nthony gaped at Miss Prescott, unsure what to make of her proposal. What the bloody devil was a rakehell lesson, anyway?
"You suggest that I let the fox into the henhouse to corrupt our girls?" Mrs. Harris retorted.
Oh, for God's sake— "I don't 'corrupt' children. Why should I, with plenty of already corrupted grown women to choose from? Virginal schoolgirls with pistol-packing papas and childish insecurities are far too much trouble. I prefer women who know what they want and aren't ashamed to take it." He scowled down at Miss Prescott. "Which is why I'd have nothing of use to teach your pupils."
"Surely the techniques of seduction are the same for any woman," the petite teacher persisted. "You're rumored to have enjoyed the…er…favors of several widows. You must have used
some
tricks to entice them, the sort a less scrupulous man might use to seduce an innocent." Miss Prescott flashed him a guileless smile that made her creamy skin glow. "Unless you're claiming that women fall into your arms simply because of your dashing air."
"It's as good a reason as any," he shot back, annoyed by the teacher's clear immunity to his "air." "I have no idea why women choose me for a lover. Perhaps you should ask them."
"Give me a list, and I will." When he blinked, the woman cast her employer a quick glance, and added in a warning tone, "Though such an investigation could considerably lengthen the process of getting your niece enrolled here."
Was the woman trying to help him circumvent her employer? If so, it must be for reasons of her own. He'd met enough teachers in his endless trek through London's schools to know they were all eager to escape their miserable existence.
And yet…
She seemed different. For one thing, she was far prettier. For another, she dressed like someone who actually enjoyed what she did. No gray woolens for Miss Prescott. Her cheery gown of yellow spotted muslin complemented her fair coloring and skimmed her petite form in all the right places.
Some might deem Mrs. Harris the more beautiful of the two because of her exotic red hair and blue eyes, but the widow's stiffness put him off. He found Miss Prescott's open and honest manner more appealing. She reminded him of a country dairymaid, with her honey gold curls and apple cheeks.
Except for those unusual amber eyes. Cat's eyes. Temptress eyes. Yet remarkably, eyes that assessed him as one might a fascinating sculpture, without flirtation or censure. Women never looked at him like that. It made him wonder if she really
was
trying to help him and Tessa.
Not that it would do any good, given the absurdity of her proposal. "I wouldn't know how to give these lessons. I'm not conscious of using any 'tricks.'"
Miss Prescott let out the unfettered laugh of someone who'd never been coached by a society mother. "Forgive me, but didn't you once say 'where there's a widow, there's a way'? That implies a certain polished skill with women."
He tensed. The idiotic comment he'd made to his friends while foxed had dogged him for years. How clever of her to use it to make him sound like a calculated seducer. Granted, he was no saint, but he wasn't like his friend, the Marquess of Stoneville, bedding women just to prove he could. Perhaps she was more critical of his character than she let on. Perhaps she
was
like everyone else.
Deliberately, he let his gaze linger on her pretty mouth. "Touché. Although, for the sake of my pride, I hope you'll admit that
some
of my talent with women comes from my natural charms."
The chit didn't so much as blush. "Certainly. If
you
will admit that some men are better at attracting a female and keeping her interest than others, regardless of looks. Just as some women are better at attracting men."
She faced the wary Mrs. Harris. "Our young ladies know how to attract men. But if they could hear how men entice women— especially from a man who excels at it— they might learn to recognize when men who court them aren't sincere."
"Men like me, you mean," he drawled, still unsure what to make of her. "Do you think me insincere?"
"Actually, my lord, you're rather famous for shocking people with your honest and outrageous opinions." She arched an eyebrow. "Though I suspect you're more circumspect with women you wish to seduce."
He stared at her. "That depends on the woman."
"Exactly," she said. "And that alone would be a good lesson for our girls— how a rakehell can tailor his seductions to particular women."
His eyes narrowed. So that's what she meant by rakehell lessons. But why press her employer for them? Just because of the few things he'd said about Tessa?
Shoving his hand in his pocket, he suddenly encountered the papier-mâché snuffbox his niece had "specially made" for her "favorite uncle." It hadn't occurred to her that he never took snuff, and he hadn't enlightened her, especially after seeing the charmingly awful miniature of herself she'd painted on the lid.
She'd given it to him last Christmas, before Wallace's untimely death. The last time they'd all been together. The last time he'd seen her smile.
He stiffened. Miss Prescott's proposal might be odd and rather insulting, but he could put up with that if it saved Tessa from suffering.
"If his lordship were to give these lessons," the prickly Mrs. Harris asked, "how would that prove his acceptability as a guardian?"
Good question. He glanced expectantly at Miss Prescott.
"Why, it will allow us to observe how he treats them. We'll see firsthand if he can restrain his language around them and behave like a gentleman. We'll see if he can be discreet, which seems to be your main concern."
Mrs. Harris sighed. "While I admit that the idea has merit, Madeline, it also seems a little dangerous."
For
him,
perhaps. Aside from wasting his time if nothing came of it, one of their silly girls could claim he'd made untoward advances. Marriage to a virginal chit scheming to become his viscountess wasn't in his plans— especially since the ensuing scandal would scotch his chances of gaining guardianship of his niece.
"I will oversee the lessons myself," Miss Prescott told her employer. "I'll make sure his lordship adheres strictly to the rules of the school, and that— "
"Look here," he broke in, "if I'm to make a fool out of myself before your young ladies, I'll need more than some vague hope that you'll agree to my niece's enrollment. I daresay no other applicant has to go through such nonsense."
"I turned away four wealthy young ladies last week, sir," the headmistress said in a haughty voice. "As I told you, I have no openings available. To take your niece, I'd have to make room for her, no small feat during our busy Easter term. And we've just lost our cook— "
"I'm sure his lordship could help us find another." Miss Prescott shot him a sidelong glance. "Just as I'm sure Mrs. Harris will promise to write a letter supporting your petition for guardianship if she's pleased with your lessons."
He fixed his gaze on Mrs. Harris. "Would you indeed make such a promise?"
"That depends. Miss Prescott assures me that your niece will be mistreated if put into her relations' care. Do you honestly believe that?"
He nodded. "I've been sure of it ever since I watched my aunt bully the girl at my brother's funeral to make her stop crying." He'd hoped his aunt had softened with age, but her behavior to Tessa had dashed that hope. It reminded him too painfully of his own boyhood.
To his surprise, sympathy flashed over Mrs. Harris's face. "Very well," she said gruffly, "two weeks are left in this session, during which you will offer rake lessons for an hour a day under Miss Prescott's supervision. If, at the end of that time, we are satisfied with your behavior, and you've managed to avoid being discussed in the newspapers for a change, I'll enroll your niece for the Easter term and write a letter to the court supporting your petition. Are we agreed?"
He hesitated to put himself at the mercy of a woman whose high-minded notions reminded him of his detestable aunt, and he was wary of being under the "supervision" of a woman as difficult to read as Miss Prescott.
But if he told them to take their "rake lessons" and shove them into the nearest privy, Tessa would have no school. The courts would decide that she'd be better off spending her days in the home of a God-fearing couple than in the home of a profligate, and that would be the end to his being her guardian.
Tessa's last letter had chilled him, since it had so obviously been coached by Aunt Eunice. Ever since the girl could hold a pen, she'd been writing him— he knew her style. It was
not
the style of that letter. And the fact that Aunt Eunice was overseeing her correspondence terrified him, for it made him wonder what his niece might have written otherwise.
How much worse would it be if Aunt Eunice gained free rein as Tessa's legal guardian? What sort of horrors might the old bitch inflict if she could do so unchecked? He remembered the hours his cousin Jane had spent standing with her face to the wall just for smiling at a handsome boy. And that had been an easy punishment compared to—
He shuddered, absently rubbing the ridged scar across his wrist. He would do anything to keep Tessa from enduring what he and Jane had. And he could use a letter supporting his petition from a woman as upstanding as Mrs. Harris.
Forcing a smile, he thrust out his hand. "Agreed, madam."
As Mrs. Harris shook it, the weight that had lain on his shoulders since his brother's death settled more heavily upon him. Damn Wallace for dying, and laying this responsibility at his door.
Damn
the man!
Given his brother's dim-wittedness, he'd probably set fire to the blasted inn himself with a cigar. And now Anthony, after years of fighting to ignore how the man drove the family estate into the ground, had to clean up the mess Wallace and his extravagant fool of a wife had left behind.
He ruthlessly squelched his twinge of guilt at the unkind thought. If Wallace hadn't died, he would shoot the man himself. How dared the idiot not make sure that Tessa had a suitable guardian?
Well, the poor confused child would just have to be stuck with her rogue of an uncle until she could marry. Which meant he was stuck with the superior schoolteachers, for a while anyway.
And it would be a damned trying while, judging from the rules Mrs. Harris began dictating.
Rule One: He was to arrive by horseback, so as not to rouse gossip among the locals with his carriage.
Rule Two: He must enter the school through the same door the staff used.
Rule Three: He wasn't to speak of this enterprise to anyone in society.
Speak of it— was she mad? If word got out that he'd agreed to teach young ladies how to avoid seduction, he'd be the laughingstock of London.
"And you must never contrive to be alone with the girls," Mrs. Harris said.
For God's sake, this grew more ridiculous by the moment. "Must I? Such a pity. I'd hoped to work my way through them one at a time, sullying their virtue and ruining all their hopes for the future. Are you quite sure you won't allow that?"
The startled look on Mrs. Harris's face didn't please him nearly as much as Miss Prescott's smothered sputter of laughter.
"Lord Norcourt— " Mrs. Harris began in a warning tone.
"No being alone with the girls. I understand." The wicked devil in him made him add, "What about being alone with the head of the school? Is that allowed? I could bring some champagne, a few strawberries— "
"Oh, Lord," the widow said with a roll of her eyes. "Heaven help us, Madeline, he will have the girls falling in love with him before the week is out."
"All the better to prove our lesson," Miss Prescott retorted. "That a rakehell can be charming and still not mean a word of it."
"Or that rakehells are more fun to be around," he quipped.
That gained him a scowl from both women. He must stop letting his tongue run away with him. Provoking the pompous played well at the club with his friends, but not so well with schoolmistresses.
Mrs. Harris turned to Miss Prescott. "What are we to tell the parents about this? They won't approve."
"Why tell them anything?" Miss Prescott said. "We're doing nothing wrong."
"But the girls might mention it."
"Yes, I suppose we must at least explain it to them." The teacher tapped her chin. "We'll say that Lord Norcourt's niece will soon be attending the school, so he's offering cautionary lessons as a courtesy. If his lessons don't meet with your approval, we'll simply claim he changed his mind about enrolling Miss Dalton. Either way, by the time the parents hear of it and protest— if they do— the matter will be resolved. It's hardly enough time for anyone here to connect Lord Norcourt with the notorious Mr. Anthony Dalton."
"
You
did," he pointed out.
"Exactly," Mrs. Harris said. "And the girl shares his surname, Madeline."