The Bride Hunt (22 page)

“Thank you.” Gideon nodded and the waiters faded from the room. He took a small pointed stick and selected a tiny shellfish. “These are quite delicious.” He picked the minute winkle from its shell and passed Prudence the stick.

She popped the winkle into her mouth. Ordinarily she considered these tiny shellfish barely worth the trouble to extract, but now she realized what she had been missing. She nodded and took one for herself. She was beginning to learn that Gideon treated the business of food with utter seriousness. They ate their way through the tiers of shellfish with a dedicated concentration, punctuated by the occasional appreciative murmur and the odd remark, and when a waiter returned to clear their plates and the stripped-bare stand, they merely sat back, sipped wine, and nodded with satisfaction.

“I would never have put you down as such a thoroughgoing hedonist,” Prudence said into the satisfied silence. “It doesn’t go with being a barrister.”

“Oh, now, there you’re wrong, sweetheart,” he said. “Barristers live as indulgently as the members of any other profession . . . and more than some. We have our own clubs, our own pubs, our own restaurants. We don’t have much conversation, I’ll grant you that. Mostly law talk, case discussions, but we do ease business along with the good things in life.”

Prudence nodded, reflecting how easily the endearments slipped off his tongue. She liked them, they made her feel special and enhanced the sensuality of this interlude, but she was not used to them. Her father had never been one for demonstrative speech, and even her mother had used endearments sparingly. She didn’t feel comfortable using them herself and wondered if Gideon would notice that she only used his name. But perhaps he would notice the different tone she had now when she spoke his name. Her tongue rolled the syllables around as she took the last sip of her wine.

Roast duck appeared, with orange sauce, succulent green beans, crispy roasted potatoes. A bottle of Nuits-St. Georges was opened, the waiters faded away once more. Gideon took the tip of his knife and slid it beneath the crispy skin of the bird. He sliced upwards and then took his fork to spear the golden brown paper-thin skin.

He leaned over, holding the fork to her lips. “Greater dedication hath no barrister than to give the best morsel of a roast Aylesbury duckling to his client.”

Chapter 14

G
ideon was awakened in the morning by the slither of a soft body across his recumbent form, by lips pressed into the hollow of his throat. He didn’t open his eyes and he didn’t move as Prudence covered his face with tiny butterfly kisses, his eyelids, his nose, his cheekbones, the corners of his mouth, the cleft of his chin.

“Don’t pretend you’re asleep,” she murmured between darting flicks of her tongue into that fascinating cleft. “I can feel that the most important part of you is wide awake.” She moved her lower body over his in emphasis.

Gideon stroked down the length of her back as she lay long upon him, languidly caressed her bottom. “My mind, like the notable Oxford scholar’s, is generally considered to be the most important part of me,” he murmured into the fragrant mass of russet hair.

Prudence chuckled. “That depends on the circumstances. Right now, I have to tell you that your mind is of not the slightest interest to me. This is.” She moved a hand down, slipping it beneath her to grasp the jutting evidence of his wakefulness. “I’m wondering if it’s possible to do it like this.”

“Certainly it is.” The languid note in his voice was fading fast. “Move back and raise yourself just a little.”

“Like this?”

“Just like that.” With a leisurely twist of his hips he entered her as she hung above him.

“Oh, this is quite different,” Prudence said, sounding rather surprised.

“There are an infinite number of ways to enjoy each other,” he said. “Don’t tell me you haven’t read the Kama Sutra, because I wouldn’t believe it.”

“We have read it, of course, but some of those positions looked completely impossible, not to mention tortuously uncomfortable.” She pushed back onto her knees, circling her hips slowly around his penis buried deep within her. “Have you tried them all?”

“No. I’ve never found a partner willing to entertain the idea.” He clasped her hips, pressing his thumbs into the pointy hipbones. “Lean forward just a tiny bit . . . ah, that’s good.” He smiled, lifting his hips rhythmically as she pressed the cleft of her body against his belly, rising and falling with him.

He watched her face; her eyes were closed, and he said softly, “Open your eyes. I want to see where you are.”

She opened her eyes, fixing her gaze on his. He watched for the deepening glow in the light green depths, the spark of excitement as her pleasure grew closer to its climax, and when he saw it he touched her sex lightly with his fingertips. Her eyes widened and he thrust upwards, holding her bottom with his free hand, pressing her down hard upon him. Then, with a swift, deft movement just as she cried out in delight, he rolled her sideways to the bed, disengaging the instant before he allowed his own climax to rip through him.

Prudence felt the orgasmic shudders quiver through her body for several minutes. Her body was a weightless mass of delicious, languorous sensation, her muscles utterly powerless, her loins drained. She turned on her side, resting her head in the damp hollow of his shoulder as he lay on his back. With an effort, he reached a hand to brush strands of damp hair that were stuck to her cheek. Then his hand fell limply to her flank.

“I wonder if one could ever have too much of this good thing,” Prudence murmured when she could speak. She calculated that since eight o’clock last evening they had made love four times, and judging by the light in the window, it was only just past dawn.

“Not I,” he said.

“Nor I,” she agreed with a complacent chuckle.

“Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, daily life makes other demands,” Gideon said, sitting up with a groan of exertion. “We have to get on the road and get you home before your family calls out the police.”

“You said they would have a message.” Prudence forced her own muscles into action, struggling up against the pillows.

“They will have, but they’re still going to want to see you alive and well before the morning’s too much advanced,” he pointed out, swinging his legs to the floor. “Shall I run your bath?”

“Please.” She leaned back, exhausted by the simple effort of getting herself semiupright, and closed her eyes again. Soon she heard the sound of water running and her mind woke up to full consciousness.
Where were they to go from here?
It had been the most wonderful night, full of transcendent delights. But now what?

Almost as if he read her thoughts, Gideon reappeared. “Prudence, your bath is drawn. Get up now. We have to get moving.”

Her eyes shot open and she looked at him, startled by the imperative tone. During the long hours of their loving she had forgotten that he had that tone—assertive, authoritative, impatient. Now she caught herself wondering if perhaps this manifestation was his normal self and the soft, tender lover who issued only endearments in the exciting, sensual richness of the words of loveplay was an occasional visitor.

“I’m up,” she said, getting off the bed and reaching for the dressing gown. She brushed past him in the doorway and went into the bathroom. She wondered fleetingly if he would follow her, but was not surprised that he didn’t. The idyll was definitely over, and reality had once more reared its demanding head.

She performed her morning ablutions quickly and returned to the bedroom. Gideon was dressed once more, and even though he was wearing the casual morning dress suitable for weekend, it was clear he had reverted to his former physical self. The charming disorder of his curly hair had been tamed, he was clean-shaven, even his posture had somehow straightened, become more rigid. He was the barrister again, utterly in control, utterly sure of himself and his superiority.

Prudence went to the dresser and grimaced at the state of her hair. It was a wild tangle that she knew would take ages to return to order. She sat down on the small stool and picked up the hairbrush, dragging it through knotted strands.

“Let me.” He stood behind her, reaching over her shoulder for the brush.

She relinquished it, observing, “Since you’re responsible for this mess.”

The gray eyes gleamed and she caught a glimpse of the lover. “Not entirely responsible,” he demurred, putting his hand on the top of her head and pulling the brush down with resolute strength. “Sorry,” he offered at her wince of pain. “Is there a gentler way of doing this?”

“No. Just do your worst.” She squeezed her watering eyes tightly shut, bent her head, and let him get on with it.

He laid the brush down after five minutes of tugging and pulling. “There. I think that’s the best I can do.”

Prudence opened her eyes and combed her fingers through the now relatively straight mane. “I’ll manage from here.”

“Right.” He went to the door. “I’ll order breakfast in the coffee room. Can you be ready in ten minutes?”

“In a pinch,” she said dryly.

“Put the robe and everything else in the valise when you’ve finished with them. I’ll send a boy up to take it to the motor.”

Prudence, coiling and pinning her hair, nodded, and he went out, his step energetic, and she could fancy there was an almost military click to his heels. She dressed quickly—trying not to think of those moments when she had undressed—and packed the valise, reflecting as she closed it and snapped the locks that there was something symbolic about this putting away and closing up. It was a neat tidying up of a delightfully untidy idyll. She glanced once around the room before leaving it. Nothing was out of place, apart from the wildly tumbled bed, where the sheets and coverlets straggled to the floor. Her eye caught a couple of hairpins on the floor and she remembered how Gideon had drawn them out. With a quick shake of her head, she left and hurried downstairs.

Gideon was reading the newspaper when she came into the coffee room. He rose politely as she sat down. “Newspaper? I ordered two.” He handed her a neatly folded copy of the
Times.

Prudence couldn’t help a smile. This was a man who did not like breakfast conversation. She poured tea, buttered a piece of toast, and opened her own newspaper, offering her companion no distraction from his paper or plate of kidneys and bacon.

Then they were once more in the motor, driving through the quiet early morning streets of Henley. A few shopkeepers were opening up, but there were few customers as yet. Prudence had again donned her furs and tucked her hands into her muff. Conversationally, she opened a subject that had aroused her curiosity. “Gideon, this morning we didn’t use a condom, but you withdrew at the last minute. Is that uncomfortable for you?”

He shrugged. “Neither method is ideal from a man’s point of view, but the possible consequences of ignoring precautions don’t bear thinking of.”

“Ah.” Prudence absorbed this. Her fingers closed over her little notebook. He’d given her entrée into another issue. “Would you want more children . . . in the right circumstances, I mean?”

“Do you want children, Prudence?” he asked, casting her a quick glance, but she couldn’t really see his expression behind the visor and goggles.

“I asked
you.
If you were going to get married again, I mean.”

He gave her a look of pure disbelief. “You’ve put your hands on that notebook again, haven’t you?”

She felt herself flush slightly. “I just thought I’d ask since the subject had come up.”

“We have just spent a night of fairly ecstatic lovemaking and you’ve now turned your attention to finding me a bride?” he demanded. “I don’t believe this, Prudence. It’s so utterly inappropriate.”

“No, it isn’t,” she said firmly. “You said last night that there would be no confusion. We are each other’s client. I expect you to do your best for me, and I will do my best for you. We agreed you would like a bride young enough to give you another child, but we didn’t actually talk about whether you would want one. Obviously, if you don’t I can’t introduce you to a woman who’s desperate to have children.” She turned to look at him. “Be reasonable, Gideon, you can see that.”

He stared straight ahead at the winding road and declared through thinned lips, “I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“You have your head in the sand,” she said, throwing up her hands. “How can I do my job when you won’t respond?”

Gideon only shook his head.

“All right,” Prudence said, “we’ll stop talking about possible brides for the moment. But surely you don’t mind thinking about some factors. Would Sarah like a ready-made sibling, do you think?”

“I thought we’d put Agnes Hargate to rest.”

Prudence ignored the acid tone. “I’m not talking specifics here. I’m trying to establish some parameters. You must have an opinion, surely.”

Gideon, against his will, found himself considering the question. He realized he had no idea what Sarah would think about a stepmother, let alone a half sibling. Let alone a stepsibling. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I’d have to ask her.”

With what she recognized was now personal curiosity, Prudence asked, “How would you feel if a potential bride had, say, an illegitimate child?”

That piqued his interest. “Do you know anyone in that situation?”

She didn’t, of course. Women in the circles they would be considering did not have, or at least own to having, illegitimate children. “None that would acknowledge it.”

“Then why ask?”

She’d asked because she wanted to know which was the real Gideon Malvern. He cultivated the appearance of conventionality, lack of flexibility, lack of sympathy for those who didn’t quite meet his standards, and yet she had seen beneath that surface, seen that he could be quite the opposite, embracing the unorthodox, open to change. But was that the right way round? Maybe the open, unorthodox side of him was an appearance to create a certain response, and the real Gideon was the rigid and aggressive barrister, with no time or sympathy for anyone who didn’t play by his rules. Her own peace of mind seemed to rest on the answer to the conundrum.

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, resorting once more to the lighthearted tenor of their earlier conversations, “we do know that you would like to meet a future partner who’s willing to explore the delights of the Kama Sutra.”

“I’m certainly willing to give some of the less extreme positions a try,” he said, turning to look at her fully. And now he was smiling. “What’s the point of all this, Prudence?”

“I am trying to find you a suitable wife.”

“Maybe that’s something I would prefer to do for myself.”

“You agreed to the terms.”

“I agreed to let you try.”

“And I am trying. By the way, you’re about to run over a farm cart,” she observed. “I’m sure you’re supposed to keep your eyes on the road when driving.”

Gideon swore as he wrenched the wheel to the side just in time to avoid a stolid horse pulling a cart piled with manure, driven by an old man smoking a pungent pipe that was nevertheless insufficient to combat the powerful odor from the cart.

“That would have been a messy experience,” Prudence said when they were clear.

“Why don’t you just enjoy the scenery and let me concentrate?” He sounded as annoyed as he looked. Prudence thought of his wet socks and bit back a smile. Gideon was not a man who liked to make mistakes.