I meeting your solicitor?”
“Because I thought you might listen if a man explained to you that you cannot order me to do anything. My telling you obviously has had no effect.”
“I beg your pardon, but…”
He trailed off as she removed her wig and dropped it onto the desk. Disheveled auburn hair cascaded down past her shoulders in a riot of red-tinted curls.
She looked up at him. “But what?”
Grey tried to concentrate his attention on the solicitor. “My uncle has approached me to make certain changes in the management style of Haverly. Increasing his tenants’ rent is but one of them.”
“And do you have this transfer of authority in writing, then, Your Grace?”
Emma rose and walked through a door on oneside of the office, then returned with a wash basin. She dipped a cloth in the water and began wiping at the heavy makeup on her face. Slowly the white and grey mask faded, replaced by the soft, lustrous cream of her skin. Usually Grey had no difficulty at all separating business from pleasure, but Miss Emma Grenville was distracting the hell out of him. “I can get it in writing, if that is what you require,” he said shortly.
“That would be helpful,” Sir John continued. “And of course, the document would have to be notarized by a solicitor.”
The headmistress reached around her back for one of the ties that held her bulky frock on, presumably over some other garment. Whatever he might like to imagine, he didn’t think she intended to render herself naked in front of two men.
“Fine. Please direct me to the nearest solicitor,” he said curtly.
“Ah. That is a difficulty. I am the only solicitor residing in Basingstoke at the moment, and as you see, I am representing Miss Grenville’s Academy. It would be a conflict of interest for me to—”
“Here, let me get that,” Grey interrupted, closing the distance between himself and the headmistress. Before she could do more than squeak, he had untied the four fastenings at her back. Slipping the heavy garment down her arms, he let it slide past her hips to the floor. Her hair smelled of lemon and honey, and he was seized with the sudden desire to run his fingers through the soft auburn tangles.
She moved away from him at high speed before he could act on his impulse. “So you see,Your Grace,” she stammered, her fresh-scrubbed cheeks flushing prettily, “you will have to return to London or somewhere and employ a solicitor.”
“I employ a dozen solicitors already,” he said, stifling a scowl. “And I don’t need a notarized document; all I need is for my uncle to repeat his request in front of witnesses.” He pinned the solicitor with a glare. “Isn’t that correct, Sir John?”
“Ah, yes.”
“And when I do that, we will be back in the same exact situation we are now—except that you, Miss Emma, will have no legal recourse but to pay your rent.”
“I’m not as certain of that as you seem to be. I’ve been thinking of having Sir John draft a petition for presentation to Parliament,” she said, still backing away from him, “with the goal of having the Academy declared an historical building. This will give me special dispensation in paying—”
“Why, you little—”
“Your Grace!” the solicitor protested.
“So you would rather see Haverly bankrupted than pay another shilling,” he snapped, clamping a fist over his temper. No one outmaneuvered him. And certainly not this sprite of a headmistress. “Just to keep this trivial pretty-house open.”
She lifted her chin. “You’re rich; you pay to keep Haverly solvent. And this is a place of learning, not a ‘pretty-house,’ as you so inaccurately term it.”
“‘Inaccurately?’ I hardly think—”
“No, you don’t, do you?”
Women never argued with him. They sighed and agreed and tittered and talked of inane nonsense until his head was ready to explode. This was exceedingly…invigorating. “What would you have me call it, then? You refuse
“Because I thought you might listen if a man explained to you that you cannot order me to do anything. My telling you obviously has had no effect.”
“I beg your pardon, but…”
He trailed off as she removed her wig and dropped it onto the desk. Disheveled auburn hair cascaded down past her shoulders in a riot of red-tinted curls.
She looked up at him. “But what?”
Grey tried to concentrate his attention on the solicitor. “My uncle has approached me to make certain changes in the management style of Haverly. Increasing his tenants’ rent is but one of them.”
“And do you have this transfer of authority in writing, then, Your Grace?”
Emma rose and walked through a door on oneside of the office, then returned with a wash basin. She dipped a cloth in the water and began wiping at the heavy makeup on her face. Slowly the white and grey mask faded, replaced by the soft, lustrous cream of her skin. Usually Grey had no difficulty at all separating business from pleasure, but Miss Emma Grenville was distracting the hell out of him. “I can get it in writing, if that is what you require,” he said shortly.
“That would be helpful,” Sir John continued. “And of course, the document would have to be notarized by a solicitor.”
The headmistress reached around her back for one of the ties that held her bulky frock on, presumably over some other garment. Whatever he might like to imagine, he didn’t think she intended to render herself naked in front of two men.
“Fine. Please direct me to the nearest solicitor,” he said curtly.
“Ah. That is a difficulty. I am the only solicitor residing in Basingstoke at the moment, and as you see, I am representing Miss Grenville’s Academy. It would be a conflict of interest for me to—”
“Here, let me get that,” Grey interrupted, closing the distance between himself and the headmistress. Before she could do more than squeak, he had untied the four fastenings at her back. Slipping the heavy garment down her arms, he let it slide past her hips to the floor. Her hair smelled of lemon and honey, and he was seized with the sudden desire to run his fingers through the soft auburn tangles.
She moved away from him at high speed before he could act on his impulse. “So you see,Your Grace,” she stammered, her fresh-scrubbed cheeks flushing prettily, “you will have to return to London or somewhere and employ a solicitor.”
“I employ a dozen solicitors already,” he said, stifling a scowl. “And I don’t need a notarized document; all I need is for my uncle to repeat his request in front of witnesses.” He pinned the solicitor with a glare. “Isn’t that correct, Sir John?”
“Ah, yes.”
“And when I do that, we will be back in the same exact situation we are now—except that you, Miss Emma, will have no legal recourse but to pay your rent.”
“I’m not as certain of that as you seem to be. I’ve been thinking of having Sir John draft a petition for presentation to Parliament,” she said, still backing away from him, “with the goal of having the Academy declared an historical building. This will give me special dispensation in paying—”
“Why, you little—”
“Your Grace!” the solicitor protested.
“So you would rather see Haverly bankrupted than pay another shilling,” he snapped, clamping a fist over his temper. No one outmaneuvered him. And certainly not this sprite of a headmistress. “Just to keep this trivial pretty-house open.”
She lifted her chin. “You’re rich; you pay to keep Haverly solvent. And this is a place of learning, not a ‘pretty-house,’ as you so inaccurately term it.”
“‘Inaccurately?’ I hardly think—”
“No, you don’t, do you?”
Women never argued with him. They sighed and agreed and tittered and talked of inane nonsense until his head was ready to explode. This was exceedingly…invigorating. “What would you have me call it, then? You refuse
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