The Perfect Rake (27 page)

He’d had every intention of selling them for her, hadn’t thought twice about it initially. What were jewels, after all, but hard pieces of metal and glittering stone; a decorative form of business transaction. Men and women traded jewels all the time in his experience; a diamond necklace for favors granted, sapphire ear bobs for an apology, an emerald bracelet as a silent farewell. Oh, women had always spouted stuff about symbols of love, but he’d always thought it a lot of nonsense, a polite lie to disguise basic avarice.

Until now.

He recalled the soft look in her eyes as she’d gazed into the box, the tender wistfulness with which she’d handled each piece, as if saying a silent farewell to it. The women he knew would have been most reluctant to give up the diamond and sapphire sets—they were clearly the most decorative and valuable pieces. Yet the piece Prudence had handed over with most reluctance had been a scratched and worn old locket with two amateurish portraits inside.

There had been tears in her eyes as she’d handed them over, he was sure of it, even in the dark. Something about the husky tone of her voice and the way she wouldn’t look at him directly.

Tears. Over a scratched old locket with two bad portraits.

He hadn’t been able to get a clear look at both pictures, but one of them was of a man’s face. Her parents? Or was the man in the locket Otterbury? If she hadn’t been battling to hide her tears he might have asked her about it. But now was not the moment.

The lights of London soon dropped away behind them. They passed through several sleepy villages at a fast clip, the only light that of the moon and the carriage lanterns. The sound of the horses’ hooves rang in the night, disturbing a few dogs here and there, leaving them barking in the distance. To Prudence, it felt like they were the only people awake in the world.

She had done little traveling as an adult and found the pace of his lordship’s phaeton a little alarming, to tell the truth, particularly on the turnpike road. It was very disconcerting to be driving pell-mell into the night, not knowing quite where they were headed, so she was very grateful for the occasional light of the moon when it came out from behind the clouds.

The moon! Recently risen, the heavy, creamy globe shone from behind directly along the road they were traveling.

“Lord Carradice, we are driving away from the moon!” Prudence exclaimed.

“So we are.”

She tugged at his sleeve. “But the moon rises in the
east!
”

“So it does, and very romantic it is, too, don’t you think?”

“But Derbyshire is to the
north
.”

“Correct again, Miss Merridew,” Lord Carradice congratulated her. “I can see you’re a whiz at geography. Shall we play at geographical question-and-answer to while away the miles, then? I do so enjoy discussing geography, don’t you?” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and continued in a chatty tone, “Did you know that there is a place called Goatfell in Scotland, for instance? One can only surmise that a noble goat gave its life for—”

Prudence snatched her hand back and said in exasperation, “But you told Niblett we were going to your seat in Derbyshire. So why are we traveling west instead of north?”

“Because if we want any supper, we must hurry along. Are you hungry? I must say I am—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! What are you talking about?”

“You mean you’re not hungry?”

“Yes, of course I am, but—”

“Well then, we’d better make haste. It doesn’t do to keep a lady hungry.”

He urged the horses to even greater speed, and Prudence was forced to grip his sleeve again, this time for security. It really was a frightful pace, but she managed to say in a firm enough voice, “Lord Carradice, I insist you explain why we are traveling west!”

He turned his head, and his smile glinted wickedly in the moonlight. “My cousin has sent a man ahead to bespeak rooms and a late supper for us all at The Blue Pelican in Maidenhead. Granted, it is not very far out of London, but you cannot wish to travel through the night like the mail does.”

Prudence relaxed a little, relieved to hear that her sisters and the duke were also apparently heading for Maidenhead, though the choice of destination seemed a bizarre one. “Whether or not we travel through the night is immaterial to me, as long as my sisters are safe, but that is not the point! Why Maidenhead? It is nowhere near Derbyshire.”

“Neither it is,” agreed Lord Carradice, apparently much struck by the notion.

“But you told Niblett we were going to Derbyshire! And you paid him handsomely not to tell!”

“I did say you could trust my judgment of his character, but, no! You wouldn’t heed me.” He attempted to look downcast by her lack of faith in him, but a tiny curl of his lips gave him away.

Prudence’s jaw dropped. “You mean you bribed Niblett not to tell…but told him a lie, knowing he could not be trusted, anyway?”

Lord Carradice looked affronted. “Of course I trusted him—trusted him to pass on the information instantly.”

“How did you know he would not honor the bribe?”

Lord Carradice tapped the side of his nose and looked wise. Prudence wasn’t fooled. “You have tried to bribe him before!”

“You have a very suspicious mind, Miss Imp.” Lord Carradice looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Prudence nodded, satisfied. “I thought so. It is very wrong to bribe servants, you know, but in this case you did the right thing. Let us hope Niblett will not suddenly turn over a new leaf. It would be most unfortunate if he decided not to tell.”

“No chance of that,” murmured Lord Carradice, adjusting the reins in his grip. “I only gave him five guineas.”

“Five guineas?” Prudence exclaimed in horror. “But that is far too much!” She knew exactly how much five guineas would buy, and it seemed foolishly improvident to squander it on bribing a devious and untrustworthy butler.

“Nonsense. It is sufficient to make him realize the information was worth something, but believe me Miss Imp, Niblett holds himself a great deal more expensive than five guineas. He will be insulted by the paltry nature of the sum and will hasten to inform your grandfather of our supposed destination. And thus, if your grandfather pursues us, he will head directly for my seat in Derbyshire, and my people there will have received the message to send him on to Scotland. Alternatively, he may decide it is too far and give up.”

Prudence shivered. “He will pursue us,” she said in a low voice. “There is no doubt of that.”

Lord Carradice frowned at her sober certainty and laid one hand over hers. “He may pursue you,” he assured her firmly, “but he shall not find you.”

She gave him a look of the bleakest misgiving. “In my experience, Grandpapa does not give up easily. And he is very good at intimidating others. Your people might be too in awe of him to deceive him.”

“I doubt that,” he began, and then, seeing she could not be convinced of that, added, “and if by some mischance he does find you, he shall not lay so much as a finger on you, that I promise you. You are safe with me, my Imp, and so are your sisters.”

His voice was deep and sure and steady, and Prudence was comforted, despite herself. She ought to have removed her hands from his grasp, but she could not bring herself to do so; it seemed as if strength and calmness flowed into her from him. She had an overwhelming impulse to lay her cheek against his shoulder, as if she could, just for a while, lay all her burdens on that broad, strong resting place.

But she couldn’t. It was just a momentary weakness on her part. He thought his assistance, his gallantry, and his wonderful generosity in helping her would make a difference—and it did, but only to her feelings. He thought it was only a matter of time before she broke her vow to Phillip. But then, Lord Carradice was used to ladies who thought nothing of breaking vows, even marriage vows.

To Prudence, such vows were sacred.

And even if her feelings had changed, even if what she once felt for Phillip was a pale shadow of what she feared she now felt for Lord Carradice, she could not betray Phillip’s years of loyalty. She and Phillip were joined, even if not in the eyes of society and the law; a ring had been given and accepted, and promises made in the churchyard, under the eyes of God.

And the bond had been sealed by blood.

If she was ever to come to Lord Carradice—and deep in her heart she acknowledged that she wanted to—she would come to him free and clear and wholeheartedly, not as an oath-breaker. Love was too precious to be tainted.

She buried her hands in the folds of her cloak. She had managed on her own before; she would manage again. Even if Grandpapa did find them, and used the law to get Prudence and her sisters once more under his control, she was determined to defy him. She would turn one and twenty soon.

And if Charity and the duke wed—as she hoped they would—perhaps the duke would help her to force Grandpapa to sign over the money. Lord Carradice might try, but a duke, especially if he were a relation by law, would have more power.
If
the duke and Charity married.

In the meantime, Prudence could protect her sisters, surely.

Assuming Grandpapa was not so enraged he beat her insensible again…

She swallowed. She must not dwell on her fears. Fears sapped your strength. If she stayed strong, Grandpapa could not get the better of her. That other time, she had been ill, feeling lost and abandoned, and he’d caught her at her most vulnerable. She would not allow that again.

Chapter Thirteen

“The curfew tolls the knell of parting day…
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.”

T
HOMAS
G
RAY

T
HEY CHANGED HORSES AT
B
RENTFORD AND THE PACE WAS NOT
quite so fast or so smooth, the horses being not so well matched nor as smooth-gaited as Lord Carradice’s. A few miles farther on, the land opened up before them, an endless, bleak expanse of silver and shadows lying silent and cool under the moon.

“Hounslow Heath,” said Lord Carradice, apparently responding to the tightening of her hand on his arm. She had found it easier to ride thus, holding on to his arm—purely for security, of course. The light carriage was very well sprung, but it did tend to bounce around a little on uneven patches of the road.

“It has an infamous reputation, has it not?” she asked.

“Yes, for highway robbery, but you need not be anxious, Miss Imp. It has more or less ceased to be a problem these days. Since Bow Street formed their Horse Patrol a great many offenders have been caught or driven to make a living in some other way. The rule of the gentlemen of the high toby is a thing of the past. Besides, dusk is the most dangerous time, and we are well past that.”

“I am not unused to banditry,” she said. “In Italy when I was a child, we encountered them many times. In some parts of the country, where poverty has been a fact of life for generations, banditry is a way of life for whole families, indeed whole villages.”

“Indeed?” He sounded surprised by her matter-of-fact tone. “It sounds fascinating, if a trifle disconcerting. Did you like living in Italy—bandits aside, of course?”

“Oh, yes. It was wonderful. We were all so very happy there.” She sighed. “Each place we lived in seemed always to be full of sunshine and flowers and laughter and singing. People sang all the time. Well, I don’t suppose they did, but they
seemed
to. The servants, the workers in the fields often sang as they worked. And Mama and Papa loved music and we children used to put on concerts for them every Wednesday night. In English and Italian—we learned lots of folk songs—and Mama used to sing the babies to sleep every night.” She smiled, reminiscing.

“Do you remember so much about it, then? You were only a child when you lived there, were you not?”

“Oh yes, but we left when I was eleven, and I can remember so much. And of course, I’ve told my younger sisters all about it, over and over, so that they can remember, too.” She added, “It’s very important to remember happy times; it makes you stronger inside when things are…less happy. Of course, as children, we probably had the best of it; Italians are extremely indulgent toward children, you know. I expect we were terribly spoiled.”

He chuckled. “I see no evidence of that. And I imagine you and your sisters made a charming little choir. Do you play, as well as sing?”

She paused a moment, watching the faint shadow of the clouds scudding over the moonlit heathland, then said lightly, “No. We are all woefully ignorant in that area. Grandpapa does not approve of music, you see. He considers it sinful, except in church, and even then…” She shrugged. “The way we lived in Italy was very, very different to life in England.”

She shivered, remembering what it had been like to come from the warmth of Tuscany to cold and desolate Norfolk. Five bewildered little girls, newly orphaned and left to the mercies of a bitter, hate-filled old man…

“Cold, Miss Imp?” Without waiting for her response, he put an arm around her and drew the fur traveling rug more securely around her.

“No, I’m not cold,” she said, but she allowed his arm to remain around her and even leaned a little against him. She knew she oughtn’t, but there was something about the moor and the moonlight and the memories of her lost childhood that was making her melancholy. The warmth and strength of his arm and the feeling of his solid body against hers was very comforting.

Besides, she was tired. She glanced at his moon-silvered profile. He didn’t seem the slightest bit sleepy. He was probably accustomed to staying up late. She recalled the first time she’d met him; he’d been coming home at half-past nine in the morning, and regarding it as the end of the evening.

There was something about traveling in the night, with shadows and moonlight and the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses’ hooves, which was very conducive to the exchange of intimacies.

“Tell me about your childhood,” she said. “What were your parents like?”

He stiffened immediately, so that the horses checked their pace. He flicked them back to their normal pace and glanced at her, a wry expression on his face.