How to Tame Your Duke(9)

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The Duke of Ashland stood by a tall window, cup and saucer in hand. He  turned when Emilie entered, and the unexpected sunshine gilded the left  side of his face, the perfect side, casting the rest in shadow.

"Good morning, Mr. Grimsby," he said. "Yorkshire appears to be welcoming your arrival in a most unseasonable fashion."

That voice of his! Emilie had thought she'd only imagined it, or that  its richness derived from the close quarters of the taproom and the  carriage. But this room was large, its ceilings high, and still  Ashland's voice made the air dance.

"I'm grateful for the warm welcome I've received throughout your house, Your Grace."

Ashland stepped away from the blinding sunlight at the window. Emilie  held back her breath. He was wearing a black half-mask over his useless  eye and scarred cheek, giving him a distinctly piratical air, and the  close-cropped hair that she had assumed last night to be a very pale  blond was actually silver white.

She had never seen anyone so extraordinary.

"I hope my staff has been courteous. You had breakfast?"

"Yes, sir."                       
       
           



       

He set down the cup on the corner of his desk and reached with his left  hand into his watch pocket, and only then did Emilie notice that the  cuff of his right sleeve was empty.

Her eyes widened and flew to his face. Emilie had been trained since  girlhood to remain polite and impassive, no matter how jarring or  extraordinary the sight in front of her, but this man, all of him-his  size, his physical beauty, his voice, his white hair, his scars, his  empty cuff-was too much. Her wits had scattered about the room.

Ashland consulted his watch. "My son is at that time of life when a  young man sleeps late and rises late. I have had a breakfast tray sent  to his room, however, and at nine o'clock I shall expect you to begin  his studies in the schoolroom." He looked up and smiled, and the hint of  warmth made the backs of Emilie's knees turn to India rubber. "With or  without the boy himself."

"Yes, sir," she whispered. She pushed her spectacles up her nose. Why couldn't she find her voice?

Ashland had been to war, Olympia had told her. He'd seen action in some  remote part of India, before returning to England to assume his title.  Undoubtedly he had been injured there; thus the scars and the empty cuff  and possibly even the white hair. Physical shock could do such things.  It was all perfectly natural.

"Yes, sir," she repeated, putting more muscle into it.

"Very good. Would it disturb you at all if I were to come in and  observe, at some point in the afternoon? Solely to judge my son's  progress, I assure you, and not your own ability." His voice resonated  with command, the way it had with Freddie last night, and Emilie knew  once more that he was not asking a question.

"Of course not. You have every right."

Ashland replaced his watch in his pocket and picked up his cup. "Do you drink coffee, Mr. Grimsby?"

"I do not," she said. "I am accustomed to tea."

"I picked up the habit abroad, and I'm afraid I can't seem to shift it. I  hope you don't mind. In any case, if you have a moment, I should like  to sit down and review your planned course of study." Ashland gestured  to the chair before the desk and walked around to find his own. Despite  his great frame, he moved like an African cat. Like one of the leopards  in the Berlin zoo, noiseless and swift, pacing with restless grace along  the perimeter of his cage. "The Duke of Olympia, by the way, recommends  you highly. Do you come from him recently?"

Emilie settled herself in the chair and resisted the urge to touch her  whiskers, which were itching fiercely. Ashland watched her with his  beautiful ruined face, his impassive face, and her nerves vibrated to a  keen pitch. Keep as close as possible to the truth, Olympia had  instructed her. "Yes, sir. I have the honor of informing Your Grace that  he was in excellent health, not two days ago."

"I am delighted to hear it. You're a fortunate young man, to have such a patron."

"Yes, sir. We are related, on my mother's side."

"His Grace does take care of his own," said Ashland. His hands-his  hand-was in his lap. At the edge of her senses, Emilie sensed a faint  frisson of tension under his calm.

"He is all that is kind." Emilie knit her hands together.

"Kind. Yes." Below the duke's black leather half-mask, a muscle  twitched, as if he were holding back a smile. "I bear no blood relation  to him at all, and yet he watches over my interests in London with an  almost paternal care. I believe he likes the role. In ancient times, I  daresay he would have acquired a kingdom."

Emilie smiled at the image of Olympia on his throne, dispensing favors  and plotting campaigns. "You know him well, I see. How did you two  become acquainted?"

Ashland studied her without answering, and Emilie realized belatedly  that the question was impossibly personal, not at all the sort of  question a tutor would ask his employer. She had forgotten herself  already. The blood prickled in her cheeks.

"Oh, the usual channels," Ashland said at last. He lifted his left hand  and waved it negligently. "He took an interest in me, early in my  career, when I was a mere lieutenant in the Guards. But we stray from  the matter at hand. The examinations, if you'll recall, take place in  only five months, and while I admit his lordship is far too clever for  his own good, I doubt that cleverness alone will convince the dons to  accept him at such an early age."

Emilie gathered herself. Voice low, voice calm. Inhabit Grimsby. Become  Grimsby. "If I may ask, Your Grace, why exactly is he trying for a place  so soon? Might he not benefit from another year or two of private study  before university?"                       
       
           



       

Ashland squared the single sheet of paper against his leather blotter.  "It was my son's own idea, Mr. Grimsby. I expect he wishes to escape."

"Escape, sir?"

Ashland looked up, and his single perfect eye was ice blue as he  regarded her. "Yes, Mr. Grimsby. Escape Yorkshire, escape this rather  large and chilling house, escape the uninteresting company of his  father."

"I doubt that, sir. You don't strike me as uninteresting at all."

A small movement disturbed the corner of Ashland's mouth. "How kind, Mr.  Grimsby. Nevertheless, my son wishes to try for a place at Oxford, and I  have agreed to assist him with his preparation."

Emilie parted her lips to say something appropriate, something obliging.  He was, after all, her employer, and she was required to please him.  But just then a draft brushed her cheek, frigid and untouched by the  determined fire at the other end of the room, and Emilie heard herself  say, "Do you want him to pass his examinations, sir?"

Ashland's white head startled back an inch or two. "I beg your pardon?"

Another blunder. Emilie flushed. She had performed her role so well  yesterday, so grave and reserved, keeping every word and action under  the strictest control. Why did she keep forgetting herself with this  man, the one whom she must above all others keep without suspicion? But  the words could not be called back. She went on bravely: "That is, do  you wish him to leave your house and attend university next year?"

"What an extraordinary question, Mr. Grimsby."

"I didn't mean to pry, of course . . ." Emilie began.

"Yes, you did."

". . . but of course it is a tutor's business to understand his pupil's  motivations, in order to better design the course of study."

Ashland's eyebrow arched. Emilie resisted the urge to fidget, to push  her spectacles up the bridge of her nose; to tug at her whiskers, which  grew steadily itchier under the duke's gaze.

At last Ashland reached for the fountain pen in its holder at the top of  the blotter. He shook it with a single brisk stroke, set the nib to the  paper before him, and began to write, with his left hand curled  awkwardly around the pen and his empty right cuff braced at the side. He  spoke without looking up. "Your business, Mr. Grimsby, is to prepare my  son for his entrance examinations in five months' time. You shall  conduct this business as you see fit. The staff and conveniences of this  house are entirely at your disposal. Do you ride?"

"Yes, sir."

"A horse shall be provided for your use. I encourage you to enlist a  groom in your explorations, however, as the surrounding terrain is  notably treacherous. Is there anything else you require?"

"No, sir."

He looked up. His gaze was hard. "Then you may go, Mr. Grimsby. I shall be upstairs later today to observe your progress."