Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2) (18 page)

Flame-haired, passionate little Prudence.

The woman who had quaked and trembled in his arms, and taken him to new heights of desire without even trying.

Alfred had bedded his share of women, but until now, not one of them had haunted his thoughts like an apparition.

What matter if he couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d touched him with such boldness, such innocence? What matter if he could still imagine her little hands feathering his body, then growing more passionate, more wicked as she gave herself free reign over him, touching him as a queen would stroke a slave.

Then she had become the slave, helpless and panting in his arms, yet all the while casting her spell over him like a knowing witch.

He shook his head, as if that would help cleanse his mind, but it was useless.

She was still there, tormenting him.

Like a drunk yearning for his next drink, he was counting the moments until he could see her again, and take her into his arms where she belonged.

It was now thirty-five minutes past seven.

Supper was to be served precisely at eight o’clock, as it always was. He’d be sure to see her then. And it would be a new kind of torture for him to have to sit across from her, being forced to watch as she raised her fork, put her mouth around a delicious morsel of food, and closed her lips around it.

All the while he would want nothing more than to feel those lips on his body, wreaking havoc and reducing him to a panting beast.

He hoped Crawford had put out his favorite burgundy. To get through this dinner, Alfred would need all the help he could get.

Alfred escorted Great-Aunt Withypoll into the parlor, as he did most evenings. The students of the Atwater Academy—looking as polished as they could in borrowed clothes—stood or sat in small groups, waiting for their hosts to join them.

Prudence walked in on Mungo’s arm, and Alfred felt an unwelcome stab of jealousy.

Damn, but she looked beautiful. And yet, that word alone could not do the distracting Miss Prudence Atwater justice.

Her hair was piled up into a Grecian style, and her gown of sapphire blue seemed to make her sparkle like the jewel itself.

Even though she was with Mungo—a man who Alfred himself would trust with his own life—he couldn’t help but feel envious of him at that moment.

Lord help him. He should have joined the clergy.

Soon they were seated—Alfred at the head of the table and Great-Aunt Withypoll to his immediate left. The aged lady gave a hint of a smile, as if she knew exactly what her great-nephew was thinking, and about whom.

Prudence herself was seated opposite him.

Who had arranged that, he wondered? Most likely, it was Lady Weston. Though this time, he couldn’t object to her matchmaking endeavors.

He
wanted
to be near Prudence Atwater.

Preferably when they were both naked.

Damnation, he was no fresh young buck, acting balmy after his first kiss! Yet, the headstrong beauty made him feel so. Prudence had turned his world upside down, and damned if Alfred could turn it right again.

She glanced at him then, and he felt his heart skip a beat. He had a vision of her in bed as their bodies entwined, her eyes glazed with passion, her mouth wet and open as she moaned in pleasure.

A footman began pouring the wine, and Alfred was glad of it. He needed a drink right about now.

“It has been unseasonably hot of late,” Great-Aunt Withypoll said at last. “Has it not?”

“Yes it has, Lady Weston,” Prudence replied. “I have noticed the heat myself.”

“As have I,” Alfred said, unable to stop himself from stirring the pot. “Last night in particular was quite warm. There was quite a lot of heat—at least in my chambers.”

Prudence almost spit out her wine, but recovered quickly.

She stared at him quietly, an expression of bemused surprise in those sparkling eyes.

“Did you feel the heat as well, Miss Atwater?” he asked.

“Now that you mention it, my lord,” she replied, “I did feel something of the sort. I thought perhaps I was coming down with a fever, but happily, the feeling has passed. I feel much more myself today.”

“I have been acquainted with similar symptoms, Miss Atwater,” Alfred said. “Make no mistake, these fevers of which you speak can strike out of the blue, with almost no warning. And when they do, there is nothing for it but to lie back and accept that you have no control over its power.”

“The human body is a miraculous thing, to be certain,” Prudence said, unfazed. “In fact, some of my students are about to start a detailed section on human physiognomy, including a study of the body’s organs…
all
the organs.”

Alfred quirked a brow. “How impressive. Do you know a lot about the organs of the human body?”

“I do now,” Prudence replied, sweetly.

It was Alfred’s turn to choke on his wine. He waved the butler over, saying, “Water, Crawford. And more wine, while you’re at it. Dear God, bring it quickly.”

“I admire your ambition, Miss Atwater,” Lady Weston said. “The study of the human body is not a subject for men alone—nor is the study or application of medicine. I applaud your commitment to your students, my dear. You dare to give these girls a well-rounded education, no matter if it flies in the face of convention. It is my prediction that one day—perhaps not in my lifetime or even yours—our society will have both male and female doctors, and more. Education is the cornerstone of progress. And you, Miss Atwater, are essential to both.”

She gave an appreciative smile to her benefactress, and Alfred couldn’t help but agree. The only problem was that Prudence was becoming more and more essential to his happiness as well…and it would be a challenge to convince her of that.

Chapter 16

Alfred had risen early the next morning, choosing to pass on breakfast with his great-aunt and their guests and instead went to his favorite coffee house on Hardwicke Square.

As he sipped Mr. Teagle’s famous brew, he tried to turn his head to the problem at hand—that of finding the person behind the threats to Prudence and the Atwater School. Yet, his mind focused on the lady in question in a most distracting way.

He thought of Prudence possibly carrying his child right now, and felt a swell of male pride. Of course, it would be better for them both if she were not with child. Prudence had made her thoughts on the matter clear to him. She didn’t want to marry him, or have children by him.

Not now, not ever.

Of course, she didn’t seem to care what Alfred wanted. Only time would tell if she was with child. And if so, he would see them married, even if he had to hog-tie her and carry her down to the church in such a fashion.

He finished his cup of coffee and rose from the table, placing his beaver hat precisely at the perfect angle upon his head, and gave a nod to the owner.

“See you tomorrow, my lord?” the portly man asked.

“Of course, Mr. Teagle,” Alfred replied. “I cannot face the day without a taste of your exceptional brew.”

“I’ll have a cup waiting for you, sir.”

Alfred headed out into the busy street. He sent his waiting coach to the Theater District to wait for him there, for he’d chosen to walk.

The sights and smells of London were a myriad of fascinations. Nearby, a father and his little daughter stopped to buy candied apples. Alfred watched with a pang of something, envy perhaps, as the flaxen-haired little girl held tight to her father’s hand and gazed up at him with blatant adoration.

Would he ever have a daughter to buy candied apples for? And if he did, would she look like Prudence, all curling russet hair and sparkling eyes, with a mischievous little grin?

As he passed by, the smell of sweet candied apples filled the air, and he knew he’d forever think of the father and his little girl when he smelled such a thing.

There, an older couple walked arm in arm, but despite their age were obviously still besotted with each other. Would he and Prudence walk arm-in-arm together at that age, and gift each other with the same knowing smiles as these two silver-haired lovers?

A twinge deep in his heart told him that he hoped so, more than he wanted to admit.

He turned the corner onto a tree-lined street, a handy shortcut to the Theater District where he was heading to continue his investigation. As he walked down the street, his thoughts turned to the investigation at hand. He had decided to handle this part of it himself, for now.

Due to his obvious physical superiority, Mungo was on duty back at the house. His role would best be served by keeping a close watch on Prudence and the girls, in case the villain made an appearance at the townhouse.

The danger to Prudence and her students was still very real. And whoever was behind such villainy would strike again, Alfred was certain.

Prudence was a threat to someone. But who? Was it some fanatic who thought all prostitutes were consigned to Hell, and shouldn’t be allowed a chance to start again? Was it someone else with a connection to the prostitutes themselves? Or could the villain hold an old grudge against her late father, and be taking his revenge against the daughter? Whoever he was, the villain was dangerous, and couldn’t be underestimated.

Alfred had made some discreet inquiries through his Bow Street Runner, a man named Devlin, asking around about brothels and who exactly owned them. Mr. Devlin had obtained a few leads, names and addresses of some of the most exclusive and closely-guarded underground brothels in London. Finding out who owned them, however, was going to be much more difficult.

But somehow, Alfred would find the link between the attacks against Prudence and the prostitutes she was trying to help. He had to, before the villain succeeded in stopping Prudence’s crusade once and for all.

Alfred crossed onto another street, this one running one street over from the theater. Though it was early, some of the streetwalkers would be out. Their business never seemed to stop, no matter what time of day.

A few strolled near the corner. Their faces looked hard and worn. He thought of chipped and dirty porcelain dolls that had once been beautiful. But, like discarded dolls, carelessness and overuse had destroyed their beauty. These were the girls that Prudence was willing to trade her own future for—possibly her child’s future as well.

Did these jaded streetwalkers know about the woman who fought for them so gallantly? Did they care what it might cost her to help them?

Looking at these poor creatures, he could understand why Prudence felt compelled to help them. Their eyes held the wariness of a beaten animal, the hopelessness of one beyond hope.

He could imagine the thrill Prudence felt at putting the sparkle back in those eyes, of bringing a smile to the hard, pinched mouth, of bringing warmth to a heart that had been deadened by a cold, uncaring world.

Prudence had sworn to help these girls. But now, he needed
their
help to protect her.

He neared their group, and noticed their conversation suddenly come to a halt. Two of them turned toward him, pasting on smiles that didn’t come close to reaching their eyes. The other one remained expressionless, staring at the ground.

He touched the brim of his hat. “Good morning, ladies.”

“Mornin’, Guvna,” the tallest one said. Her friend nodded and echoed the same. The third one remained silent, though the tall one poked her arm. “Say hallo to the nice gentleman, Minnie.”

Still, the girl remained silent, seemingly oblivious to what was going on around her.

The tall one snorted in disgust. “Don’t mind ’er, milord. She don’t say much.”

“Not at all, ladies,” Alfred said, inclining his head. Here he was, trying to pour on the charm for a trio of streetwalkers. The absurdity of it made him want to chuckle, if not for the grave purpose behind his mission. “I wonder if I may engage you ladies, for a few moments of your time.”

The tall one smiled, like a cat spotting its prey. “’Course, sir,” she replied. “Would ye like all three of us at once, then? Or one after the other? Though Minnie ’ere don’t look like much now, she can warm yer bed as well as any ’ore in London. Can’t ye, Minnie?” She gave the girl a shake, but there was no response.

Alfred cleared his throat. “I had something entirely different in mind.”

The tall woman looked skeptical, but clearly didn’t want to lose a customer. “’Ow different?”

“Actually, I would simply like to talk with you,” he explained.

“Talk? Oh, ye want some dirty stories, ye mean?”

“Sadly, no,” he replied. “I simply have a few questions I should like to ask you. And I would be quite willing to pay your usual rates for a few moments of your precious time, Miss…?”

“Jones—Hildie Jones.”

“And I’m Bess Flannery, Guv,” the other one said.

“What kind o’ questions did ye ’ave in mind?” Hildie asked. “’Cuz ye know, we charge extra fer talkin’. Don’t we, girls?”

“Yeah—we charge extra!” Bess said enthusiastically.

Alfred nodded. “Of course. An extra charge would be expected for something of this sort. Quite understandable. I would be happy to pay your fee, Miss Jones. What is it?” He reached inside his breast pocket for his for his bill-fold.