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  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.

  Chapter 5

  As 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.”

  The harried waitress poured his coffee, then rushed off before either of them could further complicate the order.

  They had work to do, and Emma had witnessed enough of his nonsense. She took only a moment to enjoy a display of fresh flowers near the door before getting to the point. “Did you find a tattoo parlor?”

  “You are not getting a tattoo. The whole idea’s ridiculous.”

  “I am getting a tattoo. And I’m doing it today. This isn’t negotiable.” She doubted a tattoo alone would put a stop to her engagement, but it should make Hugh begin to question his judgment. She looked around the coffee shop, wondering if any of the men hunkered down behind their newspapers had been hired to watch her. No one looked suspicious, but she didn’t for a moment believe that Hugh would allow her these two weeks unobserved. The fact that he’d found her so easily this morning proved that.

  “How are you going to face all those little girls you headmistress over with a tattoo?” Kenny inquired.

  She wouldn’t be facing those little girls, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. “It’ll help them relate better to me.”

  “If that’s all you want, why not go all the way and get your tongue pierced? Or dye your hair purple?”

  She’d thought about getting pierced, but she’d worried about infection, and dying her hair some outrageous color would be too obvious. A very small tattoo was as far as she dared to go. Hugh needed to believe he’d misjudged her character, not that she was deliberately manipulating him, or he’d bulldoze St. Gert’s. The waitress arrived with her tea, then disappeared.

  “And just where do you plan to put that tattoo?”

  “My upper arm.” Once this was over, she’d have to keep it covered for the rest of her life.

  “Ladies don’t put tattoos on their upper arms. They put them on an ankle or the back of a shoulder or, if they really want to be discreet—and this is what I’d recommend in your case if I were going to make a recommendation, which I’m not—a breast.”

  Her cup froze halfway to her lips. That single word brought it all back. The feel of the silk sliding away from her skin, the warmth of his mouth, the pull of his lips on her nipple.

  He knew exactly what he was doing, of course.

  “Would you, now?” She forced the cup the rest of the way to her mouth, sipped, then set it back down. “Well, I’m certain you should know.”

  “You’re still pissed about last night, aren’t you?”

  “Miffed, Mr. Traveler. Headmistresses are never pissed.”

  He grinned, then regarded her with boyish earnestness. “Fill in the holes in my logic here, will you? The way I see it, you’re a very nice unmarried lady who’d like a little sexual variety in her life. Perfectly natural. But back home in England, you have a reputation to maintain, so you sure can’t do any experimentation there. In the great state of Texas, though, nobody’s going to be any the wiser. Now, what I want to know is this: What difference does it make whether I happen to be a professional gigolo or a professional golfer? I’ve got all the necessary equipment, and I’m happy to let you use it.”

  “You’re far too generous with your toys, but the fact is . . . I wouldn’t let you touch me again if you were the last man on earth.” The moment she’d spoken the words a red alert sounded in her brain. This lazy fool, who wasn’t a fool at all, made his living by competing, and, unless she was mistaken, she could see the light of challenge beginning to gleam in his eyes.

  “Well, we’ll just have to see about that, now, won’t we, Lady Emma?”

  Thankfully, the waitress appeared at that moment with their food. Emma ate most of her strawberries, but wasn’t able to manage more than a few bites of toast. Kenny finished his pancakes, then dug into her leftovers.

  “That’s not sanitary,” she pointed out.

  “We already swapped germs last night, so I’m not too worried about it.”

  She wasn’t going to let him make her uncomfortable by thinking about those slow, deep kisses. “It’s a wonder you aren’t fat, with the way you eat.”

  “I burn a lot of energy during the day.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Loafing’s hard work.”

  She had to suppress a smile, and that bothered her. She wouldn’t let herself be won over this easily by his counterfeit charm. “If you won’t help me find a tattoo parlor, I’ll simply consult the telephone directory and find one myself. In the meantime, I need to do some shopping.”

  “I thought this was supposed to be a research trip.” He signaled the waitress for the check.

  “It is, but research won’t take up all my time. I do want to spend a few hours this afternoon at the Dallas Historical Society. I’ve made arrangements to check some of their papers. I also have a bit of work to do in Austin at the University of Texas library and in San Antonio.”

  “So tell me more about this lady you’re researching.”

  “Lady Sarah Thornton? I’m doing a paper on her for the New Historian. Although I’m not in the classroom anymore, I like to stay involved. Lady Sarah was an extraordinary woman, a member of the aristocracy, but quite independent for her time, and insatiably curious. She traveled alone through this region in 1872.”

  “She managed the trip by herself, did she?” he said pointedly.

  “Lady Sarah was more courageous than I am. Her account is fascinating because she saw Texas both through the eyes of a foreigner and a woman. She was in Dallas the day the first train arrived on the Houston & Texas Central. Her description of the buffalo barbecue they held to celebrate is very lively.”

  He tossed some bills on the table and rose. “Seems strange a lady in 1872 would have had the nerve to travel through Texas all by herself, but a modern-day, independent woman like yourself is such a pansy.”

  “Lady Sarah didn’t have to deal with cars,” she pointed out as she followed him. Lady Sarah also didn’t need to make a duke uneasy by openly traveling with a good-looking man.

  As they walked back into the lobby, she handed him two dollars. “To cover my tea. You made me order the rest, so you can pay for it.”

  “Keep your two dollars.”

  “No need to be surly.” She tucked the bills back into her purse and, just to antagonize him, pointed her brolly toward the door. “This way.”

  He snatched it from her hand and pitched it at the doorman. “Burn this for me, will you?”

  “Deliver it to my room, please,” she told the doorman. “Ms. Wells-Finch. Number 820.”

  She was headed for the parking lot before she realized Kenny wasn’t with her and she had no idea where he’d put his car.
r />   She looked back and saw him moving like a snail on sleeping pills out from beneath the porte cochere. She tapped the toe of her sandal.

  He greeted a pair of businessmen, then stopped to admire some tile work.

  She sighed and looked around for his car. Somehow she wasn’t surprised to spot it parked in a handicapped spot. She waited impatiently for him to approach.

  Finally, he unlocked the door. “You sure you have to do your shopping today?” he asked as she slipped inside and fastened her seat belt.

  “Yes. Someplace trendy, but inexpensive.”

  “Then you’re out of luck because I don’t know the first thing about bargain shopping. Just buy what you want and put it on my charge.” They turned back out onto the highway.

  “I will not!”

  “Why get picky now? You didn’t object to that one hundred dollars a day you’re forcing me to pay to keep your mouth shut.”

  “Two hundred dollars a day. And that’s blackmail money, so it’s different, isn’t it?” She regarded him smugly.

  His gaze swept over the outfit she’d chosen for today: a short denim skirt in persimmon with a cream-colored top tucked into it. The top had a garden scene printed on it, complete with a pair of bluebirds. “Nice shirt.”

  “Thank you. My fifth form students gave it to me at the end of the term.”

  As they rode along the freeway, she finally had a chance to take in the sights of this state she knew only from history books. The collections of strip malls, billboards, and fast food restaurants held little interest to her, but the sheer size of it took her breath away. She couldn’t imagine anything more different from Lower Tilbey or from St. Gert’s aged red brick buildings, tidy lawns, and ancient trees. What must Lady Sarah Thornton have thought when she saw such a vast stretch of land and sky?

  She leaned forward as Kenny began to pull into another handicapped space. “Absolutely not.”

  “I wasn’t going to park here,” he said with an air of injured innocence. “Shopping with a lady isn’t my favorite activity, so I’m just dropping you off while I hit some balls at the practice range. I’ll pick you up in three hours.”