The Perfect Rake (26 page)

Lord Carradice jumped nimbly down, secured his horses, and held up a hand to Prudence. She took a deep breath and laid hers in his outstretched hand, but to her surprise, he shook his head, kissed her hand lightly, and returned it to her lap.

“T’will be better if I see Sitch alone,” he said. “Just hand me the box and I’ll see to it.”

“You need not spare me—” she began.

“No, it isn’t that. Sitch is a canny devil. If he sees there is a lady involved at this hour of the evening, he will surmise that the situation is urgent and use the knowledge to drive the price down. However, if I stroll in, apparently on my way to a gaming hell and needing to convert a few assets into cash, well, he is used to such scenarios from clients.” Lord Carradice held out his hand for the box.

Prudence bit her lip. She opened the lid for the last time, took out the pile of handkerchiefs and fiddled with a hidden catch. “There is a false base,” she explained.

Despite the dark, she could almost see Lord Carradice’s brows rise.

“It was necessary,” she said defensively. “Grandpapa searched our belongings. He took Mama’s diamonds when I was eleven, said Mama was wicked and evil and her baubles an abomination of Jezebel.” She glanced at him briefly, fiddling in the dark with a hidden catch. “Only she wasn’t! She was good and kind and beautiful, and he was the evil one!”

She took a deep breath and continued. “I made a stocking purse and hid it under my skirts, with the rest of Mama’s precious things in it. They belong to my sisters and me, not him! But it was too difficult to carry them all the time—they are quite heavy, you know—so I got the stableboy to make a false bottom for this shabby old box.”

She darted him a faintly mischievous look. “I kept it open, in full sight on my dressing table, holding handkerchiefs, and Grandpapa never suspected a thing, though he was certain there must be more jewels hidden away—Mama’s papa was wealthy, though not well born. And Mama took her jewels when she and Papa ran away.”

“Aha, a runaway match.”

“A
love
match,” she corrected him. “A very great love match. Mama’s papa didn’t want her marrying into the dissolute aristocracy, and Grandpapa didn’t want his son to marry a cit. So they ran away to Italy.”

The catch finally shifted, and Prudence removed the false base of the box. She dipped her fingers into the small trove of family treasure. She knew each piece by heart. Here was the sapphire necklace and earrings…such an intense, vivid blue—the exact color of Mama’s and Charity’s eyes. She’d always imagined Charity wearing them for her wedding, as Mama had at hers…

And here was the heavy, smooth coolness of the pearl choker that Mama loved so much. She closed her eyes a moment and remembered Papa fastening it around Mama’s long and elegant neck, for the clasp was always stiff and difficult. It was always an event of laughter and teasing, but each time, Papa would kiss Mama on the nape after he had fastened it…a slow and lingering caress…and the laughter would fade, and an odd, exciting tension would fill the room.

Prudence had not understood it as a child, but now suddenly, years later, sitting in a phaeton in a dark London street, she realized what the tension was that had hummed so tangibly between her parents…

Desire.

She glanced at Lord Carradice standing silently watching her and as their eyes caught, a sudden silence hummed between them.

The moment stretched. His hand reached toward her and she wanted more than anything to take it. Even as her hand lifted to reach out to him, one of the grays snorted and stamped restively and the carriage jerked. Prudence grabbed the side to steady herself, and Lord Carradice went to the horse’s head to assist his groom.

“It were a rat, me lord, a big ’un,” she heard Boyle say. “Ran right under ’is hooves, it did.”

Prudence shivered. She watched Lord Carradice murmuring soothing sounds to his horse, calming it with his hands while his groom calmed the other one.

The moment was gone. Prudence knew she needed to ensure it never returned. She took one last, long look at the contents of the box, blinking away the tears that stung her eyelids. Prudence and her sisters were her mother’s true legacy. What were cold jewels and metal compared with the happiness of Mama’s daughters? And memories—her memories were in her head, not this dear, shabby old box…

“There is nothing you want to keep?”

Her fingers lingered on the locket. It was broken, though the catch could be mended, no doubt. It was quite large and made of gold, so it would fetch a neat sum, but to her, the most precious part of it was inside. She opened it. One last look at the faces painted inside, a silent renewal of her promise to Mama as she died, that she would take care of her sisters.

“No, there is nothing,” she tried to say, but the words choked in her throat. She shook her head and, with shaking fingers, closed the locket and made to replace it in the box. They were not good likenesses anyway, she told herself.

His hand stopped her, closed around her fingers, enclosing the locket. “Keep it.” His voice was oddly harsh. “If you need to sell it later, you can, but for now, keep it.”

Her fingers tightened thankfully about the old gold trinket. She shut the lid of the box carefully and handed it to him. “Make sure you get a good price,” she whispered.

Be damned to a good price, Gideon thought. Did she think he was the sort of man who would haggle over the price of a woman’s bits and pieces? He almost snatched the box from her, so uncertain was his temper. It was unbearable to see her so vulnerable yet so determined not to accept his help.

He yanked on the doorbell, sending it jangling noisily in the nether reaches of the house. After a few moments, an upstairs window opened. Old Sitch peered out, a nightcap on his head.

“Who is it?” he quavered.

“Carradice,” Gideon barked.

Grumbling under his breath, the old man disappeared and a few minutes later he unbolted the door. “’Tis an unusual hour for you to come calling on me, me lord! No trouble, I hope.”

Gideon thrust the box into the man’s hand. “Have these cleaned, reset, and restrung—whatever is needed to bring them up to scratch again.”

“Cleaned and reset?” Old Sitch stared at the collection of jewels, then scratched his head, bemused. “You came at this hour to ask me to clean some jewels.”

“And reset any that need it, yes,” Gideon said brusquely. “I am leaving town this night, immediately, and need the job done by the time I return.”

“You’re never fleeing the country, me lord?”

“Fleeing the country? Good God, no!” Gideon stared, then realized he needed some sort of rational explanation. “I—er, was called away urgently, but recalled I’d promised to get these fixed. No time to delay, you know. They’ll be needed pretty urgently when I return.”

“Very good, me lord. I’ll have them sparkling and perfect again for the little lady.” Sitch shuffled to the door and opened it.

“There is no little lady!” Gideon said meaningfully.

Sitch peered out into the street. Prudence sat bolt upright in the phaeton, looking anxious, fretful, and to Gideon’s eye, wholly adorable.

“Quite right, me lord. Trick of the light. I never saw no little lady.”

“Good man.” Gideon took his leave. Prudence looked so relieved to see him, it took all his self-restraint not to snatch her into his arms and kiss the jitters out of her. Instead, he climbed aboard the phaeton, concentrating on sang froid.

“Here you are,” he said in a terse voice. “I hope it is sufficient for your needs.” He pulled a thick roll of notes from the pocket of his greatcoat and handed it to her.

The thickness of the roll made Prudence’s eyes widen. “London prices must be much higher than elsewhere. You’ve done better than I expected. Thank you.”

He shrugged, a trifle embarrassed by her misplaced gratitude. “Sitch has done business with me for years. I knew he would not let us down. Now, we’d best make speed to catch up with Edward and your sisters.” He lifted the reins. “Are you going to hold that money in your hand all the way, or do you have somewhere to put it?”

She started. “Oh, yes. Of course.” She carefully peeled off half a dozen notes and placed them in the Egyptian reticule. Gideon waited with interest to see what she would do with the rest. “Turn your back, please,” she said briskly, looking a little self-conscious.

Gideon quizzed her with a look, then shrugged. “Boyle, turn your back,” he called to his groom, then he also turned his back, or as much of it as the seat of the phaeton would allow. There was not a lot of room for maneuvering. A shame he was bred a gentleman; he was dying to know where she planned to hide the rest of the money. He felt her wriggling beside him. A sharp little elbow nudged him high on the shoulder. “Sorry,” she gasped. “Stay where you are. I’m not finished yet.”

From the angle of that elbow, her bodice was the fuller by several hundred pounds, he surmised. He chuckled to himself. He couldn’t imagine how she thought her bosom would hide that much money; her curves might be delightful but they were not so full as to be able to disguise a thick wad of banknotes.

“Not yet!” she hissed.

He heard the slither of fabric and a surge of velvet cloak and muslin gown frothed across his lap. Gideon grinned. Unless he missed his guess, Miss ImPrudence Merridew had just exposed her legs to a London street—a silent and empty street, to be sure, but a public thoroughfare just the same. He grinned.

“Cooling your limbs, Miss Imp?” he murmured.

A gasp and a flurry of fabric being hastily tugged down was his reward. “I asked you not to look! If you were a gentleman—”

“Rest easy, Miss Imp. I didn’t cheat.”

“Then how did—”

“I turned my back as you asked, but I’m not deaf, and when this falls across my knees—” He gestured to the folds of her dress and cloak. “I put two and two together.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, it is true, I did pull my skirt up a little. But there is nobody here to see, and I keep my stocking purse under my petticoat, for safety.”

“Very sensible. Now, may I turn around so we can resume our journey?”

She made a small sound, which he took for assent, so he turned back to face the front again. He whistled to his groom, and as the horses moved on, Gideon glanced at her and smiled. “So, how much is your bodice worth? I’m guessing”—he glanced again—“fifty pounds.”

Prudence blinked, then clapped her hand to her bodice with a small shriek. “You
did
watch, you…you rogue!” She thumped him on the shoulder furiously, and he laughed, denying it.

“Not at all! You must acquit me of everything except excellence in surmise. You bumped me with your elbow, and it was in such a position that I worked out the rest.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Perhaps, but how could you possibly know there was fifty pounds in my bodice?”

He gave her a slow, knowing look, as if to say,
Work it out, my dear.

She blinked. He must have…to have noticed a change in the size of her bodice, he must have
looked
at her!
Intimately!
Prudence blushed. He was indeed no gentleman!

“Exactly.” He seemed to have read her thoughts. “Any change in your bodice, and I would notice.”

“That—that’s…You are quite outrageous!”

“I know.” His tone was apologetic, but Prudence wasn’t fooled for a minute. “I’ve told you before of the trouble I have with my eyes,” he continued. “The poor things are anxious, you see—too anxious for their own good.”

She was silent for a minute, frowning while she debated whether to maintain an aloof dignity or satisfy her curiosity. It was fully three blocks at a smart pace before curiosity won.

“What do you mean, anxious? Your eyes don’t look anxious to me at all! As far as I can see, they are bold and perfectly wicked!”

He edged the grays to a walk while they negotiated a jumble of handcarts and barrows, nearing a market. “Ah, but that is their tragedy. All that bold wickedness is just a brave front, you see. Underneath, they are sadly anxious. Particularly about your bodice.” He paused a moment, then added, “I mean, what if something should fall out? It’s very worrying, I can tell you!”

She gasped. Casting him a darkling look, she drew her cloak together and beneath its shelter, folded her arms across her bosom. “You are quite incorrigible!”

But Gideon could see the dimple lurking in the corner of her mouth, even as she glared down her masterful little nose at him.

“I should turn it off without a character, if I were you,” he said in a conversational tone. “It betrays you every time.”

There was a long pause as she turned the comment over in her mind. “Turn what off without a character? What are you talking about? I don’t think I could ever turn anyone off without a character reference.”

“You really should, you know; it betrays you time and time again.”

She turned to him, puzzled and not a little suspicious. “What does?”

“That dimple.”

She flounced her shoulder away from him and observed the road in silence for the next moment or two.

“See, there it goes again,” he said softly. “Every time you try to be cross and schoolmistressy and put me in my place, out it pops, betraying you!”

The dimple disappeared for a moment, then returned as she struggled for propriety.

“I find it adorable,” he murmured and put an arm around her to steady her as they turned a corner at a smart trot. Muffled in the voluminous folds of her cloak, she was unable to fend him off as he could see she would prefer to do.

“I would hate you to fall off,” he murmured and tightened his hold. “So undignified, not to mention dangerous.”

She made a halfhearted effort to wriggle away from him, then sighed and allowed herself to be held firmly against his side. A stern look gave him to understand she would tolerate no further encroachment, but after a few moments of stiff resistance, the warm curves of her body relaxed into him, swaying with the movement of the carriage in perfect synchronization with his.

Gideon smiled to himself. It was the closest he’d got to her in ages.

They turned onto the turnpike road, and Gideon set the grays to at a steady clip, driving one-handed, unable to bring himself to release her. She would be cross with him again when she discovered he hadn’t sold a thing. But he was damned if he’d let her sell her precious bits and pieces only for some nonsensical notion of propriety.