Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2) (6 page)

“But ye’ve sacrificed so much, Miss,” Dolly said, “If not for us, you could have been married by now.”

“I don’t want to be married, Dolly. You know that,” Prudence said, clearing away the teacups. “I am doing what I love. And I am not going to let Lord Weston—or anyone else—stop me.”

Dolly sighed, joining Prudence at the sink. “Well, yer a clever girl, Miss. I’m sure ye can outsmart this nasty rogue, if ye try. And ye’ll look so beautiful tomorrow night, ’e’ll lose ’is very senses when ’e sees ye. I’ll make sure o’ that. Now ’ow shall I do yer hair…?”

Prudence smiled and left Dolly dreaming at the sink.

She walked down the hall to the little classroom and went inside to prepare for tomorrow’s lessons.

She had to keep her mind off of Lord Weston and their dreadful arrangement.

As she stood behind her desk, Prudence looked about the room at all the treasures her father had left her. There was the huge atlas he’d used to teach her geography. There were the shelves of books on everything from Alexander the Great to botany to the works of John Donne. And she had read them all.

They were like old friends, for in reality, they were the only friends she had ever truly had. As a girl, she had never fit in with children her own age. Father had taught her to read and from then on, she’d always had her head buried in books. They’d been much more interesting than the neighborhood children. More fun, too.

As Prudence grew up, she always seemed to be too smart for the boys who tried to court her. Intimidated by her talk of ancient history and philosophy, they soon disappeared.

But Prudence didn’t mind. She’d found most of the boys a little boring, anyway.

And now, at twenty-one, she was the proprietress of the Atwater Finishing School for Young Ladies. This had been Father’s dream, and together they had worked hard to make it a reality. Then, only a week after they had opened their doors, he’d collapsed. The doctor had said it was his heart.

So Prudence had kept her father’s dream alive, and carried on with the school. Now it was her dream to help the girls who had given up on dreams.

And Mungo, who—though he didn’t like to proclaim himself a graduate of a Finishing School for Young Ladies—had nonetheless learned to read there.

The current class showed just as much promise as the previous ones. Prudence couldn’t take those dreams away from them, not after they had worked so hard to achieve them.

Lord Weston wasn’t going to scare her off by demanding a price for his silence. And yet, that little knot was forming in her stomach again as she thought about what he might want from her.

Would he ask for her favors? She tried to prepare herself for that possibility, tried to imagine herself kissing him again. Certainly, she had to admit that kissing him hadn’t been entirely unpleasant.

But what if he wanted more than just kissing?

What would she do then?

Oh, it was no use trying to predict the future. She would make herself sick if she kept worrying like this.

She had done the right thing. Why, just a few days ago, she had used some of the money that Lady Weston had donated to purchase five new readers for the primary class, and five new books of poetry for the secondary class, as well as embroidery thread and needles.

The rest of the money would be needed for Dolly and Mungo’s wages, for food, clothing, coal, and other necessities. And that would only last a few months. Though Lady Weston had assured Prudence of her ongoing patronage, the lady’s future support was now uncertain.

At least the Atwater School owned the building they were in. Her father had secured it as a donation before he died. Though the building was not large by any standards, it was in Putnam Lane, a lovely residential area of town.

It had a schoolroom, a kitchen, a salon, and three large bedrooms for the students and staff to share. And it had a very nice sign above the door that she and her father had painted, which announced to the world in swirling black letters that this was
The Atwater Finishing School for Young Ladies
.

And the Atwater Finishing School for Young Ladies was worth fighting for.

Prudence picked up her chalk and began listing the kings and queens of England on the blackboard for tomorrow morning’s history lesson.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as she thought. Perhaps Lord Weston’s price would be quite innocent, after all.

And perhaps she was Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine.

* * *

Alfred paused before lifting the brass knocker. The lion looked quite angry with him for swinging the ring in its mouth, but he did it anyway with gusto. The heavy ring clanged against the brass plate on the beautifully painted olive-green door.

Well, at least from the outside the school looked respectable.

The door opened, and Alfred gazed up into the scarred face of Mungo Church—Miss Atwater’s faithful bodyguard. The man recognized him immediately, and instead of taking pains to hide it, smiled a big, gap-toothed grin at Alfred as if they were old friends.

He bowed his hulking form and asked, “May I help ye, sir?”

Although Alfred could still remember the disturbing sensation of the brute’s hands around his neck, he curiously felt his anger dissipating.

Still, he would have words with him later.

Now wasn’t the time. Not with Great-Aunt Withypoll waiting out in the carriage for him to fetch Miss Atwater.

“Good Evening,” he said to Mungo. “Would you be so good as to tell Miss Atwater that Lord Weston is here. I believe she is expecting me.”

“Very good, sir. Will you await Miss Atwater in the salon?” Mungo directed him to a modestly decorated but quaint little blue salon. He stood near the fireplace while the man went to fetch his mistress.

Absently, Alfred picked up a miniature that stood on the mantle, and studied it. Surely it was Miss Atwater as a girl, he thought as he regarded the vibrant red hair, bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks of youth. Even as a girl she had possessed a startling beauty.

“Miss Prudence Atwater,” Mungo announced.

When Alfred turned to greet her, he was unprepared for the vision before him.

God help him….

She was absolutely stunning.

Miss Atwater wore a satin gown of soft pale green. A thin braid of gold trimmed the bodice and drew the eye to the creamy curves of her breasts, which, though more demurely covered than they’d been the night at Drury Lane, were just as impressive.

Her wavy auburn hair was piled on top of her head in the latest Grecian style, and had been woven with the matching gold braid that trimmed her dress. Tear-drop ear bobs dangled on each side of her exquisite neck, and matched the fine jade necklace that adorned her.

Her face was all soft lines and curves, her skin smooth and pale as alabaster, her eyes vibrant as turquoise, her full lips red as garnet.

And she smelled as sweet and bewitching as a fresh rose.

Damnation, she was attractive.

“Lord Weston,” she greeted him, formally.

“Miss Atwater,” he said, making a bow. He bent to kiss her hand, feeling the softness of the skin against his lips.

He couldn’t help but smile at her as he stood, for tonight, this beautiful creature was his. Oh, he would have to try very hard not to demand his payment tonight. He wanted to draw this out as long as he possibly could.

Besides, he hadn’t yet decided on his price.

However, one thing was certain—he now had Miss Prudence Atwater right where he wanted her.

“Shall we, Miss Atwater?” he said, offering his arm.

She curled her arm through his, and he immediately felt the warmth of her hand through his coat-sleeve. Her hand was small, and her touch light, but it was maddeningly feminine. The sensation was very distracting.

For a fleeting moment, he had the image of her hand reaching to touch him in other places….

They proceeded to the door in silence, and Mungo closed it behind them.

Soon they were in the carriage with Great-Aunt Withypoll, rolling along to Lord and Lady Townsend’s grand house back in Mayfair. In fact, they lived only a few streets away from Alfred. They were old friends of the Weston family.

Great-Aunt Withypoll and Miss Atwater immediately engaged in a conversation about poetry, so Alfred sat back and watched the red-headed beauty as she talked. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm over the latest offerings of Lord Byron, though for himself, he didn’t hold much with Byron. The man himself was a bore.

As the ladies talked, Alfred thought about the price he would demand.

He could have anything he wanted from Miss Atwater.

Anything at all.

What would it be? A few kisses would not suffice. She had caused him injury, not to mention humiliating him in the Times.

No, the price would have to be quite steep to make up for all of that.

She glanced at him suddenly, and when he gave her a wicked smile, she quickly looked away. That made him smile all the more.

Whatever price he demanded of her, he would enjoy receiving payment very much indeed.

Chapter 6

Prudence accepted the crystal glass from Lord Weston and raised it to her lips. The raspberry punch was cool and sweet and very refreshing after their turn about the room. They had yet to dance, and in truth, Prudence had been hoping Lord Weston would refrain from asking her. But of course, he
had
asked her. And it would be impossibly rude to refuse him.

How she loathed the man!

His gaze seemed always to be on her, and that devilish twinkle in his eye told her exactly what he was thinking about….

The power he held over her.

The fact that she was practically his slave.

The fact that she would have to obey his commands, whatever they might be.

Oh, it was simply too much!

“They are beginning the next dance, Miss Atwater,” Lord Weston said, offering his arm. “And I believe I have asked you to do me the honor of being my partner. But instead of dancing, perhaps we might go out onto the balcony. It is a lovely night
.”

Prudence forced herself to smile back at him, though she knew his despicable game. He wanted to get her alone so that he could torment her further. Or worse.

She set her glass on the table and took his arm, replying, “Of course, my lord.”

As the lines of dancers formed in the middle of the room, they walked to the expansive French windows that opened onto the balcony. As they walked, Prudence tried to look as if it were her dearest wish to be forced into the private company of London’s most exasperating lord.

It would do no good for Prudence to show him just how much he irritated her. This was no doubt part of her earthly trial. And every time she felt her courage wane, she would think of her girls. She would picture their faces bright with enthusiasm and hope as they learned in her classroom. And it would give her strength.

The music began behind them, and they went out into the night. The balcony was deserted. The warm glow of candlelight spilled through the French windows and gently lit the night.

Lord Weston led Prudence down to the end of the balcony, which had a bench and several tall, potted shrubs. In fact, it was like a little garden.

Very quiet.

Very isolated.

Prudence felt a thread of fear weaving its way through her stomach. But no, surely he couldn’t, he wouldn’t—not here!

Would he?

She soon had her answer, for in a moment she was in his powerful arms, only inches away from his broad, masculine chest. Forced to look up into eyes as dark as midnight, and a face as hard and handsome as the statue of Apollo, she struggled to keep her composure.

“Once again, you are in my arms, Miss Atwater,” he said, his voice softly dangerous. “Once again, you are standing quite close to me. Close enough so that I may feel the heat from your body. Close enough so that I could kiss you, if I chose. Shall I kiss you, Miss Atwater?”

“Is that your price, my lord? A kiss?” she asked, pushing back against his chest.

“No,” he answered. “That is not my price.”

“Then you shall not kiss me,” Prudence countered.

“Yet you were not averse to kissing me the night we met.”

“That was a different circumstance,” she pointed out, weakly.

“Yes, quite.” He regarded her for a moment, though he made no move to release her. “Your choice of attire was completely different that night, as was your cockney accent.”

“I was playing a part,” she replied.

“And are you playing a part now?” Lord Weston demanded.

“Yes…and no.
”

“Ah, a decisive reply.”

She ignored his sarcasm and continued. “Yes, I am playing the part of your happy companion, and no, I am not the girl from Drury Lane. Tonight I am myself. Prudence Atwater.”

“And Prudence Atwater usually allows a virtual stranger to take her in his arms, like this?” he asked, pulling her close once again.

Prudence glared at him. “Only if the virtual stranger holds something over her head, my lord. Which you do.”