrated place of refuge, where she will be protected from unscrupulous inclinations on your part that shall not be mentioned. And if I have to lose her because you refuse to behave, well, it will be the end of me. And of you.”

He turned his face to the carriage window, hiding a smile. “I understand.”

Harriet had decided to tidy up the duke’s library. She’d been about to call in one of the maids for company, but then she discovered another print hidden under his blotter, this one so graphic she actually sat down in his chair, her mouth open, to stare. She was still staring when she heard hoofbeats in the street and coach wheels grinding to a bumpy halt.

She flew about the library, smoothing the cushions, setting the brandy glasses on a tray, picking up the book Miss Edlyn had leafed through and left on the sofa, a small piece of paper marking her place.

There. Now she could sit in her chair by the fire, innocent-as-you-like, reading her book. The duke would never dream by looking at her that she’d had a good gander at those prints.

But then a woman’s voice at the door-and Butler gently rebuffing-pulled Harriet right back to her feet. She knew who the caller was. She darted across the room and slipped into the armchair at the duke’s desk.

When Lady Constance entered the room a moment later, the butler shaking his head at Harriet in apprehension, Harriet appeared to be busy answering invitations. “His grace is not home tonight,” she said, dipping her pen into the inkpot. “Was he expecting you at this late hour?”

“No, he wasn’t,” Constance snapped. “And I didn’t come to see him. I wanted to talk to you.”

Harriet raised her chin. “About?” she asked haughtily.

“You know perfectly well. It is the talk of London.”

Harriet lowered her quill. “Oh, that. You mean Lady Powlis buying all those French knickers from Madame Devine’s shop. Isn’t she a scandal?”

“I don’t know anything about her knickers, you little witch. Only fast French girls actually wear them. A lady would not be caught dead in the vulgar things.”

“Is it considered more ladylike to be caught dead in the buff?”

Constance reached into her white fur muff and threw several crumpled broadsheets across the desk. “Do not pretend that you or the duke know anything about propriety. There is nothing proper about these, is there?”

Harriet felt sick as she looked down at the satirical drawing of a gentleman feeding a riderless horse an apple. There was no question that the horseman rewarding his mount was the duke. The body that lay at his feet like a broken puppet could only be his brother.

The Duke’s Heir Feeds the Apple of Evil to His Apprentice.

“It was an accident,” Harriet said between her teeth. “There were witnesses to what happened.”

“The groom who works for him?” Constance asked with a laugh.

Harriet wanted to crumple up the paper and pelt her with it. “You knew this before.”

“Yes, I knew,” Constance said. “But it wasn’t until after I met him that I realized he might actually be capable of murder.”

And so might Harriet.

“Has he tried to hurt you?” she asked, suddenly curious.

“Of course not,” Constance retorted. “It’s just that whenever I see him, there is-” She shook her head as if unable to describe the duke’s impact on the female heart.

“Thunder and lightning?” Harriet offered helpfully.

“Yes.” Constance shuddered. “With a pinch of brimstone thrown in.”

As much as she was enjoying this little chat, Harriet decided it would be a disloyalty on her part to continue. “Well, for what it’s worth, I have not witnessed him murder anyone since I have been in this house.”

“I’m not talking about murder,” Constance said, swinging around the desk. “It’s this other rumor.” She stabbed a gloved finger at the print beneath. “Read this,” she ordered, looking more like a dragon than a china doll.

“Why should I? It’s all rubbish.”

Constance made a face. “Can you even read?”

Harriet scratched the top of her head. “I know me letters sommat. If I sees ’em slow and big like.”