Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2) (24 page)

“Not yet, my beauty,” he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered open. “Please…” The passion he stoked was turning to sweet suffering. Surely, she would go mad before this was over.

“Say you love me,” he demanded.

Her eyes opened fully and she stared into his.

“Say you love me, Prudence. I need to hear you say it now, like this.”

She kissed him, trying to stop his mouth with her own, but he broke the kiss.

“You know it’s true,” he said, panting. His eyes held her prisoner as easily as his body did. “Right now, when I’m inside you—this is
honesty
, Prudence. This is truth. No pretense, just you and me as we really are, as we really feel.”

He quickened the pace, then, thrusting harder, faster.

She moaned and turned her head away, unable to withstand the piercing intensity of his gaze. She clutched at his muscular arms and shoulders as he thrust into her.

“Say it, damn you,” he growled.

She felt dizzy, if she were on the edge of a storm, and the storm would destroy her. There were tears in her eyes, she realized. Hot, helpless tears. It was too much, she would surely die from this sweet torture, and she wanted him to save her, to pick her up and carry her to safety.

Because he was the only man who could.

“I love you,” she gasped, and the hot waves crashed over her, and she cried out with pleasure.

She heard him groan as he drove deep, and she clutched him tight as the sweet violence of his release rocked through her.

They stayed there for a moment, holding onto each other, their bodies still joined. Only the sounds of the night surrounded them.

Prudence moved her head so she could look at him. “I feel as though we’re the only two people in the world.”

He smiled at her, and kissed her nose. “We are. In our little world, Prudence, we are the only ones here. The only ones who can decide our own fate.” He slid out of her, and held her close, pulling the sleeves of her dress up over her shoulders.

He tipped her chin up so she would meet his eyes. “Marry me, Prudence. If you love me as you say you do, then you must marry me.”

Prudence’s heart throbbed. For a moment, words escaped her. “I’m sorry, Alfred, but I cannot promise that.”

He frowned at her. “So you would willingly choose to deny our child a father?”

“There is no child!” she shot back.

“No?” He pulled her closer. “We just made love, albeit standing up. If not from before, you could be with child now.”

She struggled to break away from him, her mind reeling. “Is that why you did this? To try to ensure that I would be with child, to force me to marry you?”

“No! Of course not,” Alfred said. “I would never engineer such a thing, and you know it. What happened just now was because of our pure, mad lust for each other. And though you’re the most stubborn, pig-headed female I’ve ever known, with the exception of Great-Aunt Withypoll, I do love you.” He circled her in his arms and she felt herself going lax, as if she couldn’t stand up anymore. She fought against the tears but they burned her eyes again.

He kissed her tenderly, so tenderly that her heart wanted to break. With a gentle hand he wiped away the tears that stained her cheeks. “You said that you love me, too, Prudence.”

She nodded silently, for she couldn’t deny it.

“Then say yes. Stop fighting this and be my wife.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Because of the school?” he asked. “I could fund the school, if that would make you happy. Money is no object. I could hire a staff of the best teachers in England.”

“But there’s so much more to it than just that.” She stopped herself, not wanting to explain the thing that held her back. The thing that made her a poor choice as
any
man’s wife. “What about
me
,” she said, deflecting the truth, “and my dreams for the school? My father left it in my care. It was his dream, and it’s my dream, too. It’s something that I must do on my own, don’t you see?”

Alfred shook his head. “No, I don’t see. More money for the school would mean that you could expand, you could help more girls.”

“And would I still be in complete control?” she asked.

“For the most part.”

“For the most part isn’t good enough, Alfred,” she argued. “Do you realize what would happen if we married, and you funded the school as you’ve said? I wouldn’t be able to go about at night looking for girls on the streets, would I?”

Alfred paused. “Well….”

“You see? No husband in his right mind would allow his wife to do what I do.”

“I’m glad we agree on that point,” he replied.

“Alfred, I do love you,” Prudence said. “So much so that it frightens me.

And I was so close to saying yes to your proposal a few moments ago—but I simply cannot.”

He stared down at her with a dark expression. “You can’t go on denying what we have, Prudence.”

“I don’t deny it. I’m through denying it,” she said, brushing a damp curl away from his face. “But Alfred, I am wise enough to know that our marriage would never work.”

“I am not so convinced,” he replied.

“Why, because we feel lust for each other?” she asked. “It takes more than lust to make a lasting union. Let me paint you a picture of this marriage that you seem to want so badly.” She pulled away from him and looked across at the vacant lot, which glowed eerily in the silver moonlight.

“There is a wedding,” she began, “a joyous affair with both of us basking in each other’s perfect love. Our wedding night is hot with passion, we make love into the night and fall asleep in each other’s arms.”

She glanced at him, and he gave her a knowing grin.

“Our lives continue like this for a time,” Prudence continued. “You make good on your promise of funding the school. Teachers are hired, and soon it seems the school can practically run itself without me. Our first baby is born, a strong, hardy son, or perhaps a beautiful little daughter. The baby takes up most of my time, and I visit the school less and less. I no longer teach there, of course, as a responsible mother, I am certainly not permitted to go about at night dressed as a streetwalker. I resign myself to the fact that those days are over. A year or so after that, there is another baby, and perhaps another a year after that, all darling little cherubs who we dote on hopelessly. To everyone, even me, it appears that I have a happy life. But one day, I realize that the terrible pain that has been growing in my heart year after year is my resentment toward you. For you didn’t want me as I was, but instead wanted me to be something I could never be. A proper wife.”

She turned to him, taking in his sober expression.

“I know that I have just described most of the marriages in England,” she said. “And who am I to want more? But Alfred, can you honestly tell me that our marriage would not turn out as I’ve described?”

“No, I cannot,” he answered. “But you cannot guarantee that it would turn out that way, either.”

“No,” Prudence said. “But let me ask you this. If we were to marry, would you allow me to continue my role at the school, exactly as it is, now? Recruiting girls off the street? Teaching every day? Would you?”

Alfred dropped his gaze and sighed heavily. “It’s not what I would want.”

“You see? Our marital differences have already begun, and we aren’t even married,” she pointed out.

He stepped toward her, and reached out to touch her arm. “You make a fine argument, Prudence. There’s no denying that your mind is as sharp as a whip. You are more intelligent than most men I’ve had the occasion to meet. You’re maddening and adorable and stunningly beautiful. And stubborn as a mule. But none of your arguments have convinced me that we should not marry.”

“No? Perhaps this next argument will, then.” It was time, she knew, to confess. She couldn’t hide the truth from him anymore. Not if she was ever going to convince him what was best for both of them.

She looked him directly in the eye. “What would you say if I told you that my mother was a
prostitute
?”

“I beg your pardon?” Alfred said.

“You heard me—a prostitute,” Prudence said. “And I don’t know who my real father was. He could have been anyone from an aristocrat to the lowest piece of scum on London’s streets. Disconcerting, is it not?”

“Somewhat, yes,” he answered.

“Indeed. Now do you want to rethink that marriage proposal, my lord?”

He ignored her question. “Who told you this?”

“My parents,” Prudence explained. “They were surprisingly honest about it. That was their way. My mother had left her life on the street and joined my father’s small school, which he ran out of his modest house. When she arrived there, she was already with child. She had no idea who the father was. She’d been working steadily, so it could have been one of hundreds. My father didn’t care. They quickly fell in love, and married. After my mother died some years later, he continued raising me as his own.” She couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the great man she had loved so dearly. “He was a wonderful father.”

She drew her cape close around her shoulders as the night had grown more chilly, and said, “So, now you see why I do what I do. And why I cannot, and
will
not give it up. My mother was one of those girls. If my father hadn’t taken her off the street, and offered her a chance at a better life, I would never have lived. We would have died out there on the street, she and I. How many other lives would be altered if I abandon those girls to their fate, thinking only of myself?”

“Yet, I doubt that either of your parents would expect you never to marry because of the school,” Alfred said.

Prudence shook her head. “You don’t understand, Alfred. If I was your wife, I would have to lie about my family’s past. And I couldn’t do that. I can’t pretend to be something I’m not. Can you imagine the reaction of your friends when they learned of my scandalous pedigree? You’d become an outcast—Lady Weston would, too. Any children we might have would fare the same. So you see, it’s impossible. I am not fit to be a nobleman’s wife.
”

For the first time in this battle of wills with Alfred, he made no argument. He only stared at Prudence with a sober, darkened expression. “We should go home,” he said, finally.

“Yes,” Prudence agreed.

Alfred led her to the street corner and flagged his waiting coach. They waited in uneasy silence as the vehicle approached.

Prudence knew she should have been feeling victorious at finally convincing Alfred that they could never marry.

Wasn’t that what she wanted—to be free?

Chapter 22

“‘
Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments
,’” Prudence read, glancing at the reposed form of Lady Weston beside her in the enormous bed. She had come to visit her benefactress in her well-appointed bed-chamber. Lady Weston had requested that Prudence read some of Mr. Shakespeare’s sonnets aloud. She continued:

“‘
Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds…

or bends with the remover to remove.

O no, it is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken
;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.’”

She stopped for a moment, watching the frail woman as her eyes fluttered slightly and her breathing became rhythmic.

Prudence closed the small book and rose from her chair.

“Don’t stop now,” Lady Weston said, weakly. “You’re just getting to the good part.”

Returning to her seat. Prudence found the spot where she had left off in Sonnet 116:

“‘Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle’s compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.’”

Lady Weston opened her eyes and smiled softly. “A very observant man, Mr. Shakespeare. I must say, I agree with him wholeheartedly.”

“About what?” Prudence asked, eager to engage the frail woman in diverting conversation.

Lady Weston’s health had been very poor since the day at the museum when she’d collapsed. Neither her appetite nor her energy was strong these days. She was sleeping more than usual, too. The doctor said it could be a failing heart. She was, after all, an old woman. Though no one in the house wanted to admit it, even someone as formidable as Lady Weston could not live forever.

“About everything,” Lady Weston replied. “I particularly like the part about Time: ‘
Love alters not within his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom
.’ A very reassuring thought when you reach my age. And also that ‘
Love is not Time’s fool…
’ though our physical bodies grow old and our appearance changes, the heart does not see that. Love burns as brightly in a ‘
marriage of true minds’
whether the couple be old or young.”