Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2) (13 page)

“Mother.” He straightened and met her gaze. “You look well. The Italian climate obviously agrees with you. And what, pray tell, brings you to London? Why, it must be twenty years or so. Am I right?”

Lady Harrington regarded him for a moment, then answered. “Yes, Alfred, you are right. I have not been in England for many years. Since you were—”

“Eight years old,” he replied. “I’m surprised you remember how old I was when you left us. In fact, madam, I’m surprised you even remember my name.

He saw pain in her eyes, and it unnerved him.

“I remember everything, Alfred.
Everything.
”

“Do you?” He fought to keep the anger out of his voice, but it would not be held back. “Do you remember when I called out to you? When I begged you not to go—”

Crawford opened the door just then and stepped inside. “Lady Weston.”

Alfred and his mother turned to see Great-Aunt Withypoll enter the library, leaning heavily on her cane. Alfred quickly went to her side. Her hand felt so frail upon his arm as he guided her toward the sofa.

“Thank you, Alfred,” she said, settling herself. Then she reached out to Lady Harrington. “Alicia, my child—come and give your old auntie a kiss.”

In a moment, Lady Harrington was beside the great old lady.

Alfred saw tears in his mother’s eyes.

“Oh, Auntie!” Lady Harrington clutched Great-Aunt Withypoll’s hand and pressed it to her lips. “I came as soon as I could.”

“I know, dear.” Great-Aunt Withypoll smiled. “I thank you for responding to my summons so quickly.”

“Summons?” Alfred said, sharply. “What summons? You sent for her, Auntie?”

His mother turned to look at him. “Yes, she sent for me. I am surprised that you didn’t do it sooner, knowing that she is ill.”

“Ill? But she isn’t ill,” Alfred said, surprised. His gaze went to the aged lady beside her. “Are you?”

She nodded calmly. “I am afraid so, my dear.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “We shall consult a specialist, then. Whatever it is, you will be cured. I’ll see to it.”

“No, Alfred,” Lady Weston replied. “I’m afraid there is no cure for what I have. For it is a chronic case of old age.”

“But—” Alfred protested.

“But, what? I’m old, m’boy! It’s perfectly natural—for a woman my age. So, now that you know I am not going to live forever, let us have some tea. Alfred, would you ring, please?”

Not knowing what else to do at the moment, Alfred obeyed.

Great-Aunt Withypoll—
dying
?

She was right, of course. He had refused to think about such a thing, hoping that somehow he could keep her with him forever through sheer force of will. He ought to have learned long ago, that such things were impossible.

What a way to start the day.

First, his mother arriving out of the blue, and now the threat of losing his beloved great-aunt—the only mother he had ever known. He hoped the afternoon would be more promising.

Soon Crawford appeared, wheeling in the silver tea service. Along with the tea was a tray of
petit-fours
and raspberry scones. Great-Aunt Withypoll helped herself to the
petit-fours
, as they were her favorite.

Though Alfred’s appetite was negligible, he dutifully took a scone. He noticed his mother nibbling hers as unenthusiastically as he was.

He sat in the wing chair near the end of the sofa and sipped at his tea, barely noticing that he had forgotten to put milk in it. His heart was a swirling mixture of emotions. He had been so sure that he’d blocked his mother’s memory out of his mind forever. And now, here she was, turning his life upside down, bringing back feelings he had sworn to keep buried in the recesses of his heart forever.

He had a sudden a memory of her laughing and holding him close on a warm summer day, twirling around and around in their garden.

Then he remembered doors slamming down the hallway at night. His father’s voice yelling. And his mother crying.

But the most vivid memory of all was the day her carriage drove away in the swirling snow. The tears had frozen on his face in the bitter cold.

And now, here she was, sitting only a few feet away from him after all these years.

Why had she come back?

And why had she ever left in the first place?

She looked up at him then, and he saw questions in her eyes as well. He hardened his gaze and she looked away.

One thing was certain.

Before his mother left London he vowed to find the answers to his questions.

* * *

Mr. Cage puffed on the cigar, drawing the fragrant smoke slowly into his lungs. It tasted good.

Dark.

Hot.

Just the way he liked most everything.

Behind him a young girl stood, clad in a sheer chemise of finest lawn, massaging his shoulders. Another one sat at his feet, doing the same.

“So,” he said, puffing the cigar. “She got away.”

“Yes, sir.” Grimes stood before him, cap-in-hand. “Won’t happen again, sir.”

“I know, Grimes. I know.” Cage smiled, pointing his cigar at him. “You’re a smart man. I know you won’t disappoint me again.”

“’Twas just bad luck this time, sir. We’ll get ’er next time.”

“Yes, about that. I’ve been thinking we should become a bit more aggressive in our plan.” Cage stood up, brushing away the girls’ hands, and stepping over the one at his feet as if she were no more important than a foot stool.

He walked to his liquor cabinet and poured himself another brandy. He didn’t offer any to Grimes.

“It is obvious to me that Miss Atwater is a tenacious young woman,” he said. “And while I admire that in her, I will not tolerate her interfering with my business. She must learn to understand that. So, we must look at the problem a different way. Since Miss Atwater will not be dissuaded from her cause, we must remove part of the equation.”

“’Ow do we do that, sir?” Grimes asked.

Cage watched the end of his cigar glow orangey-red. “You know what they say. It’s best to fight fire with fire.”

* * *

Alfred looked out the carriage window and watched the darkened city roll by. Restlessness churned in him like the waters of a stormy sea.

Thoughts swirled in his head—of his mother, of Great-Aunt Withypoll, and of Miss Prudence Atwater.

He had been unable to see her today due to his mother’s unannounced arrival. And after the previous night’s episode with the thwarted abduction, he’d meant to check in on Prudence today.

Now, as his carriage headed toward the Theater District, he felt an uncomfortable surge in his heart. And though he was reluctant to admit it, he realized the true nature of his mission.

He needed to see her.

For some reason, when the pain of seeing his mother had bitten at his heart, he’d wanted to go to Prudence—as if perhaps she would have the answers he sought.

The carriage turned onto Drury Lane, and Alfred immediately noticed the shadowy forms of the girls as they walked along the lamp-lit street. He sat up and peered out, looking for Prudence’s unmistakable red hair.

He didn’t see her.

Instead, he met the eyes of the girls she hadn’t yet reached. They regarded him with wariness. He could feel their desperation like a physical thing.

He knocked on the roof with his walking stick, and the carriage rolled to a stop. Without waiting for the driver, he opened the door and hopped down onto the cobblestone street.

“Just be a moment, Tomkins,” he called up to the driver.

Two young girls stood huddled under the leafy branches of an oak tree. When they saw him approaching, they ventured forward, letting their tattered shawls fall away from their bare shoulders to better display their wares.

“Good evenin’, sir,” one of them said. “D’ye fancy some company?”

“Actually, no.” Alfred brought out his pocket-book and took out a few pound notes.

“Then what’s the money for?” the other one asked, eyeing Alfred skeptically.

“It’s for you—for both of you,” he said, holding out the notes to each of them. “I don’t want anything in return, just your assurance that you’ll use it to get yourselves some supper.”

“Supper? But it’s so much, milord!” the first one exclaimed.

“Yes, well, you should be able to eat on that for awhile then, won’t you?” he answered.

“What’s your game, then?” the other one said. “What d’ye want from us? No man gives away money if ’e don’t expect somethin’ back.”

“Well,” he began, “perhaps as a way of offering your thanks, you can provide me with some information. I’m looking for a girl with curly red hair, quite beautiful and well-put together. Wears a purple silk cloak.”

“Oh yeah, her,” the first one said. “A real fancy one. We seen ’er. Down the end o’ the street, there.”

Alfred made his bows and headed back to the waiting carriage. “I thank you, ladies. To you both, I bid a good evening.” He hopped back inside and watched the girls stare at him with open mouths, still holding the pound notes in their grimy hands.

Soon, the carriage pulled to a stop again at the end of the street. Alfred scanned the darkened shadows for any sign of Prudence.

He looked to the other side of the street, and his heart clenched uncomfortably as he took in the scene across the street.

Prudence stood near a lamppost, her wild red hair spilling over creamy bare shoulders. Her red skirts were hiked up, showing off a generous length of thigh, which had certainly caught his attention the first night they’d met. And he was convinced that the neckline of her scarlet gown was even lower than she usually wore it.

But her appearance was not what made his throat constrict.

It was the sight of her talking to a man—one who obviously wanted to give her a night’s employment, among other things.

Hadn’t he himself tried to enlist her services the very same way this blackguard was now doing?

Of course, he had.

He was a rake and a rogue, and an unapologetic one at that.

But it was one thing for
him
to proposition Prudence. It was quite another for
someone else
to do it.

Especially now that he—

He refused to finish that thought, and instead leapt from the cab and stormed toward Prudence and the unidentified man.

She smiled and batted her eyes coquettishly at the cad in front of her. Then her expression changed as she caught sight of Alfred stalking towards them.

Alfred stopped short and gripped the man’s shoulder. “Pardon me, my good man, but the lady is engaged.” He jerked the man away from Prudence.

Lord Rigglesford squinted his beady eyes up at Alfred and squeaked, “Weston? What the devil are you about?”

Alfred glared at him, saying, “What I am about is resuming my conversation with this beautiful lady, whom I made an appointment with earlier this evening.”

“What previous engagement?” Rigglesford said, turning to Prudence. “She didn’t say anything about a previous engagement.”

Prudence gave a wide-eyed look of innocence. “Well, I didn’t mention it before, milord, as ’e was a bit late, ye see? Didn’t know if ’is lordship was comin’ at all. But now he’s ’ere
.”

“Yes, now he’s here,” Alfred repeated, pulling Prudence toward the waiting carriage. “Good evening, Rigglesford. Next time I see you at Jackson’s, I’ll try not to knock the stuffing out of you, alright?”

Alfred helped Prudence into the cab and tried to contain himself. “Where is Mungo? And why wasn’t he doing his job?”

“Mungo is where he usually is,” Prudence answered, crossly, “out of sight of the street. And he
was
doing his job.”

“Well, I didn’t see him come to your defense when that little rat of a man was harassing you,” Alfred countered. “Why, Rigglesford was practically undressing you where you stood. Which wouldn’t be difficult, considering how little you are wearing.”

“And who are you to act in such a manner?” she demanded, hotly. “Who are you to say anything at all about what I do or how I do it?”

“Who am I? Who am I, you say? Well, I’ll tell you. I seem to be the only person in this carriage who has a brain, that’s who!”

“Of all the nerve!” Prudence said, eyes blazing.

“Me—
I
have a nerve?” Alfred retorted. “Don’t you know that it tears me apart to even think of another man putting his hands on you, let alone being forced to watch it?”

Before she could reply he leaned forward and pulled her into his arms.

“You’re wondering why I came to you tonight,” he said. “Why I sought you out. The reason is simple. I needed to see you, Prudence. I needed
you
. Like this, in my arms—beautiful and wild and infuriating, just as you are. And most of all, I needed to kiss you…like this.”

He buried his hands in her hair and brought her mouth up to be captured by his. She gasped as he parted her lips with his tongue.

The challenge of such a kiss—of such a woman—thrilled him. Holding her was like holding a thunderstorm in his arms. He could feel her passion, her wild unpredictability warming every inch of his skin.