The Perfect Rake (13 page)

The Duke of Dinstable, dressed in neat, buff breeches, gleaming Hessian boots, and a coat of dark blue superfine, quietly entered the room. “How do you do, Sir Oswald, Miss Merridew,” he said, bowing politely.

Slightly bemused by the unexpected visit, Great-uncle Oswald invited the duke to be seated. With some reluctance Prudence resumed her seat. One did not rush from the room the instant a duke entered it, and her dilemma was not one she could raise in polite company

“I came to inquire about Miss Merridew’s health,” said the duke. “Miss Merridew, have you quite recovered from your indisposition?”

Miss Merridew, finding the urge of Great-uncle Oswald’s herbal purge most insistent, hastily assured him she was indeed completely recovered.

The duke expressed himself delighted to hear it. He then made a comment about the weather they had been having and asked Prudence’s opinion of it.

Prudence responded that it had been quite delightful, such glorious sunshine, such balmy breezes for this time of year, and wondered desperately how soon she could leave the room without causing offense. She would never again swallow one of Great-uncle Oswald’s herbal concoctions.

Great-uncle Oswald rang the bell and ordered refreshments. Peppermint tea and plain oat biscuits. The duke blinked but said nothing.

The herbal concoction within asserted itself again and Prudence leaped to her feet abruptly. The two gentlemen instantly leaped to theirs, politely.

She stared at them wildly. “I, er…I need to…”

Just then the door opened and Charity, the twins, and Grace entered, the latter three talking animatedly between themselves.

“Oh Prudence, dear, there you are,” Charity said. “We were planning to walk in the park and were looking for you to see if you cared to come with—oh!” She broke off, staring at the visitor.

The visitor stared back. The other girls stopped their chatter and broke into hasty curtsies.

“Oh dear.” Hope rose carefully from her curtsy. “We didn’t realize you had company, Great-uncle Oswald.”

“Yes, we thought Prudence was alone. We’re very sorry for barging in like this,” Faith added.

“Quite all right, my dears. Let me introduce you to our distinguished guest, the Duke of Dinstable.”

The girls gasped, bobbed another curtsy, and with one accord, turned their horrified faces to Prudence.

Prudence had no interest in their horror; she was entirely occupied with the effects of herbs. “I—I shall see to the refreshments. Pray, excuse me a moment, Great-uncle Oswald, Your Grace.” And she rushed from the room.

Great-uncle Oswald frowned. “Don’t know what’s got into the gel. Butler can bring ’em in perfectly well and what she thinks cooks, maids, and footmen are for, I don’t know!” Shaking his head, he continued, “Your Grace, may I present my other great-nieces? This is Miss Charity Merridew, the second oldest.”

His face blank of all expression, the duke bowed over Charity’s outstretched hand. “M-Miss Charity.”

“Then there are the twins, Miss Hope and Miss Faith.”

The duke didn’t move. He held Charity’s hand, staring. Charity, blushing prettily, tugged gently at her hand.

“Miss Hope and Miss Faith.” Great-uncle Oswald repeated in a loud voice.

The duke started, glanced at Great-uncle Oswald, dropped Charity’s hand, and swiftly murmured polite greetings to the twins.

“And this is the baby of the family, Miss Grace Merridew.”

The duke murmured vaguely, “How do you do, Miss Grace. Er…You were planning to walk in the park this afternoon, you said? All of you? Together?” His gaze flickered briefly.

“Yes, Hyde Park. All the fashionable people go there at this time of the day—on the strut, you know,” Grace explained artlessly. “It is so interesting to see everyone dressed up in their finest.”

“Yes, quite. Er, perhaps we shall meet there, one day,” the duke said, looking at no one in particular.

It was midafternoon when Gideon finally gave up all pretense of sleeping. He ought to have slept. He was tired; he’d been up all night playing piquet. And he’d had quite a bit to drink, which usually ensured him a sound sleep. But something—or rather, someone—had prevented him from sleeping.

A small, curvaceous someone with huge gray eyes and curly copper hair whose soft, surprised little mouth had made him forget who he was for several long, unforgettable moments…

A small, determined whirlwind, most improbably called Prudence. He smiled to himself and stretched languorously in his big, wide bed. Whoever had named her Prudence was way off the mark.
Imprudence
was more like it. He chuckled again. Miss ImPrudence Merridew. He liked it. What would she have to say to that, the next time he saw her?

He stretched again, enjoying the energy that surged through his body, and thought of the next time he’d see her. Because of course there would be a next time. And soon.

He couldn’t get that kiss, those kisses, out of his mind. In those few moments, with Prudence on the couch, he’d lost all sense of himself, or where he was. There was only her…

He couldn’t recall when that had last happened. He wasn’t sure if it had ever happened.

He would see her again. He could remain sensible and indulge his curiosity at the same time. There was no danger. He glanced at the slabs of afternoon sunshine sliding imperceptibly across the floor, snatched his watch from the bedside table, and flicked it open. Nearly four o’clock. Just enough time to pay a call on Miss ImPrudence Merridew and her Great-uncle. Suddenly energized, he bounded out of bed, calling for his valet, and for hot water and his razor to be brought in. And his phaeton to be ordered for half-past four.

Miss Prudence may have made the acquaintance of an unshaven shag bag this morning, but this afternoon she would receive a call from an immaculate Corinthian.

Not that he had any intention of pursuing her; he didn’t dally with innocents and marriage was no part of his plans. But…he had to find out whether that kiss was a fluke or not, find out whether he would find himself lost in sensation again…

Besides, he owed it to Edward to discover what game she was playing.

His first thought on meeting her—his second, actually; his first had been what a sweet face she had—had been that it was some kind of plot to entrap his cousin. He’d expected trouble since that mention of him in the
Morning Post
. A young, wealthy duke, as yet unwed and newly come to town, was a temptation, not simply to matchmaking mamas, or ambitious great-uncles.

But Prudence had repeatedly ended the false betrothal. Even when Gideon’s levity had threatened his own head with a matrimonial noose, she’d dragged it back out out of danger.

Why had he done that? He pondered the matter deeply and could come up with no satisfactory solution. It must have been the brandy. He could think of no other reason for such a burst of insanity. Brandy had never before incited him to flirt with the possibility of marriage.

Thank the Lord she’d continued to repudiate him.

Although when he’d kissed her, it was a different story…Her hesitant, surprised, instinctive response to him was not only intensely arousing, it had somehow struck a chord deep within him.

His reaction had been so primitive it shocked him. She was his.
His!
But he’d never been the possessive type.

How had that happened? How had he allowed it to happen? His brows drew together. He would have to warn Edward about that particular batch of brandy. It obviously had very peculiar effects.

He owed a debt of gratitude to Miss Prudence Merridew.

Gideon could not imagine any other young unmarried woman of his acquaintance passing up the opportunity to snare, if not himself, then the Carradice fortune. In any case, the number of women who’d rejected him in any way was gratifyingly small. Yet Miss Prudence Merridew had most unmistakably rejected him. Several times. Wielding that damned lethal reticule like a little Amazon, to emphasize her point.

Now he came to think of it, that reticule was something of a gauntlet. Carradices never backed down from gauntlets.

Gideon was waiting in the hall for his phaeton to be brought around when the butler coughed discreetly at his elbow. “Excuse me, my lord. A message from the stables: A crack in the wheel of your phaeton has been discovered, and your man has taken it to the wheelwright to be mended.”

“Blast!”

At that moment the duke walked in the front door, his expression slightly glazed.

Gideon turned to him. “The most irritating thing, Edward—there’s a damned crack in my phaeton wheel, and I was planning to drive out just now. Could I borrow your curricle?”

The duke didn’t reply. With a preoccupied air, he allowed Bartlett to remove his driving coat.

“Wake up, Cousin! I asked you a question.” Gideon eyed his reflection critically in the hall looking glass and adjusted his hat to a more dashing tilt. “I presume you’ve finished with your curricle. Can I borrow it this afternoon?”

Edward nodded. “Hmm, yes, of course. But the curricle is being repainted. I’m using my mother’s landau. Send a message to Hawkins, Bartlett.”

The butler bowed and snapped a finger to a waiting footman, who sped off.

“The landau! That stodgy—but there, I’m being ungrateful. The landau it shall be.” Gideon frowned critically at his own reflection. “Everything all right, Edward? You look like a stunned mullet,” he said with vague cousinly concern as he adjusted the high-standing points of his collar. “Where did you go?”

“Er, paid a call.”

“Did you now?” Gideon said cheerily, making a minor alteration to a fold of his neckcloth. “Brave fellow, I thought you dreaded—” He whirled around and eyed his cousin narrowly. “Who did you call on, Edward?” he said in quite a different tone.

Edward looked a little self-conscious. “I’m in a hurry, Gideon. I am going out again.”

“
Who,
Edward?”

But Edward had apparently discovered a piece of fluff on his coat and was engrossed in removing it. When he looked up again, his face was tinged with pink.

Gideon frowned in darkest suspicion. “You called on Miss Prudence Merridew, didn’t you?”

Edward raised his brows haughtily. “If a lady becomes indisposed in my house, it is only polite to enquire after her health.”

“Don’t raise those Penteith brows at me, Edward, I’m immune to ’em. As for her being indisposed, you know perfectly well that faint wasn’t genuine. There’s no use trying to flummery me—you tried to steal a march on me with Miss Merridew!”

The duke shrugged and said mildly, “Steal a march, dear boy? How very vulgar. We of the house of Penteith never steal anything. We’ve never needed to. It was the Carradices who distinguished themselves as—what was the euphemism?—border raiders, was it not?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

The duke smiled. “Dearest Coz, you claimed to have no interest in Miss Merridew, and naturally, as a gentleman I took you at your word. Now, I really must leave.”

“But you just got home!” Gideon frowned as his cousin set a curly-brimmed beaver carefully on his neatly pomaded locks. “For a reputed hermit, you’ve become very sociable all of a sudden. Where are you going now? Do you need the landau to drop you off?”

“No, you take it. I’m going for a walk in Hyde Park.”

“A walk! You never walk!” Gideon glanced at the hall clock. “And at this hour Hyde Park will be teeming with humanity—all the ton will be there. You will hate it, Edward.”

“Will I?” the duke said blandly. “We shall see.”

Gideon shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” To tell the truth, he wasn’t much interested in where his cousin was going now; he was much more interested in where he’d been and whom he had talked to. And whether she’d been impressed with his…his dukishness, damn him!

He could not forget that it had been a search for a ducal fiancé that had first brought Prudence into his orbit.

Fifteen minutes later, the duke’s driver, Hawkins, drove the landau into Providence Court for the second time that afternoon. It halted in front of number 21. Gideon made a quick survey of his person to ensure there was no hint of shag bag, took a deep breath, seized the brass knocker with a bold hand, and rapped smartly.

And waited.

He was absurdly nervous. It was ridiculous for a man of his address and experience to be feeling nervous, Gideon told himself. He had made hundreds of morning calls. Well, dozens at any rate. Rakes did not make morning calls, as a rule. They dropped in on their friends’ lodgings, called in at their clubs, visited their mistresses, popped in to Jackson’s for a bout or two with the gloves. They left polite little ritualistic morning calls to others. And thought it was ridiculous to call an afternoon visit a morning call.

His neckcloth felt unaccountably tight. Some idiot had starched his shirt points so that they felt like knives, waiting to cut into his chin if he so much as slouched. Not that he was planning to slouch, of course. Gideon resisted the urge to run a finger around his collar.

He was a grown man, for heaven’s sake! He could drink tea and nibble cakes with the best of them. They might even serve him a glass of wine.

Great-uncle Oswald abhors the Evils of Liquor!

No.
He sighed.
It would be tea.
Or…Gideon felt himself blanch. They surely wouldn’t expect him to drink ratafia, would they? He swallowed and felt his shirt points dig warningly into his jaw.

Why the devil were they taking so long to answer the blasted door? He reached up to rap the knocker again just as the door was opened. An ancient butler stood there, eyeing him expectantly. “Sir?”

His hand hung foolishly in midair for a second, then Gideon collected himself. “Lord Carradice to see Sir Oswald Merridew.” He presented his card and made to step over the threshold.

“I shall henquire, my lord,” said the ancient retainer in a sonorous voice and, taking the card, he closed the door in Gideon’s face.

Gideon blinked. He had never in his life had a door shut in his face. Well, once, by an irate woman, but never by a butler. “Senile old fool,” he muttered, and feeling a little foolish at being kept waiting on the doorstep like a tradesman, he inspected his nails, whistling lightly under his breath in a carefree manner.