The Perfect Rake (28 page)

“My early years were happy enough,” he said after a moment. “The usual sort of childhood, I imagine; nurses and nanny and tutors and the like. Learning to read and write and ride and shoot. And then when I turned eight, I was sent off to school.”

Prudence frowned. Servants and tutors, things to be learned and then sent to school at eight! It was not her idea of a happy childhood. “Were you happy at school?”

He shrugged. “Is anyone happy at school? It wasn’t bad. Edward was there, too—my cousin, you know. We are much the same age.”

“That must have been nice for you both—a little less lonely,” she said. “And what about your mother and father?”

His profile seemed to harden. “Not happy,” he said after a while. “They married the wrong people.”

“Oh.” She wanted to ask more, but there was such a forbidding expression on his face, she didn’t like to.

He glanced down at her, and his arm tightened around her. “You could say they worked it out in the end.”

There was a long pause. Prudence could feel the tension in him. She said nothing. “I suppose you might as well hear the whole blasted story,” he said at last. “With your sister and Edward tying the knot and—” he broke off. “The old gossip will no doubt be dredged up again, and someone is bound to fill your ears. You may as well hear the truth.” He took a deep breath and said in a light tone, quite as if it didn’t matter to him, “My mother eloped with Edward’s father when we were fourteen.”

She must have made some small, shocked sound, because he looked down at her. “Yes, it was pretty frightful. Caused a huge scandal. They were sisters, you see, Edward’s mother and mine, which made it worse somehow.”

“Yes,” whispered Prudence. “A double betrayal—of sister and husband.”

“Exactly.” The horses’ hooves thudded rhythmically on. A light breeze had sprung up, not cold, but very fresh, chasing the clouds across the night sky.

“It must have been dreadful for you and Edward.”

He shrugged carelessly but did not respond. Prudence was not deceived by his careless manner. He cared too much to speak of it seriously. “How did your father cope?” she ventured after a while.

He flicked the reins and said in an offhand manner, “He pursued them at first, but lost them on the Continent. He was very fond of my mother, you see. You might say he loved her to distraction.” His voice, under the light, conversational tone, held a note of bitter savagery. They drove on for several miles. Prudence could feel the tension vibrating in his body. He had not finished his story. She laid her hand on his knee and leaned into his body, offering silent comfort.

The cool breeze picked up. The hooves rang out on the roadway.

Finally Gideon spoke, “He returned home a broken man, became a recluse…”

Prudence bit her lip and gripped his knee harder.

Gideon glanced down at her. “He shot himself in the end.” The reins were wrapped so tightly around his hands, they must be biting into his flesh, yet he did not pull on the horses at all. Control.

There were no words for such a story; she could only offer him the comfort of human warmth. She slipped her arms around him and hugged him and he stiffened and then slowly relaxed.

After a moment he said in a choked voice, “He simply couldn’t bear the loss…He loved her, you see. Truly loved her…And the loss of her drove him to the point of madness. Killed him.”

They drove on for several more miles, Prudence tucked against his chest, her arms around him in silent comfort, his arm holding her tightly against him. The heath stretched before them, a bleak prospect of wild and uncultivated land dotted here and there with dense thickets of brush and stunted trees.

“It must have been terrible for you and your cousin, too. And your aunt.”

“Yes, well, she went into a decline for a while, then when she heard they’d both been killed on the continent, she—”

“They were both killed, your mother and the duke’s father?”

“Mmm, yes.” He nodded. “Drowned in a boating accident on Lake Geneva about six months after they ran off. That was when my father shot himself, actually—when he realized there was no hope of ever getting my mother back.” He added, as if to himself, “I’d always believed my father to be a strong man, but…”

“I’m sure he was a strong man,” Prudence assured him warmly. “But he needed your mother.” She stared up at his unmoving profile a little anxiously. “We all need love, you know. It isn’t a weakness—it’s the most wonderful source of strength. And if people fall apart for a little while when it is taken from them, well, that is understandable.”

“You did not fall apart when your parents died.”

“No, because I was just a child and I did not perfectly understand how much my life would change. And besides, I had my little sisters to look after. Grace was still a baby, so I had no time to brood—” She broke off as it occurred to her that Lord Carradice’s father had had a son to look after, a son who would have been just as devastated as his father, a son who needed support and love.

Prudence’s sisters had needed support and love. And by loving them, she had been healed of her grief.

His son’s needs hadn’t stopped Gideon’s father from brooding, it seemed. Where had Gideon been when his father shot himself?

He seemed to know what she was wondering about because he said, “He was alone in the house when he did it. A quick, clean shot, I’m told.”

After a moment, Lord Carradice continued, “I was at school when they ran off and Father went after them. I never saw him…never said good-bye. Nobody told us anything until they received word of the drowning accident.”

“But that’s terrible!”

“I suppose they chose not to distress us with what, after all, was mostly rumor at that point. It was a wasted effort, however.”

She felt the tension rising in his body again and laid her cheek against his shoulder. He glanced down at her, and an indescribable expression passed over his face.

“The ton will always gossip, you see. It feeds on such stuff. And it trickles down to the children of the ton.”

Prudence bit her lip and watched his face. It seemed to harden as he said, “Edward and I were treated to any number of lurid tales about our parents’ elopement from the other boys—not to mention all sorts of other scandalous doings.”

He gave a bitter, self-mocking laugh. “Of course, we didn’t believe a word of it. We were convinced both our parents were devoted couples. Edward believed his father the soul of honor and my mother—well, both our mothers were above rubies—you know what boys are.” He shrugged ruefully. “We had a great many fights, defending my mother’s honor until Edward’s house master told us it was true—Mama had indeed run off with Uncle Frederick.”

Prudence was appalled. Poor little boys, to be left to fend for themselves in ignorance. And to be told such dreadful news in such a horrid fashion. “And then I suppose you went home to your respective parents.”

He gave her an ironic look. “No, for why would anyone want two unhappy boys underfoot at such a time? We stayed at school until Christmas. “

Prudence hugged him tighter. At such times you needed family around you—but she knew all too well that family could not always be relied upon. It was easy in the drama of the hour for the needs of children to be overlooked…

“It must have been terrible for you both.”

“More so for Edward than me. He loathed the notoriety, of course. The gossip and teasing absolutely flayed him—boys at that age can be very cruel, you know, and he is a great deal more sensitive than I am.”

Prudence doubted that. Some people showed sensitivity; others put up a defensive shell and pretended not to care.

“He was a fool. He showed them how much their taunts upset him, you see—lost his temper every time. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but quiet, gentle Edward can be a tiger when roused. Or he was in those days. He fought every blasted one of them! Fatal, of course! And naturally I fought alongside him, even though I knew there was not a particle of use in it.”

He shook his head. “I told him and told him he should ignore them, try to laugh it off…. Show a bunch of boys you care about something, and it is an open invitation to a kicking. Edward suffered. He really suffered…. It got so that he wouldn’t speak to anyone except me for months. Not that we ever discussed it. One doesn’t, you see…And finally…finally, Christmas came…”

“And you went home—”

He interrupted. “Papa shot himself two days before I came home.”

Prudence made a small sound in the back of her throat. Two days before he came home. Two days before Christmas. He must have known his son was coming. Poor, poor little boy to come home to that. “What did you do then? Did the duke’s mother—?”

He shook his head. “No. She went into a decline and didn’t leave her bed for nearly a year.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of the horses’ hooves and the creaking of the phaeton as it bowled along the road. He shook his head and said in a light, shaking voice, “When I left for school, Papa was away for the day; my mother and the servants saw me off. The next time I went home, Mama, Papa, and Uncle Frederick were all…were all dead, and the servants called me master…”

He shrugged and added in a bracing tone, “There was a great deal to be seen to, for the estate had been neglected while Papa had been chasing after Mama.”

His words touched her deeply. She could picture it so clearly. The young Gideon, fourteen years old, arriving home, confused, devastated, both his parents having been snatched from him under circumstances of which a young boy could have little understanding. His closest relative, his aunt, prostrate with helpless grief, his cousin withdrawn into a protective shell. And their world prattled of their tragedy as if it were the most delicious of gossip.

The phaeton swayed around a corner. Clouds scudded across the moon.

The servants had called a grieving young boy master and looked to him for orders. No one had comforted him, no one had put their arms around him, or let him weep or rage like a grieving young boy should.

So a shattered, sensitive boy had become a careless, flippant, laughing man, determined to show the world he cared for nothing and therefore could not be hurt. Prudence understood now. She hugged him in silence, her face wet with tears.

“I didn’t see Edward for months after the funeral. He never went back to school, never went to Oxford, had himself educated privately, away from the malicious tongues and quiet whisperings. He more or less buried himself on his most remote estate, in the wilds of Scotland; in fact, for a while he became the hermit you accused me of being that first day.” His voice lightened deliberately as he said, “How long ago that day seems…Ah, look—see that milestone? We are but a mile from Cranford Bridge and thus have come safely across the heath. It is a mere ten miles more to Maidenhead—but of course, you would know that, with your talent in geography. “

He was trying to turn the subject, but she wanted to know more. “Is the duke’s mother still alive?”

“Oh, yes, she survived. She even tried once to get Edward to come to London for the season, but it all came to naught—well, not quite.” He laughed, a short, dry laugh. “While she was in London, turning the house into a fashionable Egyptian nightmare, she met a fellow, an American, rich as Croesus, and he married her and took her back home to Boston. Delighted to marry a duchess, you see, and she was delighted to leave the old scandal behind her and start afresh in a new country.”

“So you and your cousin both ended up alone,” Prudence said softly.

They passed through the sleeping village of Longford, woke an ostler at Colnbrook, and paid him well for his pains as they changed horses. The night continued fair and cool and though she was very tired from the long journey and late hour, Prudence’s mind was spinning. In this short time she had gained such insight into him…and it had thrown her heart into turmoil.

“Salt Hill ahead,” Gideon said softly. “On the other side of it lies Maidenhead.” They had fallen silent for the last few miles. Miss Prudence was tucked into his shoulder like a drowsy little owl. Unless he missed his guess, she was almost asleep. It had been a long and exhausting day for her, and she would be tired out from her anxieties as well. It would be a long, slow haul up the hill, even for the light phaeton, but in less than an hour they would be at The Blue Pelican and the chambers and light refreshments Edward had bespoken.

She straightened, yawned sleepily, and moved a little away from him. “Have we passed Windsor Castle yet? I believe it is visible from the road.”

“No, not yet. It’s a little farther on.”

“The poor king, I wonder how he is—”

From out of the darkness came the sudden thunder of hooves.

“What the—?”

Two horsemen burst out upon the road ahead of them and bore down on their vehicle as if it wasn’t there. At the very last minute, one of the horsemen swerved and passed on a short distance, but the other seemed as if he wished to impale his horse on the shafts of the phaeton. He wrenched to a halt mere inches away.

With the angle of the hill and his horses plunging in fright, it was all Gideon could do to keep them under control. “Blast it, man, what do you think you’re—”

“Stand and deliver!” The voice rang out with startling clarity. There was a moment’s confusion as the horses continued to plunge and rear. The man in front of them wore a dark muffler wrapped around the lower part of his face. Moonlight glinted on the long barrel of a pistol, aimed straight and steady at the passenger.

At Miss Prudence Merridew.

Gideon’s heart froze. Cursing under his breath, he fought to calm the horses. Behind him he sensed his groom moving furtively. “Easy, Boyle,” he snapped. “I can handle the nags. No need to get down.”

“Right you are, sir,” Boyle growled. “Easy and waitin’.”

Gideon nodded. Boyle had got the message. Gideon was not talking about the horses. There were two guns under the seat at the back, kept for just such emergencies. And from Boyle’s response, he had them in hand and was alert for the first opportunity to use them.

In other circumstances, Gideon might relish the prospect of a fight, but the presence of Miss Prudence sitting silent and still and no doubt terrified on the seat beside him gave him a frantic new sense of caution. There were two highwaymen, spaced well apart; one sat his horse right beside the phaeton; the other lurked several yards behind it, farther back off the road. With the robbers dispersed like that, his groom could probably account only for the one behind them.