Compromising Prudence (3 page)

“This girl is not for sale,” Charles said firmly.

“How mercenary you make me sound! I was hardly going to auction her off upstairs. Darling, you have no idea how much business I turn away.” She waved a languid hand. “I have no need to engage in as dangerous a matter as selling a society miss.”

“I’ll take her to my house and have a maid sit with her until she wakes. I’ll find out where she belongs and return her. A girl like that must have
some
family to care for her.”

“You Americans, always surprising.” Dorothea shrugged. “She’d bring me nothing but trouble. I’ll have your carriage brought around to the back. No one needs ever know she crossed my threshold.”

Chapter Two

P
RUDENCE
G
ROANED
, S
TRUGGLING
U
PRIGHT
through mounds of silken sheets. Her head throbbed and her mouth was gritty. With a mortifying flash, the previous day’s events returned to her. She had gone to find Tommy against Papa’s wishes and —

Her eyes flew open.

Where am I?

She certainly wasn’t in her own bed. The heavy curtains were still drawn, but this was not her house, not her room. Was this the house of Dorothea Tuppence? Pru frowned. There were no naughty statues or seductive paintings, no gilt or elaborate furnishings — although the sheets felt rather nice. The furniture was dull, heavy wood draped with lace adornments, entirely respectable. She searched for a clock.

Beady eyes stared down at her above a sharp beak and fierce talons. She let out a little shriek.

“Are you all right, miss?”

A plain woman in a maid’s uniform sat across the room from Pru in a tall-backed armchair.

“That.” Prudence pointed at the terrifying vision and immediately felt foolish. The monster was merely a stuffed bird. “Sorry. It looked fierce.”

“S’all right, miss.” The maid grinned. She was much younger than Prudence had thought, just a girl really. “The master has them all over the house. Gives you a fair start if you’re not expecting them.”

The master?
Prudence shrank back, drawing up the covers. Her mind raced for possible answers. Mrs. Tuppence had given her to someone. Had she agreed to go? She could only remember the night through an alcoholic veil. Had she really agreed to become some man’s mistress?

Or worse.

What if she were a prisoner? Perhaps the maid was here to guard her.

Prudence flung the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her head swam in protest. She subsided with a groan and a shiver. “Whose gown is this? Who undressed me?”

“It’s Miss Hatterly’s gown. This is her room when she’s in London. I helped you last night, miss. You weren’t in any shape to undress yourself.” Prudence relaxed. The strange place hardly seemed like a seraglio. “Can I fetch you something, miss? Tea? Something for breakfast?”

The thought of food made her stomach heave. “Tea would be lovely.”

“Right then.” The maid headed for the door. “I’ll be back in snap, miss, but if you think of anything else, there’s the pull.” She gestured at a silken cord hanging over the bed. With a little curtsey, the maid was gone.

After slipping on a dressing robe left helpfully draped on the foot of the bed, Prudence hurried to the door and peeked out. There were no guards and nothing suspicious, simply a hallway with a plush rug and an ornate mirror across the way. She gasped when she saw her reflection. The owner of the gown and robe must be very small indeed. Her legs stuck out several inches from the fabric. Her hands went to her wild snarl of hair. She had gone to bed with a head full of pins and the result made her look like that woman who turned men to stone.

“I’m Medusa in an ill-fitting gown.”

“My thoughts exactly.” A man was leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, looking exactly as he had the first time she had seen him.

“You!”

Here was her handsome charmer from Mrs. Tuppence’s house. He looked fresh and cheerful in a blue morning coat and buff trousers with his dark hair impeccably coiffed. His neckcloth was simple, but as elegant as the man himself. His features were even more attractive in the light of day and he was taller than she had realized the night before.

“I was beginning to worry you would sleep all day. Care for a bit of breakfast?” he asked with a mischievous grin.

She shuddered. “I sent the maid for tea.”

“I have a better idea.” He came to her rapidly. She recoiled in alarm and went to close the door, but he blocked her with his boot. “Relax, my dear. I don’t mean to molest you. If I had, I would hardly have stationed a maid to watch over you in the night, now would I?” He pressed past her and crossed to the wardrobe with the leering hawk on its top. “Frances keeps it in here. She thinks I don’t know.”

“Frances?”

“My sister. Here.” He took out a small flask, pouring a finger’s width of amber liquid into a glass. “Drink this.”

“I’ll wait for my tea.”

“This will help. A hair of the dog and all that. Trust me on this.”

She reluctantly allowed the door to close and took a healthy swig from the glass, choking as the liquid burned a trail down her throat. “Vile!”

“Port,” he corrected.

Prudence curled up in the chair where the maid had slept, tucking her shockingly bare ankles back under the seat. “I’ll wait for the tea if you don’t mind.”

“Not much of a drinker, are you?”

She shook her head, closing her eyes against the misery. “No,” she said faintly. “I’ve never done that before.”

“I don’t imagine you will again.”

She colored. “None of it.” She put her hands over her face. “What have I done?”

“That is the question, isn’t it? What
have
you done?”

“What haven’t I done lately?” She ticked her sins off on her fingers. “In the past twenty-four hours I have ruined myself beyond all recognition, added humiliation on top of it, and been tossed out of the house for the same by my Papa.” Pru cocked her head. “Have I forgotten anything? Oh, yes — I got foxed at a famous Cyprian’s, kissed a complete stranger and then apparently spent the night under his roof.”

“In his sister’s bed under the watchful eye of his maid,” he added helpfully.

“Society will hardly see my actions that way,” Pru said. “I don’t suppose it signifies now anyway. Ruined is ruined. I can hardly be more ruined now than I was when I arrived.”

There was a tentative knock at the door. The maid brought the tea and a warm buttered scone. “Your tea, miss.”

Her eyes went wide at the sight of the master in the room. Prudence blushed and drew the robe tighter, aware of how she must look to the maid.

“Thank you, Lizzy. Leave the tray on the table.” His gray eyes glinted with amusement. “Unless you feel the need for her to stay.”

“Hardly matters, does it? I thought we had established that.”

Lizzy bobbed another curtsey and held her tongue. Maybe it wasn’t so odd for her to cater to strange women with naked ankles in this household.

“Charles Hatterly,” he said.

“Who?” The first drink of tea was heaven, hot and strong. She didn’t add any sugar or cream. The bitter bite of the tea made her feel more human immediately.

“Charles Hatterly. It’s my name. I thought you might be curious.”

“I was about to find my way to that part.” Despite her previous judgment, the scone smelled rather good.

“Your turn.” Mr. Hatterly leaned back in his chair.

“I’m glad you find this so amusing.”

“Entertaining is the word,” he said. “Please don’t think I’m making light of your dilemma, but this is the most entertainment I’ve had since I’ve been in London. Well, in ages actually.”

The wretched man was enjoying her predicament.

We’ll just see about that.

“Prudence.” She sipped her tea primly.

“Excuse me?”

“You wanted my name. It’s Prudence.”

Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.

The corners of his mouth twitched. “Not really.”

She held his gaze evenly. “Yes, really.”

Don’t you dare laugh at me!

“Prudence?” His shoulders shook. He was working hard not to laugh at her. His mirth was contagious.

Her own mouth twitched. “Ironic, isn’t it?” He was going to make her laugh as well.

He grinned. “Tell me you don’t have sisters.”

A giggle started in her chest. “Two. Constance is the oldest.” The laughter bubbled up.

“Is she fickle?”

Pru choked on her tea. “Notoriously so.” She set the cup down to keep from spilling. “And then there’s Grace. She breaks things.”

He threw back his head and laughed. She joined him until they were both wiping tears. Upon surreptitious examination, Mr. Hatterly was impressively handsome and his clothes were fine. Why didn’t she know him?

“I suppose Papa tempted God with such absurd names for us and now we are his just desserts.”

“He certainly got his comeuppance with you. I can’t believe you found your way to a brothel.”

There was something not quite right about his speech, a peculiar flatness to the vowels. It was almost the voice of a gentleman. Almost wasn’t good enough in London. “You’re American!”

“Father was. I was born there. We didn’t come to England until I was ten. The family spent a lot of money on schools trying to beat the American out of me. What gave me away?”

“Your speech. I’m marveling that we’ve never met. You must not spend much time in London.”

“As little as possible,” he admitted. “I come to pacify my father and pretend I’m looking for a bride. I really tried this time. I meant to.” He frowned. “Still, I do put in my appearance during the Season, so it is surprising that we haven’t met. I would’ve remembered you.”

She hoped he meant that in a good way. “Papa was very particular about where I was allowed to go. He kept a tight rein.”

“But forgot to close the barn door.” Mr. Hatterly moved his chair around to sit right next to her. “Tell me what happened.”

Chapter Three

M
R
. H
ATTERLY
S
EEMED
G
ENUINELY
concerned. Now that Pru was fully sober, she hadn’t intended to open her budget to him.

There was something in the way he looked at her. Oh, he seemed amused at her predicament, but not maliciously so and he had removed her from the brothel before she’d come to harm.

She still hesitated. For some reason his opinion mattered. It shouldn’t. She was his entertainment. Hadn’t he already said so? He was also her rescuer and if he was less than Galahad — who certainly wouldn’t have mocked her name — she would indulge him.

Pru took a steadying breath and plunged in. “The story of my ruin is mortifying.”

“More so than last night?”

“In a way,” she admitted. “I don’t have the excuse of drink.”

“No need to stand on points. I’ve done a few bacon-brained things myself in the past.” His smile was encouraging. How unfair for him to be handsomely dressed when she was still clad in his sister’s cast off gown.

“Nothing like this, I’d wager.” She was acutely aware of her bare ankles and endeavored to tuck them further beneath the chair. “There was a man.”

“Isn’t there always? You mentioned that bit last night. Don’t hang your head so. You’re hardly the first girl to have been seduced.”

“But I wasn’t seduced!” she protested. Seeing his raised eyebrow, she sighed. “I didn’t do more than kiss him. The whole thing was rather innocent really.”

“You forget I’ve experienced one of your kisses. Innocent is not how I would describe it.”

She scowled. “Do you want to hear my tale of woe first or simply proceed to judgment?”

Hatterly leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs in front, the picture of a relaxed gentleman. “I’m sorry. Pray continue with the woe.”

She nibbled the scone which wasn’t warm anymore, but still buttery and good. “We were at a house party: Papa, Aunt Hetty and me. After dinner, Tommy — who will be playing the role of villain in this tale — asked me to meet him in the garden.” It had seemed like a magical night, filled with the scent of promises and roses. She had wanted to be caught, so convinced that he would marry her. “I was nervous about playing it sly, but Tommy promised that if we were discovered he would stand by me.”

“You were and he didn’t.”

“You want the short version of woe, I see. Very well. He didn’t. In fact, he ran back to London, the beast!” Faced with Papa and their host, Tommy had stammered that he would make things right, but the next day he’d fled the party. Once safely ensconced in the bosom of his family, he made it clear he had no intention of wedding her.

“That doesn’t sound so horrible. You aren’t the first miss compromised at a house party. Surely your father isn’t so unnatural as to put you out for that.”

Prudence bit her lip. “There’s more.”

“I rather thought there might be.”

“After the house party, Papa locked me in my room. For an entire week I was only allowed out to take my meals.”

“How very
Children of the Abbey
!” Mr. Hatterly exclaimed.

“Isn’t it? Papa said if there were another scandal, if I stepped past the boundaries of propriety again, he would put me out.” She held up a hand. “I know Papa. He meant it. But I slipped out and went to see Tommy, thinking I could make things right.” She was unable to meet Mr. Hatterly’s gaze. “Yes, going to him was an idiotic thing to do, but I had convinced myself Tommy’s family keeping us apart and if I could only talk to him…”

Her eyes burned. She blinked rapidly, not wanting to cry. She looked terrible enough without adding red swollen eyes to the portrait.

“I take it that his family wasn’t interfering.”

“Tommy never intended to offer for me.” She closed her eyes. “He did offer to make me his mistress.”

And had the gall to try and seduce me there in the carriage house, grabbing at my breasts and bottom until I battered him with my parasol
.

“Rotten lout. Pity you don’t have brothers to call him out.” The warmth of Mr. Hatterly’s hand was a welcome surprise as he laced his long fingers with hers. She opened her eyes. He wasn’t laughing at her. She gave him a tentative smile and curled her fingers around his.

“We were seen leaving the carriage house by his brothers and their friends.” She could still hear the laughter. “I was utterly humiliated.”

He gave her hand a little squeeze. “I still can’t believe your father would turn you out. A man has a responsibility to his children and not just when they please him. He could send you to live with relatives or find you a position as a companion somewhere. What sort of man just turns his daughter out to the streets?” Mr. Hatterly’s jaw was hard.

She couldn’t let him be too righteous on her behalf, lovely as the sensation was. “I knew the risks in disobeying Papa. He would have turned me out.”

“
Would have
? Did he actually put you out or did you simply leave?” The answer was etched on her face. “Good heavens! Your father has no idea where you are!”

“I spared him the trouble.”

“But surely he would never have you on the streets.”

“You have no idea what he is like. Papa is very firm.”

“You have me there,” Mr. Hatterly said. “I don’t know your father, Miss…?”

She had avoided the question long enough. “Wemberly. My name is Prudence Wemberly.”

“Wemberly?” Horror dawned in his eyes. “Your father is not — .”

“Sir Algernon Wemberly. Yes, that Sir Algernon, the magistrate. Now you see why he would not tolerate a daughter who shamed him.”

Sir Algernon was famous for his enforcement of righteousness, temperance, modesty — every virtuous attribute his daughter failed to possess. He didn’t flinch from sending men to their just rewards and would not hesitate to put aside a wayward child.

Her stomach lurched. Now that she’d revealed her true identity, Mr. Hatterly would recoil.

All men trembled at the mention of Sir Algernon.

Charles’ eyes narrowed. This story was entirely too familiar.

Oh, Gads
.
It couldn’t be.

“This scoundrel, Tommy. He wouldn’t be Lord Thomas Petworth by any chance?”

“However did you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

This scandal was the latest
on dit
: The famously moral Sir Algernon’s youngest daughter disgraced by the rackety Petworth brat. Charles had heard his cousins laughing at the ball about Petworth being caught in his carriage house with a girl, but he hadn’t heard a name mentioned.

Last night he had settled on the perfect solution for both their dilemmas, but this dose of information was like an icy splash in the face. She wasn’t just any ruined miss, this was a magistrate’s daughter and she had been ruined by the youngest Petworth.

He longed to bury his face in his hands.

Why did it have to be Sir Algernon? And why Petworth? Anything else would have been preferable.

“You know Petworth has already fought a duel over such behavior? The man has no scruples where innocents are concerned. You’re better off not leg-shackled to such a man.”

How on earth had Sir Algernon allowed that man to woo his daughter?
He
was the one who should be ashamed.

“That doesn’t help my reputation. I am finished in society. Worse still, my family will not take me back, not even as a companion for Aunt Hetty. I daresay last night did nothing to repair my future.”

Charles cleared his throat guiltily. “Probably not. I can’t imagine why you thought to find work as a courtesan.”

She massaged her temples. “Running away seemed sensible after the third glass of sherry.” Her shoulders hunched. “No, not sensible. It seemed like an adventure.”

Please don’t let her start crying.

He was a scientist, a gentleman of learning. He was logical. He was capable. He managed his father’s estate with ease and published several scholarly papers a year.

He was utterly helpless against a woman’s tears.

Charles suspected that his sister, Frances, knew this and wielded tears as an effective weapon in her arsenal. If Miss Wemberly cried, she would reduce him to mush and he’d be on his knees offering to call out Petworth.

Miss Wemberly bit her lip and crossed her arms as if to shield herself. She was much taller than Frances, judging from the shocking length of ankle showing from the robe.

Her hair was a fright, but it had been silken against his cheek when he carried her up to this room. She only sniffed once, but no tears.

With a sigh of relief, Charles shifted in his seat. The way she conducted herself was really almost admirable. Most of the women of his experience would be in hysterics given the events Miss Wemberly had endured and yet she remained dry eyed. This was no fragile flower begging for mercy, but a determined young woman who sought what she wanted.

On the eve of being utterly disgraced she had attempted — somewhat clumsily — to make her way in the world. The more he thought about it, the more noble, the more dashing she seemed. A woman like this could face down his wild brothers and even wilder sister.

“I think we can help one another, Miss Wemberly. I’ve a proposition for you. Hear me out before you respond.” He cleared his throat. “I’m offering to make legitimate what you offered for free last night. You’re in need of protection.”

Her mouth fell open. “You’re offering to make me your mistress?”

“Of course not! What do you take me for? That isn’t the sort of protection I had in mind. I said to let me finish.” He tapped his thighs with flat palms. This was difficult, far harder than he’d thought it would be. “I have a younger sister, Frances. She must make her debut into society next year. She’s my only sister and, to speak plainly, Frances has spent too much time in the country with a flock of wild brothers. Without the civilizing influence of a mother, Frances has no idea how to behave. Need I remind you that was
her
port hidden in the dresser? She’ll never make a match with her hoyden ways. You clearly know fashion and how to behave. And
not
behave as the case may be.”

“You want to hire me as a companion for your sister?”

“No, you silly goose! I want to marry you! Will you let me finish?”

“Marry me?” She gaped at him, her lovely dark eyes wide with shock.

Was marriage to him such a dreadful idea? She needn’t look so horrified considering she’d tried to find work as a courtesan the night before. Marriage was a logical solution. He’d thought through all possible permutations.

“You’re ruined and need a husband.”

“My, but you have a knack for sweet words.”

“I’m in need of a wife. Father is after me constantly to marry and provide a good example for my younger siblings, especially Frances.”

“And you think marrying a drunken, ruined stranger would accomplish this?”

“You aren’t foxed now.”

“Did you conceive of this folly last night?”

“I did.” He’d lain awake tossing this around in his mind but the imagined conversation hadn’t gone anything like this. He hadn’t imagined a refusal. “I felt sorry for you and — ”

“A proposal from pity. What woman would not be grateful?”

“Look, I’m making a hash of this and you aren’t helping,” he said crossly. “My father has tossed the gauntlet down before me. He insists that I marry in the next year or he’ll choose a wife for me. I have my own life and no interest in changing it. I need a wife willing to stay out of my way. I have a home and I’m in possession of sufficient funds for you to entertain yourself. More than sufficient funds.”

“I shall be an outcast from society.”

“The only society I care about is the Zoological Society of London. I’m here to present a paper. Marriage will give me an excuse to remain on my estate except for business. I won’t have to keep up the marriage farce.”