The Perfect Rake (12 page)

T
HE CARRIAGE ROLLED AWAY FROM THE DUKE’S RESIDENCE.

“Now, missy, I’ll want an explanation for this extraordinary—”

Prudence rolled her eyes silently in the direction of Lily, sitting tense and upright on the leather seat beside her, a wooden expression on her face.

But Great-uncle Oswald was made of sterner stuff. To men of his upbringing and generation, servants did not count. “Well?”

“I shall explain all when we get home, dear Great-uncle Oswald,” Prudence murmured. “Only I am still feeling a little…” Her voice died away, and she lifted the vinaigrette to her nose, a silent reminder of her recent episode of feminine delicacy.

“Hmph!” Great-uncle Oswald subsided.

Prudence closed her eyes, snatching at the brief reprieve. She needed to come up with a way out of this mess, fast. Her small, simple plan had spiraled quite out of control.

Besides, her indisposition was not completely feigned. At the moment she could barely think straight. Her whole body was still trembling. With righteous indignation, she told herself. Of course she was upset. Who wouldn’t be, mauled in such a…a…lascivious manner by a perfect stranger…a perfect rake.

Although
perfect
was the wrong word. He was by no means perfect at all!

Her legs were still trembling. And her hands. Even her insides seemed to be quivering.

Not surprising, she told herself firmly. She’d had to use her reticule to defend her honor. Any gently born lady would be unsettled after such an experience.

She didn’t feel unsettled. She felt…invigorated. Excited. A deliciously sensual shudder passed through her.

Great-uncle Oswald spoke suddenly. “Got the shivers, too, eh? No doubt you are sickening for something—”

Her eyes snapped open, and she felt herself blushing.

“It’s not every day a gel gets herself into a mess like this one, missy, so I’m not surprised if you’re havin’ palpitations.” Great-uncle Oswald leaned forward in the carriage and observed her closely. “A slight hectic touch about the cheeks, too, I see. I have no doubt it’s all worsened by that dratted ham you will eat at breakfast. Red meat at any time of the day is not good for young gels. Inflames the passions. I expect you need a purge.”

Declining to comment, Prudence rested her head on the leather squabs and closed her eyes. It wasn’t a slice of ham that had inflamed her passions, it was—

No. She would not think about Lord Carradice. It was her indignation that had become inflamed, not her passions! She would put him very firmly out of her mind. Besides, she had to find a solution to this mess she’d created; her sisters’ future depended on it.

But as soon as she closed her eyes, she could think of nothing but the way his eyes had seemed to darken as his mouth came down over hers…

On arrival home, Great-uncle Oswald, declaring she looked distinctly feverish, had sent her instantly upstairs to lie down and recover herself. A few minutes later, he brought up a nasty-smelling herbal draft, a purge that he declared infallible, and ordered Prudence to drink every drop. Having no choice, Prudence obediently drained the cup and lay on her bed to ponder her problems.

They whirled around in her brain; she could see no way out. There had to be some way she could support her sisters. She turned the problem over and over in her mind. She could gain employment as a housekeeper, or a governess perhaps…but even if she could earn enough, which was doubtful, she would hardly keep a job with four younger sisters in tow.

Try as she might, the unpalatable truth stayed the same: one of her sisters had to marry. Somehow, she
had
to get Great-uncle Oswald to break his decree.

Eventually she did what she had done every time she had failed to come up with an adequate solution; she began another letter to Phillip. His long silence could contain a message. On the other hand it was also true that letters from India had been lost or delayed, some by years. Deliberate silence or accidental delay? She had to know—one way or another—where she stood, and all she could do was write and ask.

She finished her letter just as her maid scratched at the door and peeped in. Seeing Prudence was up and clearly recovered, she bobbed a curtsy and said, “Please, miss, Sir Oswald says if you’re recovered, he would be obliged if you was to present yerself in the yellow saloon at four o’clock.”

Prudence felt her heart sink. “Thank you, Lily. Please inform Sir Oswald that I shall attend him.”

Lily turned to leave, but Prudence stopped her. “Lily, you didn’t get into trouble, did you? For accompanying me, I mean? You must tell me if you did, so that I can make amends for it.”

“Oh, no, miss. Sir Oswald was a little snappish about it, to be sure, but he knows as how I was only following your orders.”

“So you didn’t get into trouble?”

“No, miss. Old Niblett gave me a bit of a jaw-me-dead about it, but I don’t care for that.”

“The butler? Oh, dear. I will speak to him. I am truly sorry to have involved you in my troubles, Lily.”

“Oh, no, miss, don’t you fret none about old Niblett.” Lily grinned and smoothed her apron demurely. “He was just jealous ’cause he’s never been inside a real duke’s house and I have, coarse and ignorant country hoyden that I am!
And
I spoke to the duke—face-to-face!
And
his handsome cousin the lord called me
a frail little creature
, what’s more! So old Niblett is jealous, fit to bust!” She winked at her mistress and bounced out of the room.

At precisely four o’clock Prudence stood outside the yellow saloon, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

She hurried into an explanation as soon as she entered. “I am so sorry, Great-uncle Oswald. I hope you’re not too upset. It was all my fault, I know. I have been thinking and thinking about how I could have made such a foolish error, and I have come to the unwelcome conclusion that Lord Carradice probably paid me a few graceful compliments, and I must have refined too much upon it—building castles in the air, you know. We girls tend to be very romantical at that age.”

Great-uncle Oswald’s face softened. “Yes, and I don’t doubt that you were unused to receivin’ compliments. No wonder the wastrel was able to turn your head so easily.”

Swallowing her pride, Prudence nodded. “In any case, I have not seen him for more than four years, so there is no need to worry.”

“Are you sure, missy?”

“Oh yes, I promise you. This morning was the first time.” That was the truth, at any rate.

“Well, I don’t pretend to like it. And I cannot understand why the fellow told you he was the Duke of Dinstab—”

“I think that was my fault too,” Prudence jumped in. “It was my initial mistake, and he simply never corrected me.”

“But to let you go on addressin’ him incorrectly for four and a half years.” He shook his head.

Prudence felt herself coloring. The kindness in his tone was harder to bear than any amount of shouting.

“No need to flush up, my dear,” said the old man gruffly. “I expect it was all love nonsense and not about names and titles at all. Am I right?”

Bright red, Prudence shrugged.

“Thought so. Dashed loose manners the young reprobate has! Now, before I let it go, I’ll ask you once more—it occurs to me you might not have wanted to admit such a thing with your sisters present—did the rascally knave touch you in any improper manner? You know what I mean, missy?”

Missy thought of the way the rascally knave’s mouth had almost devoured hers. She thought of a long-fingered hand cupping her breast and stroking it in a way that made a shiver pass straight through her, leaving her toes curling at the mere memory. Yes, she knew all too well what he meant. Prudence, knowing she had turned scarlet, hung her head, and said in a low voice, “No, Great-uncle Oswald, Lord Carradice never touched me in an improper manner.”

“Hmph! Didn’t suppose so. A rake like Carradice wouldn’t waste his time dallyin’ with a plain and virtuous gel,” Great-uncle Oswald said gloomily. “Pity.”

Prudence stared at him in shock.
Pity?

Great-uncle Oswald saw her look. “Full o’ juice, Carradice.”

Prudence still didn’t understand.

“Not that I approve of such goin’s on, for I don’t, but all the same, if there had been hanky-panky, it wouldn’t have been a bad match for you,” Great-uncle Oswald explained. “Settled you right and tight.”

“But would Lord Carradice wish to be settled right and tight?” Prudence said with an edge to her voice. “I cannot imagine it—not if he has such a famous reputation as a rake.”

“Ah, well, as to that, marriage gives a rake respectability.”

Prudence couldn’t think how, for it seemed to her that if a man had been trapped into marriage he would have no incentive at all to change his dissolute habits. It seemed likely to her that in such a case a rake would most likely continue in his rakish ways. And she pitied the woman married to that rake, for she would probably be miserable.

Probably.

There might be some compensations, she thought wistfully, recalling the exquisite sensations she had experienced on Cleopatra’s barge.

“But since he didn’t attempt any hanky-panky, we won’t force the rascal’s hand.”

Prudence sat up. “I would
never
allow anyone to
force
a man to wed me, hanky-panky or not. The very thought is utterly repugnant. It would be completely humiliating.”

“Hmph! You can’t call a splendid match like that humiliatin’, my gel. Don’t matter how it came about, a good match is a good match, and I don’t deny Carradice is a better match than even I’d hoped for—for you.”

“I think it would be a perfectly frightful thing,” Prudence declared hotly. “Married off to a man who cares not a button for you, merely in order to prevent a little scandal!”

“You’ve led a sheltered life,” Great-uncle Oswald said simply. “You don’t understand these things.” He sighed. “It don’t matter, anyway—question is entirely academic, since he never laid a finger on you, nor promised anything in a letter. I suppose we have to be grateful that he didn’t come across your lovely sisters in Norfolk.” He snorted. “Though I suppose they were mere children at the time. Deuced good thing, too. Couldn’t see a blasted libertine holdin’ back with one of those little beauties in his arms. Lucky it was you, eh, Prue?”

Prue just looked at him. Not even to get out of this mess would she admit to being grateful for being too plain for even a rake to seduce.

“What am I saying?” Great-uncle Oswald said apologetically. “I don’t mean it was lucky at all. He bruised your tender heart, didn’t he? Not used to admiration from any man, let alone a London rake. Like putty in his hands, weren’t you, poor little lass?” He reached out and patted her knee clumsily. “A few stray compliments and you took him at his worthless word. Turned your little head, didn’t he, Prue?”

Prudence gritted her teeth, mortified. The fact that the picture was false didn’t make it any better. She might not have had her head turned by Lord Carradice as a girl of sixteen, but this morning, at the advanced age of almost one and twenty, she’d acted no better than her gullible maid, and allowed a libertine to—to take liberties with her person. Worse; she’d flowered under his touch.

It was pathetic when she thought about it.

She
was
unused to compliments from men. Grandpapa was virulently uncomplimentary, and Phillip was the practical sort, not given to flowery speeches. Great-uncle Oswald freely gave her compliments about her noble soul, but since they were interspersed with comments about her plainness, they failed to turn her head.

She probably was susceptible to a cozening rogue. She
had
been putty in his hands, the softest, most pathetically eager putty, right up until the last few moments, she realized bitterly.

At least plain Prudence Merridew had summoned enough self-respect to reject the irresistible Lord Carradice in the end.

Prudence sighed as her customary honesty reasserted itself. It was not self-respect that had made her reject him. It was neither respectability nor virtue. It was simply the fear of discovery that had put a particle of common sense back into her foolish, dazzled brain. Had there been no danger of discovery, she would probably have allowed him anything. And reveled in every minute of it.

…slaves to their base animal instincts…

It must have been instinct, she told herself, recalling the way her body had molded itself to his without any consciousness on her part. The sensations she had experienced in his arms, delicious as they were, certainly had nothing to do with reason or logic or any of the other principles so important to enlightened humankind.

“Never mind, Prue.” Great-uncle Oswald patted her knee again. “We all make fools of ourselves at some time.” He peered at her in a gruff, kindly way.

Prudence felt tears pricking behind her eyelids. He looked so much like Grandpapa, but there was no comparison. Beneath the noise and bluster and foppish appearance, Great-uncle Oswald was a dear. She had spent all her life braced against hostility and harshness. She had no defense against kindness.

“The duke seemed a decent-enough fellow, don’t you think?” Great-uncle Oswald asked with a touch of anxiety. “I’ll have to be polite to him, my dear. I don’t mind cuttin’ a rake like Carradice if I have to, but I don’t think I could cut a duke, Prue.”

Prudence nodded vaguely. She had no interest in dukes. She had been momentarily dazzled by a rake with as much morality as a cat and a smile that ought not to be legal. But she knew the dangers now. She felt a sudden twinge in her stomach; Great-uncle Oswald’s herbal purge making its presence felt. She grimaced and rose hurriedly, wishing there was an equally effective herbal remedy against rakes. But she had an uneasy suspicion Lord Carradice would not submit to a purge the way her breakfast undoubtedly had.

As she stood, the butler, Niblett, threw open the door. “The Duke of Dinstable,” he announced in a sonorous voice.

Prudence glanced at Great-uncle Oswald in horror. Why would the duke come calling so soon? What would he say? Would he demand an explanation? What would she say? And would he be accompanied by his cousin? She held her breath and stared at the door.