Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2) (8 page)

There was simply too much at risk.

She had to settle the situation once and for all.

Prudence would go to Lord Weston directly, and demand that he fix a price for her debt this very night.

Taking a deep breath for courage, Prudence stood. “I must excuse myself, Lady Weston. Will you be alright until I return?”

“Of course, Miss Atwater,” the lady replied, genially. “I have been keeping you all to myself for far too long, and you must be tiring of my endless propensity for conversation.”

“Oh, no, Lady Weston, not at all,” Prudence began.

“It is quite alright, child. I will keep myself occupied with Lady Abercrombie, who is eyeing your chair even as we speak. Dorothea!” Lady Weston called, waving. “Dorothea and I are old friends. She will no doubt want to inform me of all the goings-on with her twenty-two grand-children, and her forty-six great-grand-children, which should keep her talking for at least an hour or more. Now, why don’t you go and find where my great-nephew has gotten to.”

“That is exactly what I shall do, Lady Weston,” Prudence said.

Though not for the reason you would expect…

Lord Weston had gone to the card room, she thought. Heading for the hallway, Prudence fairly walked right into him, stopping just short of slamming into the same broad chest that she had been pulled so closely against only hours before.

Lord Weston looked down at her with dark, penetrating eyes. “Miss Atwater. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“No,” she said, trying to pull him out of the doorway. “I need to speak with you, my lord. At once.”

He paused, then said languidly, “About…?”

“You know very well what about!” she hissed in a whisper. “About settling my debt to you.”

“Oh,” he replied, calmly. “That.”

“Yes, that!” Prudence said, looking around to see if anyone had noticed them. “I beg you—”

“I must say, I like where this conversation is going,” he said, grinning devilishly.

Prudence’s hands balled into tight fists at her side. It was all she could do to keep them still, and not flying at his face.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I would ask that we go somewhere private—”

“A
very
good idea,” he intoned.

“To discuss your price!”

He shook his head, saying, “You could never afford me.”

She glared at him and stretched up on tiptoe, so that they were almost nose to nose. “I pity the woman who could.”

Lord Weston chuckled softly, amusement sparkling in his coal-black eyes. Indicating the hallway, he said, “Shall we, then?”

He led her into a library. Prudence found the familiar smell of books comforting. She turned to face the man who had infuriated and confounded her since the first night they’d met.

Standing as tall as she could, Prudence looked him in the eye, and said, “My lord, I demand to know the price you would have me pay. I will not spend one more day with this vile thing hanging over my head. Whatever it is, I would pay it and be done with it. Now tell me what it is you want from me.”

“In truth,” he said, “I had not yet been able to turn my mind to it.”

“A convenient answer, my lord,” she replied, “but I’m afraid it won’t do. Though I admit my actions on the night we met injured both your person and your family name, I cannot abide this waiting. So for those reasons, as well as your promise to keep the truth from Lady Weston in exchange, I wish to make amends as quickly as possible.” She took a deep breath. “If you would just fix a price.”

“I see that you will not be dissuaded,” he said, finally. “And I must say, I am happy to see you so eager to do my bidding. So, in that regard, I shall endeavour to please you with an answer.”

Lord Weston smiled down at her like a cat making friendly with a mouse. He reached out and took one of the curls that dangled next to her face, rubbing it gently between his fingers.

Strange how he wasn’t really touching her, and yet Prudence felt her skin heat at such blatant intimacy. She should have been bristling at his touch—ripping his hand away from such a bold move.

And yet, she did neither.

“All I can tell you, is that you shall know by tomorrow. The rest,” he said languidly, raising her hand and pressing his lips to her skin, “is a surprise.”

* * *

Alfred sat back in the plush wing chair and sipped his brandy. The fire blazed warmly in the hearth. He took his feet out of his slippers and wriggled his toes in front of the glowing logs.

He and Great-Aunt Withypoll had arrived home hours ago, but he was still awake in his chamber. That was why he’d decided on the brandy.

Still, he would need more than brandy to get Miss Prudence Atwater out of his head.

Damn, but the chit irked him!

Defied him, patronized him, and frustrated him beyond belief.

And aroused him….

She’d looked like a Greek goddess tonight. Aphrodite couldn’t have done better.

Damned if she wasn’t the most prattling, pig-headed little baggage that he had ever had the misfortune to meet. She was most certainly reckless, and too independent for her own good. Heaven help the man who would fall in love with such a creature.

However, she was about to learn a lesson she wouldn’t soon forget.

He ran his hand through his hair and took another swig of the brandy, this time draining the glass. He rested it on the table and folded his hands.

Great-Aunt Withypoll had certainly enjoyed herself at the ball. She was truly taken with Prudence Atwater. The two had talked together for most of the night. He knew that his great-aunt was hoping for a match between he and the schoolmarm. Well, he would have to break the news to her that her latest protégé would not be in the running. Miss Prudence Atwater would be a terrible choice for a wife, not only for him, but for any man.

For one, she had too many thoughts. Secondly, there were too many subjects that she was knowledgeable about. More knowledgeable than most men. And she was impossible to control, like a new filly that foolishly wanted to be her own mistress.

Still, the uncomfortable fact remained that he couldn’t seem to dispel her from his mind. The creamy skin, the flame-colored hair, the sapphire eyes, and the curvaceous body that would make even Aphrodite weep with envy.

He’d held her in his arms—was so close to kissing her, to tasting those ripe lips again. How he’d wanted to feed on them…to feed on her.

Damnation, but he desired her.

He wanted, no
needed
to have her in his arms again. And for more than just a kiss. Prudence Atwater tempted him and plagued his thoughts like no other woman ever had. She was all at once infuriatingly impudent, maddeningly innocent, and bewitchingly beautiful.

She aroused his passion, much more than he wanted to admit.

Perhaps that was why he found himself unable to release her from this ‘devil’s bargain’, as she’d called it, even if he wanted to. Perhaps it was cruel, what he was doing.

But was it not cruel to allow her man to bash him in the head and render him unconscious? Was it not cruel to have stolen his clothes and left him under a hedge that night in the busy Theater District where anyone might come upon him—and did? Was it not injurious to both he and Great-Aunt Withypoll to have had the Weston name slandered in the Times? Not to mention the fact that Miss Atwater had secured the patronage of his great-aunt, without Lady Weston knowing all of those details?

By rights, he was only settling a score that needed to be settled.

Teaching a lesson that needed to be taught. If not, might not Miss Atwater do this again to some other unsuspecting man out for a night’s entertainment? Was it all part of a grander scheme to fleece the pockets of wealthy widows like his great-aunt, not to mention rich rakes like himself?

One thing was certain.

There was much more beneath Miss Prudence Atwater’s schoolmarm exterior than she wanted anyone to know.

Tomorrow night, he would play the role of the teacher.

And Miss Atwater—the inexperienced student.

Chapter 8

Prudence walked to the corner again, trying to ignore the chill of the night air. She looked past the trees where Mungo waited, hidden from view, and sighed.

It had been a long day in the classroom, and before that, another long, sleepless night. The previous evening’s events with Lord Weston had done nothing to alleviate the pressure that weighed upon her mind concerning this whole sordid situation. Though he had promised that she would know his price today, she had not heard a word from him. He obviously intended to break his promise, and keep her a prisoner of his whims even longer.

And to top it off, tonight was not going well, either.

She’d been walking the street for over an hour, and had met with little success. Soon after her arrival, she had talked to two young girls, newly to London from Yorkshire. The girls were sisters, and obviously beginners at the light-skirt trade. Their frightened eyes and thin faces had nearly broken Prudence’s heart.

But try as she might, she’d been unable to convince them to return with her to the school. One of the girls, Lizzie, had been tentative, but genuinely interested in Prudence’s offer. Her sister, however, was suspicious.

Prudence had encountered the same problem before. If the girls saw her a few more times, perhaps they would grow to trust her.

But something else was bothering her.

As Prudence had talked to the girls, she had seen the shadowy figure across the street again, watching them. When she’d first noticed him weeks ago, she had taken him to be just another patron, waiting for his favorite light-skirt to stroll by.

But the tall, wiry man never talked to any of the girls at length. And he certainly never hired any of them. He just stayed in the shadows, watching. Though she had never seen his face—it was always obscured by the brim of his cap—she knew that he was watching her.

It made her shiver.

Perhaps he was harmless. Perhaps he was a clergyman, out for the same reason she was. But the feeling in her gut told her otherwise.

Thank heavens he was gone, now. The uneasiness in her stomach was just now starting to dissipate.

Prudence looked back at the sisters, huddled at the opposite corner, still glancing her way every now and then. They were so young. And they deserved so much more in life. Prudence hoped they would give her—and themselves—a chance at the Atwater School.

She would stay for another hour or so. The Theater Royal had already let out, and after the initial crowds had dispersed, the street had remained empty.

But there came a carriage down the cobblestone street. Perhaps letting off a girl who had finished an evening’s employment.

Prudence fluffed her hair and pushed her cloak back over her shoulder, displaying her wares as a streetwalker would. She tossed her head a little, pushed out her bosom—and tried to look friendly, yet rough.

The coach stopped in front of her, rolling slightly as the big black horse took a step back. For a moment, nothing happened. The only sound was the horse breathing in the dark, quiet night.

Then, the door opened.

A glossy black boot emerged from the shadows, followed by a man in hat and greatcoat. The brim of his hat shielded his face as he emerged, but Prudence knew who it was.

He stepped onto the street, his boots crunching the ground beneath.

Prudence swallowed.

It was him.

Lord Weston.

His dark, powerful gaze told her exactly what he had come for.

Her
…

His mouth curved into a wicked smile. He was half-devil, half-angel—and all dangerous.

“You know why I’ve come?” he said.

“Yes,” Prudence said, taking a deep breath. “I believe I do.”

“You had given upon me, I suppose.”

“Yes.” Her heart was beginning to beat in an odd, heavy rhythm.

“I have finally decided on a price, little flower,” he said, stepping closer. “The pleasure of your company for an evening. Only the pleasure of your company. It is what I asked for the first night we met—before you had me knocked unconscious. I think it a fair and fitting price. I promised to release you from our agreement today. You will see that I keep my promises, Prudence.”

“As do I, my lord.” She met his dark, powerful gaze, and he held her there for a moment, with only the heat in his eyes. She felt like a puppet on a string—weightless—and in someone else’s control.

Lord Weston’s arms circled her waist, pulling her against him. He touched her face, tilting it up toward his.

“Everythin’ alright, Miss?” Mungo said from behind her, a dangerous edge to his voice.

Just inches from covering her mouth with his own, Lord Weston stopped and eyed Mungo, then gently released her.

Prudence took a moment to regain her bearings. She turned to face her trusted bodyguard.

“Yes, Mungo,” she stammered. “Everything is fine.”

“Ye
sure
, Miss?” He asked, looking unconvinced.