The Perfect Rake (22 page)

“A quiet word of warning, from one woman to another.”

Not knowing quite what to say, Prudence merely arched her eyebrows again.

“I think the situation calls for a little more privacy.” Mrs. Crowther led Prudence into the adjoining sitting room, currently empty.

“What situation?” asked Prudence, feeling annoyed with herself for allowing this woman to waylay her. But in truth she did not know how to avoid it without being impolite.

“The situation with Lord Carradice. You have been seen with him on several occasions.”

“I do not see that it is any business—”

“Lord Carradice and I are friends. Intimate friends, you might say,” Mrs. Crowther purred, sliding her hands voluptuously over the silken folds of her gown.

Prudence stiffened. If she’d had the courage to make a small scene in the withdrawing room earlier, she would not be having to deal with this distasteful conversation.

“So I thought it only fair to warn you, my dear young lady: Men are such careless beasts. Of course he is only amusing himself with you but—”

“How do you know he is only amusing himself? He may not be,” interrupted Prudence, suddenly furious. She knew Lord Carradice was only amusing himself, but she was not going to allow this flame-wrapped harpy to say so. “Or if so, it may not be
me
who is his little amusement.” She allowed that to sink in and then added pointedly, “You are married, are you not?”

Mrs. Crowther laughed, a brittle yap of scorn. “Don’t tell me you think he is serious in his attentions to you! He couldn’t possibly be, my dear!”

Her tone was woman-of-the-world to simple schoolgirl and while Prudence privately agreed with the sentiments, Mrs. Crowther’s sophisticated dismissal flicked Prudence on the raw. She raised her eyebrows and said in a calm, interested voice, “Why not?”

Mrs. Crowther smiled and preened herself. “If you had
any
knowledge of dearest Gideon at all, my dear child, any truly
intimate
knowledge of his history, you wouldn’t have to ask that.”

The woman oozed smugness. Prudence couldn’t bear it. She said in her silkiest tone, “Perhaps you have misread the situation, Mrs. Crowther.” As if bored by the conversation, Prudence frowned critically at her gloves, held them out, and smoothed them back to her elbows.

Mrs. Crowther watched with narrowed eyes. Prudence fussed with her gloves until she thought the other woman would burst with impatience and then added, “Are you sure these gloves are not crooked? There is something in their fit I don’t quite—”

“The gloves are irrelevant!” snapped Mrs. Crowther.

Prudence gave her a thoughtful look, then shook her head. “Oh, I don’t agree. An elegant pair of gloves quite sets off a ball gown…or ruins the effect. Now, what were we discussing? Oh yes. Have you considered that
dearest Gideon
, as you call him, could be an old family friend?”

She adjusted the gloves again and added casually, “I don’t suppose it occurred to you that our mothers might have been bosom friends as girls…And if that were the case, would there be any surprise in him keeping a friendly eye on my sisters and me for their sake?” It was not precisely a lie, Prudence told herself. More a statement of possibilities.

It wiped the smile off Mrs. Crowther’s face. “You knew his mother? So you must know about what happened. The old scandal.”

Prudence had no idea what the woman was referring to but decided not to compound her deception any further. She raised a disdainful eyebrow. Even without masculine thicketry, eyebrows were useful things, she decided; people read so much into them.

Mrs. Crowther frowned and said half to herself, “It would explain why Dinstable is squiring your sisters around, too, for if your mother had known Lady Carradice she would have known the duchess also. So you must know about that business…” She straightened and added briskly, “In which case, you must also know that Gideon will never marry, and why. And since he has never shown any interest in”—she glanced at Prudence disparagingly—“debutantes, you would be foolish indeed to nourish any expectations.”

“Expectations? Of Lord Carradice?” Prudence laughed incredulously as she opened the door. “Good heavens! What an odd notion! Set your mind at rest, Mrs. Crowther, I have no expectations concerning Lord Carradice at all!” It was the truth, after all. She sailed from the room.

“Miss Merridew!” Lord Carradice stood in the hallway.

She wondered how much he had overheard.

“Sir Oswald and your sister have been wondering where you were,” he said stiffly. “You must be more careful of the company you keep at such affairs, Miss Merridew. Mrs. Crowther, you will excuse us?” He bowed.

Mrs. Crowther let out a peal of laughter. “Oh, it is too, too amusing: Rake Carradice, playing the role of duenna. I vow, nobody would believe me if I told them! I see you spoke the truth, Miss Merridew—your mothers would be proud!” To Prudence’s intense irritation, she trailed long, white fingers familiarly along Lord Carradice’s arm as she passed him. And he did nothing to prevent her!

“What the devil was that all about? Why are you talking to that woman?” Lord Carradice took her arm as if he owned it and drew her farther along the hall and into a small, private room. He shut the door firmly behind them.

Prudence glared at him. He seemed to know where every small, private room in the building was. He was such a rake! And yet he had the audacity to criticize her behavior!

Holding his gaze in a silent challenge, she began to strip off her long white satin gloves. Let him reprimand her! If he dared. She loosened the tip of each finger with a small, angry tug, one by one. His eyes were fixed on hers, but she could tell by the slight flaring of his nostrils that he was aware of each movement, disapproving, no doubt. The combination of his intent observation and his silence inflamed her temper further.

She drew each long, elegant glove down her arm, baring the skin in a long, slow sweep, then tucked the gloves through a loop in her reticule. She was ready to do battle.

“What business of yours is it who I decide to talk to? You are not, despite what Mrs. Crowther said, my duenna!”

Gideon felt his temper flare. He’d been unaccountably worried about Prudence’s absence, fretting lest one of the rakes who’d attended the ball had lured her aside and was taking advantage of her. He’d gone in search of her, on the terrace, in the garden, and through numerous small rooms and hidden alcoves, his anxiety mounting all the time.

And then he’d found her with Therese Crowther, and the sight of his former mistress in conversation with Prudence had caused a reaction in him he didn’t quite care to examine. And it was not helped by the damned seductive way she’d removed her gloves. He felt defensive yet aroused. It was not a felicitous combination.

The duenna taunt had cut; still, he found himself saying, “She is not fit company for you!” He sounded ridiculously prissy. His frustration increased a notch.

“Not fit company? Then why did you introduce us the other night?”

He had no answer to that. “It was an error of judgment.”

“I thought she was a friend of yours. An
intimate
friend, she said.”

Gideon gritted his teeth. “Yes…no…not anymore. Hang it all, Prudence, I didn’t come here to argue with you! You are an innocent. Just take it from me that Mrs. Crowther and her like are not fit companions for—Where are you going?”

Eyes snapping with temper, Prudence tried to storm past him. He blocked her exit with his body.

She pushed at his chest crossly. “I’m leaving. Since Mrs. Crowther and her friends are not suitable company for me, what does that make you, Lord Carradice? As her
intimate
friend! Even less suitable! And so—” She shoved at him with small, determined fists. “I’m leaving. Or trying to!”

Gideon stared down at her, taken aback by her words. She was right. He’d known instant discomfort the other night when she’d met, even briefly, with the set of people he called his friends. Only they weren’t really friends at all, merely companions in boredom. And vice.

She railed at him, “I don’t need protecting. I’m not at all the innocent you imagine me. And you have no right to decide who I may or may not talk to.”

Gideon rolled his eyes. “Compared with that crowd, any decent woman is an innocent.”

His words inflamed Prudence’s ire. How dare he compare her with his glamorous mistress and then call Prudence a
decent woman!
He might as well call her dull and drab! In her girlish gown with the demure snowdrops!

She wished she had a scarlet silk gown. Then she would show him!

On second thought, she didn’t; scarlet would clash horribly with her hair. And no doubt on her, that tissue-thin silk would cling in all the wrong places. Life was so unfair!

But she would show him anyway! Without hesitation she reached up, pulled his head down to her level, and kissed him soundly on the mouth. It was a clumsy kiss and in her haste she’d landed a little off center, so she did it again, remembering how he had kissed her the last time. This time she found her target, dead on.

She kissed him openmouthed and felt the familiar, delicious shivers pass through her as he responded. She thought of scarlet dresses and kissed him in the most wanton way she could imagine.

Remembering what he had done with his tongue, she reached inside his mouth and stroked deeply and rhythmically. He tasted of wine and heat and Gideon. Their tongues tangled. He moaned deep in his throat and tried to take control of the kiss, but she wouldn’t let him.

She held his head in her hands and kissed him again as if her life depended on it. His arms lifted, dropped, and then wrapped around her, drawing her body up against his long, lean strength. One of his hands stroked up and down the line of her spine and came to rest on the curve of her bottom. He pressed her to him and she felt his hard, aroused body straining against her.

Her palms framed his jaw. She pushed herself tight against him, loving the friction of his hardness against her softness, kissing him with everything she had in her.

When her knees started to wobble beneath her, she realized that she was about to reach the point of no return. She hung on to her self-possession with all the resolution at her command, broke the kiss, and pushed herself out of his embrace.

They stood facing each other, breathing fast as if they’d been in a race. The laughing devils had gone from his eyes, and he stared at her in a stunned fashion that Prudence found deeply satisfying. She’d expected to be shaken by the kiss; she always was after kissing Lord Carradice. But this time, she was not the only shaken one. He looked positively stupefied.

She felt a spurt of deeply feminine triumph. Ha! Perhaps she was not so dull and dreary, after all!

He reached for her and she stepped back, smoothing her dress with hands that were not quite steady. “No. No more. It was simply meant to demonstrate that I am not the innocent you seem to think me.”

The dazed look disappeared and a narrow look took its place as Lord Carradice retorted, “If you think that so-called demonstration convinced me that you are in any way fit to be part of Theresa Crowther’s circle, you are mistaken. Those kisses proved nothing—nothing except your innocence.”

“Oh, you are impossible!” She stamped her foot in frustration. She knew she’d botched the first kiss, but the second and third ones had nearly knocked her on end! She’d put everything she knew into them. And he still thought her a know-nothing miss in need of protection!

He smiled wolfishly, seeming to read her thoughts, and prowled closer. “There is no need to look chagrined. I found your kisses more than delightful. But if you truly wish to increase your experience, you are very welcome to practice on me. We are betrothed, after all.”

She skipped out of his way, and once there were a few feet of space between them, faced him with hands on hips. “It is a sham betrothal, if you recall. And an excellent thing, too, for a blind beggar could see we two should not suit, the way we quarrel.”

The smile lines deepened, and he took a few steps toward her. “I would not necessarily call it quarreling. And even if you do, quarreling is not necessarily a sign of incompatibility. It can be a sign of…passion.”

Prudence sniffed and moved even farther away. “My parents never exchanged a cross word. And neither do Phillip and I.”

He raised a sardonic brow. “From what I can gather, you don’t exchange words with Otterboots at all. Must be terribly dull for you. But then he seems like a dull sort of fellow—and you say he can’t even muster a decent quarrel?”

He was right, Prudence realized suddenly. She could not even imagine having such an exhilarating exchange of temper with Phillip. And her argument with Lord Carradice did feel very…passionate. And as for that kiss she’d initiated…Her confidence drained. She would
never
have jumped on Phillip like that! Whatever had made her behave in such a manner? Her wretched temper! How could she let him provoke her so easily?

He had this way of getting under her skin. He didn’t even try to breach her defenses; he simply slipped under them and turned them to his own advantage. It was…it was unacceptable. She would never have allowed it with any other man. The only time Phillip had breached her defenses, he’d used his masculine strength. Lord Carradice never used physical force. It was something more insidious. Inciting her animal instincts…

She was having doubts, thought Gideon, watching her intently. About Otterbury, he hoped, rather than about himself. But if they were about himself, there was only one way of dissolving them that he could think of. Kiss ’em away. He moved subtly closer, and before she had time to avoid him, he had her in his arms again and kissed her thoroughly.

She gave one indignant squeak. He could feel her trying not to soften against him. She was losing the battle. He kissed her just long enough for her to realize it.

“See,” he said softly as he released her. “If this is a quarrel, you have to admit it’s a lot of fun.”

“I will admit nothing of the sort,” she said loftily, trying not to let him see how rattled she was. “Nor will I discuss Phillip with you. And as you so kindly pointed out, I shall, in future, be more careful of the company I keep.” She gave him a waspish little smile; she was not referring to Mrs. Crowther and her ilk. She pulled on her gloves like gauntlets. “Now, I must return to my sister.” And before he could react, she sailed out of the room like a cross little hawk. With adorably ruffled feathers.