Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2) (14 page)

The taste of her, like sweet honey, made his body hum with desire.

She moaned, and he felt her soften in his arms.

He trailed kisses down her face, the soft skin at the hollow of her neck. Her fingers twined in his hair, and her breathing quickened as his mouth moved lower.

He couldn’t stop his hands from reaching out to touch the exquisite curve of her breast. Softly, his lips brushed the soft skin exposed by the plunging neckline of her dress. He wanted so much to see all of her, to touch all of her, it was driving him mad.

His mouth dipped lower, to the hollow between her breasts.

He tasted her there, and felt his pulse quicken to a thrilling pace. He reached up to slide her dress down off her shoulder. Yes, this was exactly what he needed….

“Alfred?”

“Yes, my sweet?”

He supposed he should have seen the slap coming. But he didn’t.

Before he knew what he was about, his head was snapping sharply to the side, and his cheek was on fire.

He wanted to be angry, but couldn’t seem to muster anything at all to that effect. Because he knew he deserved it. Reluctantly, he met Prudence’s fiery gaze.

“Don’t even begin to think that I’m through with you yet, Lord Weston,” Prudence said, haughtily. “I’ve only just begun!”

Chapter 13

Prudence stared at Alfred, indignation shining bright and hot in her eyes.

“Just what did you think you were doing? And just
who
did you think you were doing it with?” she demanded.

“I—” he sputtered.

“You, ox-brained, meaty-handed oaf!” Prudence proclaimed. “You think that just because I wear these clothes, and pretend at being a light-skirt, that I
am
a light-skirt. That you may have your way with me whenever and wherever you choose. Or perhaps you think that I am so weak-minded and spindly-spined, that you can ply me with kisses until I leap into your arms, wearing nothing but the ribbon in my hair, and beg you to take me then and there.”

“That is not how I think of you, Prudence,” he said.

“Is it not?” she replied. “Well, you most certainly do not think of me as a lady who demands the respect of a peer of the realm. Perhaps it is simply my lower station in life that makes you try to seduce me with kisses, then.”

“That is
not
why,” Alfred said, angrily. “I think you are a passionate woman, Prudence. Far more passionate than you know.”

“And because of that, you may take liberties with me which are far more serious than kissing?” she retorted. “I suppose you know more about my own nature than I do.”

“Perhaps I do,” Alfred answered. “I know that you enjoyed my lips on yours. The least you can do is admit that.”

Prudence’s eyes flashed with fire as she sat forward and jabbed a finger in his face. “Perhaps I did, but I did not ask you to undress me, my lord. You went too far.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “You’re right, Prudence. Tonight I was an unthinking oaf with the sense of a randy bull. I came to you seeking comfort. And like a man, I sought it in your arms—the arms of a woman who has been driving me mad with desire since the first time we met. Though you may not believe me, I meant no disrespect. I wanted, no
needed
to see the beauty of your face, to touch the perfection of your skin. To somehow be washed clean by your innocent passion.”

He continued, “There’s a bit of a beast in every man, Prudence. I’m no different. But do you know how fearful I am for you, when I know firsthand what’s in the hearts of the men who proposition you out here? Perhaps I was brutish just now—blinded by my own desire—but it was just that. Above everything else, I want you to know that you are safe with me, and that I would never, ever hurt you.”

Finally, she said, “I know that you would not hurt me, Alfred. Not in the way you fear another man might. But I have Mungo to protect me—”

Alfred waved a hand in dismissal. “The attack on you the other night has established that one man’s protection is not enough. You are in danger, Prudence. Every night that you go out walking the streets, searching for girls to help, you put yourself in grave danger. A danger so insidious, so dark that you cannot possibly imagine it. Have you not thought what might happen if you are abducted by whoever it is that is harassing you? Well, I have thought of it. I cannot sleep for thinking of it.”

Her chin rose in stubborn refusal. “I will not give up my work with the girls.”

“I know,” he answered, taking her hands in his. “Your bravery is both admirable and infuriating. And it might well land you in a great deal of trouble… Trouble that Mungo and I might not be there to help you out of. If I were your husband—”

“My
husband!
”

He smiled. “Yes, thank God that I am not, but if I were your husband I’ve a mind it would be quite easy to keep you home at night, and not roaming the streets.”

She lifted a brow. “Oh? And pray, however would you do that?”

He let his smile widen slowly, all the while watching her mind work.

“
Oh…
”

He imagined her saying that over and over again, riding waves of pleasure as she straddled him—hair wild, eyes glazed.

“You shouldn’t have said that, Prudence. It’s giving me ideas
.”

“Well, then I should be glad that you are not
my husband,” she answered.

But you see, there will be no chance of that, Lord Weston, as I intend never to marry.” She sat back on the seat with a satisfied smile.

“What? Never marry?” he asked, shocked. “You mean, you intend to become a spinster—never have children or a family of your own? Well, I must say, that’s dreadfully unsociable of you.”

“It is not unsociable,” she said, “it is my
choice,
you infuriating blockhead!”

“Well, I find it unsociable,” he replied. “Keeping everything you have to offer a man—your intelligence, your beauty, your extremely kissable lips—hidden away forever? Not to mention what you will be losing; an opportunity to study the intricacies of a daily relationship with another human being, in this case, a man. Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d wager to guess that the real reason you have decided not to marry is that you are, quite simply, afraid.”

She sat ram-rod straight. “
Afraid
? You are quite mistaken, my lord. It is not with fear that I regard the institution of marriage, but with disdain. Why, I would sooner throw myself from London Bridge than marry any man.”

“A drastic, if effective measure,” Alfred answered, amused. “But why, my dear?”

“Because the institution of marriage is much like another institution I am sure you have heard of,” she explained. “Prison.”

“So, you view marriage as a prison, do you?” He was intrigued.

“For me it would be.”

Alfred chuckled. “Funny, it is usually the man who sees it as a life sentence, and the woman who sees it as a necessity.”

“For many women it is a necessity,” Prudence agreed. “They need a man to support them, provide a home, and give them children. But in exchange, the woman gives away her freedom, such as it is. But I do not want or need any of that. All I want is the freedom to help others, as I do now with the Atwater School.”

“Perhaps you are right to give up the idea of marriage,” he said. “In that regard, you have more freedom than I do. I have a duty to carry on the Weston name and ensure that the family fortune is passed on. Just as a woman becomes a breeding mare in matrimony, so too a man is put to stud.”

He shifted in his seat. “Time is running out for me, Prudence. Great-Aunt Withypoll is ill, and she won’t live forever. She wants to see me settled with a wife, to start filling up our nursery. And yet, I fight against the very thought of it. I have seen the most unhappy marriages…aside from Beckett and Isobel, of course, but they are an exception. It was never like that for my parents. Their marriage was—and still is—a complete disaster.”

Just the thought of it made his head hurt—his parents’ failed marriage, his mother’s unexpected return, the old wounds it opened and left raw and exposed.

“What will you do?” Prudence asked quietly, as if she could read his very thoughts.

“About what?”

“Marriage.”

He shrugged. “I will do my duty, I suppose. I will marry a quiet, biddable girl of good breeding who will be content to attend assemblies and balls, do needlepoint and bear my children. The sooner the better.”

“Sounds completely awful.”

“I know.” He looked across at Prudence and noticed her gaze transfixed at something out the window.

Before Alfred had time to stop her, Prudence was out the door and running toward the Atwater School.

Alfred felt his own gut harden in fear as he raced after her.

The Atwater School was on fire.

* * *

The sky glowed orange, as clouds of smoke were lit by the flames that rose into the night sky. The building itself seemed to be choking on the smoke that poured out of the third-floor windows and poisoned the air.

Prudence ripped off the hindering cloak and ran toward the school. She could hear Alfred shouting something behind her, but paid no attention.

Were they all still inside?

Dear God, protect them!

At the front steps Prudence reached out desperately for the door, recoiling from the smoke. She fished for her key in her reticule and hastily put it in the keyhole. But something was stopping the key from going in all the way. She tried frantically to push it in, but to no avail.

“The key, I can’t get it in. Something’s jamming the keyhole
!”

“Get back, Prudence!” Alfred yelled, grabbing her shoulders and wrenching her away.

“No! Let me go. I have to save them!”

Mungo appeared beside her—he’d undoubtedly been close behind them the whole way home from Drury Lane. Tomkins, the driver of Alfred’s carriage ran to join them.

“She says the lock is jammed,” Alfred said. “We’ll have to break down the door.”

“I’ve got something in the coach,” Mungo said, then headed back toward his carriage with Alfred’s driver.

A window crashed from above. Dolly’s head poked out as she yelled, “Help us! For the love of God, we’ll burn alive!”

“Dolly!” Prudence cried, reaching her hands up futilely. She swallowed and tried to ignore the rising panic in her chest. She had to be strong, now, for Dolly and the girls. She shouted up to her frightened friend, “They’re coming to break down the door. Are the girls alright?”

Dolly looked frantic. “They’re all with me, except for Emma. We couldn’t find her. She must be on the first floor. And we’re trapped in ’ere. There’s fire at the top o’ the stairs!”

Mungo and Tomkins ran by with a sledgehammer and an iron wedge, joining Alfred at the door.

“Come on, boys!” Alfred waved them up and helped them place the wedge in the lip of the doorframe. “Tomkins, help me with it here, like that. Now, hit it, Mungo—hit it for all you’re worth!”

The huge man grimaced and swung the sledgehammer back. It hit the wedge and the door creaked, but didn’t give way.

“The door is made of oak,” Alfred said. “She won’t give way easily. Try it again!”

Mungo swung his arms back and growled, hitting the wedge dead-on. Splinters of wood went flying, and Alfred and Tomkins jerked their heads away to keep from being blinded by shards of wood.

“Almost there, Mungo,” Alfred yelled. “One more, man. One more and we’re in!”

Prudence looked up at Dolly, saw the terror in her face.

“Oh, hurry, Mungo, please!” Prudence cried.

Mungo lifted the hammer, bellowed and swung it back again. With a loud groan, the door finally gave way, sending more splinters into the air. The three men pushed against the heavy door and it seemed like a mouth from hell opening, belching smoke as it welcomed them into the fiery haze.

Alfred turned to Prudence, commanding, “Stay outside, Prudence. Promise me
—”

“No, I must help them!” Prudence protested.

“For once, do as I ask of you!” He jabbed a finger at her as he turned to enter the fiery abyss. “Obey me in this, Prudence.
Stay here
!”

Prudence watched him disappear into the smoke, a war of raging emotions burning in her heart.

Fear…anger…helplessness, they all swirled together in her gut as she reluctantly stepped back from the door.

She looked up at Dolly’s window, and felt white-hot fear take over.

“Dolly!” she shouted. “Dolly, they’re coming. Hang on, just a little longer!”

But there was no reply.

The window was empty.

* * *

For a moment, Alfred found himself disoriented. The smoke stung his eyes and burned his lungs. He coughed, lifting his sleeve to his mouth and breathing through it. He could see shapes up ahead, illuminated by flame and clouds of orange-colored smoke.

“Mungo! Tomkins!” he shouted, and saw the men turn. He hurried toward them.

“Fire’s at the top o’ the stairs, sir.” Mungo pointed up at the crackling flames. “If we don’t get up there soon, the stairs will give way.”