Page 4

“ W hat is going on here?” Henry demanded.

His gaze traveled from his daughter to the blonde woman who stood beside her, and then to the scattered volumes of what appeared to be?—

A particularly lurid romantic novel.

By Jove .

The assembled ladies stared at him with expressions ranging from dread to defiance. None, however, appeared as boldly unapologetic as the woman with the honey-blonde hair.

The blonde woman stepped forward. Her chin was raised in a manner Henry found immediately irritating—more so with that defiant flash in her eyes.

He wasn’t accustomed to being looked at that way. Especially not by a woman. It rankled, unsettled.

His mind raced, sharp with the weight of too many emotions—anger, disappointment, and something far more dangerous stirred by the woman’s bold stare.

He couldn’t afford to lose control now. He needed to reassert order quickly.

“Father,” Celia began, her voice wavering slightly despite her evident attempt at composure, “I can explain?—”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Henry cut her off. “You abandoned your lessons, deceived your governess, and rode across the countryside unescorted to… what? Frolic with this band of idle women?”

“I can assure you that this is no idle gathering, Your Grace. Your daughter was merely curious about literature. Hardly a hanging offense.”

Henry fixed his attention fully on this woman and narrowed his eyes to survey her.

She wore a gown of azure—a color that was like her eyes. Her curves filled out the dress in a manner that made a deeper part within him quake.

Focus, man , he reprimanded himself and immediately turned his attention to her face. The directness frustrated him mostly, yet that hungry part of him was drawn.

“And you are?” he inquired coldly.

“Miss Annabelle Lytton,” she replied without hesitation. “And I find your dramatic entrance somewhat excessive for the situation at hand.”

The room fell silent, except for several of the ladies who gasped at her boldness. Henry’s jaw tightened.

Lytton . Henry recalled hearing about the spinster daughter of the Viscount Oakley, who resided with Lady Oakley, her grandmother.

“Miss Lytton,” he said, each syllable precisely measured. “I find this gathering exceedingly inappropriate for my daughter. These… books —” He gestured toward the nearest volume. “—are hardly suitable material for a young lady of breeding.”

“Father,” Celia interjected, stepping forward with a boldness that did not surprise him. “I wasn’t in any danger. Miss Lytton and her friends were merely discussing a novel.”

“A novel with a rather suggestive title,” Henry replied dryly as his gaze fell on the book displayed prominently on the table again. He was unable to curb the downward curl of his lip. “Hardly educational reading.”

Miss Lytton’s eyes flashed. “On the contrary, Your Grace, I find it far more educational than the insipid morality tales society deems appropriate. At least these books acknowledge the realities of life and passion, rather than pretending women are devoid of both intellect and desire.”

Henry felt an unexpected heat rise in his chest. The woman was infuriating. She spoke to him as though they were equals engaged in a friendly debate.

“What you choose to pollute your own mind with, Miss Lytton, is your affair,” he said coldly. “Encouraging impressionable young ladies to do the same is quite another matter.”

“Impressionable?” Miss Lytton repeated, her eyes narrowed and mouth agape. “Your daughter managed to escape her keepers, ride unaccompanied across miles of countryside, and successfully infiltrate a private gathering. I’d say she demonstrates rather remarkable independence of thought already.”

Several of the older ladies tittered nervously at this observation. Henry’s patience now began to fray dangerously.

“Independence without guidance is merely recklessness,” he countered, his gaze unwavering from her face. “A quality I have no desire to see cultivated in my daughter.”

“And guidance without independence is merely control,” Miss Lytton shot back, her cheeks flushing with her conviction. “Something I suspect you excel at, Your Grace.”

What a headstrong termagant , he thought, his jaw clenching once.

The air between them crackled with tension, and Henry found himself simultaneously infuriated by her impertinence and oddly stirred by her passion, even if it was for the absolute wrong thing.

It had been some time since anyone dared speak to him with such frankness.

“Miss Lytton,” he said, his voice dropping, “if this society of yours cannot control who attends its gatherings, then perhaps it has no business continuing at all.”

The ladies gasped in unison. Several clutched their novels to their bosoms as though he might snatch them away.

Miss Lytton’s eyes narrowed at his words, but there was no sign that his words had any effect on her.

“In fact,” Henry continued, his gaze sweeping the assembled women, “I wonder what the other respectable families of the county might think of such literary pursuits.”

Miss Lytton scoffed at him. One finely groomed brow arched in arrogant challenge.

“Bold of you to assume, Your Grace--” She bit his title back at him as though it were a curse word. “That I care a wit about what other respectable families think. If I did, then I would not have founded this club now, would I?”

Indeed, he’d never had any woman speak to him quite like this one. He didn’t quite know whether to be impressed or irritated. From the way she challenged him so openly, he was leaning towards irritated.

“Perhaps the local vicar should be informed of what transpires in these meetings,” he stated snidely.

The silence that followed was absolute. The older women exchanged horrified glances, while Miss Lytton’s expression hardened into something fierce. She opened her mouth to respond?—

“Well. This is unexpected,” the voice of an elderly woman came from behind Henry.

As he turned around, he saw the woman standing at the threshold.

“I believe,” she said, her voice carrying the refined accent of an earlier era, “that you are threatening my guests, Your Grace. A rather unusual approach to afternoon calls, even for a duke.”

Henry recognized the Dowager Viscountess Oakley at once.

“Lady Oakley,” he acknowledged with a slight bow. “I apologize for the disruption, but I’ve come to retrieve my daughter, who intruded upon your home uninvited.”

“So I gather,” the Dowager replied, her shrewd eyes taking in the scene. She turned to the assembled ladies with a gracious smile. “My dears, I believe we should adjourn for today. Richards will see you out.”

The women needed no further encouragement. They gathered their belongings with remarkable speed.

Within moments, the room had cleared, leaving only Henry, Celia, Miss Lytton, and the Dowager Viscountess.

“Tea, Your Grace?” Lady Oakley inquired placidly, as though they were engaged in a perfectly ordinary social call.

“I think not,” Henry replied curtly. “Your granddaughter, my lady, is encouraging my daughter to participate in readings of a salacious nature.”

Miss Lytton bristled visibly. “The Athena Society is a literary club, not a den of iniquity. We read novels that explore the complexities of human emotion and experience?—”

“Including content unsuitable for unmarried ladies, judging by the books I see before me,” Henry interrupted.

“I’m hardly a child,” Celia protested. “I’m debuting next year, Father.”

Henry turned his gaze on his daughter. “Your behavior has been entirely unacceptable, Celia. You’ve abandoned your lessons, deceived our staff, and fallen woefully behind in your studies. This reckless escapade merely confirms my growing concerns about your readiness for society.”

“I’ve gone over the same lessons a thousand times,” Celia replied with a groan. “Latin conjugations and embroidery stitches won’t prepare me for real life any more than Miss Harrington’s vapid platitudes.”

Henry felt his temper rising, and he was barely holding on by the skin of his teeth.

“We will discuss your punishment at home,” he said firmly, before turning back to Lady Oakley. “My lady, I expect you to discipline your granddaughter as well for encouraging this behavior. As for this club of hers, there will be consequences.”

Miss Lytton stepped forward, indignation clear in every line of her body, but Lady Oakley raised a hand, silencing her protest before it could begin.

“Your Grace,” the Dowager said with surprising diplomacy, “I understand entirely the pressures of preparing a daughter for her debut. It is a delicate time, fraught with anxieties for any parent.” She nodded toward Celia.

“And yes, sneaking away is hardly appropriate behavior for a young lady of quality.”

At last, some reason , Henry thought.

Then, she turned a mild gaze at her granddaughter. “Annabelle should have directed Lady Celia home immediately upon discovering her presence. That was an error in judgment.”

Miss Lytton’s jaw tightened visibly, though she remained silent. Henry felt a flicker of satisfaction at seeing the outspoken woman properly chastised, however gently.

“Now, about the Athena Society,” Lady Oakley continued. “I see no reason why the other members should suffer for one small misstep.”

Henry arched a brow back, already at the very end of his tolerance for politeness. “Allowing my adolescent daughter to listen to readings of explicit material hardly constitutes a small misstep.”

“Indeed,” Lady Oakley agreed readily. “And I assure you; it will never happen again. I shall personally see to it.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed. “Your assurances, while appreciated, do little to address the fundamental impropriety of the situation, my lady.”

“The only impropriety,” Miss Lytton interjected, “was in Lady Celia’s method of arrival. We can hardly control a child who sneaks in where she was not invited. The books themselves are merely fiction; explorations of human nature that society pretends don’t exist.”

“Society has its restrictions for good reason, Miss Lytton,” Henry replied sharply. “Structure and propriety protect the innocent from harmful influences.”

“And who decides what’s appropriate?” Miss Lytton challenged while stepping closer to him. “Men who fear women might develop minds of their own? Who worries that if women read about passion, they might begin to expect it in their own lives?”

That animated flush in her cheeks, the way her blue eyes darkened with conviction… Heavens, she was undeniably attractive when provoked.

Damn it, Marchwood, control yourself!

“What women expect and what they receive are matters best left to their husbands,” he replied coldly, wrestling the sudden surge of his baser instincts. “A situation you’ve conveniently avoided, I understand.”

He immediately regretted the words as a flash of hurt appeared in her eyes beneath her anger.

Before she could respond, Lady Oakley stepped between them.

“Perhaps,” the Dowager suggested smoothly, “there is a solution that might satisfy all parties.”

Henry raised an eyebrow again. “I’m listening.”

“Instead of disbanding a club that brings joy and intellectual stimulation to many respectable ladies,” Lady Oakley said, “why not allow me to offer Lady Celia some lessons in propriety?”

Henry arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean, my lady?”

The Dowager smiled. “Your daughter clearly possesses intelligence and curiosity, which are admirable qualities that need proper direction. I could offer guidance that would set her on the right path while satisfying her intellectual appetites.”

Henry regarded her skeptically. “I have no desire for my daughter to be anywhere near Miss Lytton again.”

Miss Lytton made a sound of indignation, which her grandmother smoothly talked over.

“My lessons with Lady Celia would not involve Annabelle,” she assured him. “And if you wish, Your Grace, you may be present to observe.”

“This is ridiculous,” Celia began, her voice rising. “I don’t need?—”

“Silence,” Lady Oakley commanded, her tone suddenly reminiscent of a general addressing troops. “When you have demonstrated the judgment of an adult, young lady, you may speak with the freedom of one. Until then, you would do well to listen more and protest less.”

Henry was surprised to see his daughter shrink just a tiny bit and look chastened. He regarded the Dowager with newfound respect.

Perhaps there was merit to her proposal after all.

“Your offer is intriguing,” he admitted reluctantly. “Though I remain unconvinced.”

“Skepticism is the beginning of wisdom, Your Grace,” Lady Oakley replied with a slight smile. “Shall we say the day after tomorrow to begin? Three o’clock?”

Henry considered for a moment, weighing his options. His daughter clearly needed guidance beyond what her governess could provide, and Lady Oakley’s reputation for propriety, despite her granddaughter’s rebellious tendencies, was unimpeachable.

“Very well,” he said finally. “But be warned, Lady Oakley, I shall be watching most carefully.”

When he said this, he found that his gaze was trained on Miss Annabelle Lytton.

“I’m not afraid of being seen, Your Grace,” Miss Lytton harrumphed, her gaze meeting his directly.

Her unflinching stare sent an unexpected heat through Henry’s veins. For a moment, he found himself wondering what it might be like to see Miss Lytton underneath him, in total surrender?—

Enough of that . He banished the thought immediately.

“Come, Celia,” he said abruptly. “We’re leaving.”

As he ushered his daughter from the room, Henry felt Miss Lytton’s gaze following him.

The sensation lingered, like the phantom touch of fingertips against his skin, long after they had departed Oakley Hall.