The Perfect Rake (30 page)

“If I had known you were going to leap across me like that,” she said with a thread of acid, “I would no doubt have taken more care not to shoot you.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in.
“Taken more care not to shoot me?”
His brows snapped together. “What the devil do you mean? That blasted robber shot me! You had nothing to do with it!”

She shook her head. “No. I shot you. I was aiming at the highw—”

“
You
shot me?” Lord Carradice’s face was a study of bemusement and disbelief.
“You shot me?”

Prudence bit her lip. “Yes, my lord.”

“With what? If that scoundrel Boyle passed you a pistol—”

“No, I used my mother’s pistol.”

“Your mother’s p—”

“Yes, it was hidden under my cloak. It’s quite small and handy, see?” She bent down and took a small silver pistol from a basket beside the bed and showed it to him. His hand reached for it, then hesitated.

“It’s all right,” she assured him, “it’s not loaded anymore. And I’ve cleaned it.”

He looked at her from under his brows. “Thank you, I have handled a pistol before.” He picked up the pistol, examining it carefully.

“Mama and Papa always carried pistols when we traveled in Italy—even for quite short trips. I told you we’d encountered
banditti
in Italy several times when I was a child. Don’t you remember?”

He waved a vague hand, signifying something.

“So naturally, I packed it.”

“Oh, naturally. Your mama’s pistol…” He put the pistol down, leaned back against the pillows, and covered his face with his hands. “Go on.” His voice was muffled.

Prudence looked at him doubtfully. He seemed suddenly weaker, and his chest was heaving in quick bursts. “Yes, I had it in my reticule of course, but—”

A muffled sound came from Lord Carradice.

“Are you feeling unwell again, sir?” Prudence bent forward.

He shook his head and mumbled from behind his hands, “No, no. Continue, if you please.”

She frowned, but sat back and folded her hands. “Very well. I took the pistol out of my reticule when the robber first rode up and had it hidden under my cloak. I am extremely sorry. I did not mean to shoot you, of cour—”

“Oh, well as long as you did not
mean
to…” His shoulders heaved.

“You’re laughing!” Prudence accused.

He moved his arm to reveal a face that was indeed alive with laughter. “Who, me? How could I possibly laugh at such a situation? Shot by the woman I was trying to defend, by gad! And I imagined myself such a gallant devil, wounded while protecting one of the weaker sex!” His dark eyes danced with mischief. “And all the time the weaker sex had winged me!”

She frowned at him and he instantly added in a pathetic voice, “I am a wounded man. You’ve mistaken laughter for pain—extreme pain. I need someone to soothe me. My pulse is tumultuous with pain—see? Lay your head here, Miss Prudence, and you will hear how my heart is pounding.” With one hand he patted his chest, while the other feebly beckoned her closer.

She looked at him mistrustfully, guilt warring with annoyance and anxiety. He was funning…but he
was
wounded. She had never seen anyone bleed so much. For all his nonsense he might be in more pain than she believed…He was the kind of man who joked to hide his deeper feelings, after all. Should she check his pulse?

When she didn’t move, he sighed deeply. “I see, you don’t care if I expire. You did mean to shoot me, after all.”

“Of course I did not mean to,” she assured him indignantly. “I was aiming at the highwayman, meaning to wound him in his shooting arm, only for most of the time his horse’s head was in the way so I could not get a clear shot at him. That’s why I got him to come closer—”

“Got him to come—” He sank back against the pillows and stared at her in silence for a moment. “You mean that little piece of insanity was a
deliberate ploy to get an armed highwayman to come closer to you
?”

Prudence avoided his accusing stare. “Well, not exactly a deliberate ploy. I did have no intention of giving him what was on my chain.”

“That blasted ring!”

She flushed. “No, not the ring. But I do admit it was convenient for him to move.”

“Convenient!”

“Yes! And it would have worked, except you leaped in front of me, banging my arm just as I was shooting, and so…so the wrong man got shot!”

“The wrong man…” Gideon sank into the pillows and put a feeble hand to his forehead. “What a relief. And here I was wondering if you had come to my bedchamber to finish me off.”

She gave him a schoolmistressy look. “I may very well change my mind and do just that!”

He looked at her soulfully. “You’re a hard woman, Miss Prudence. So, are you responsible for the lump on my head, as well?”

Since he clearly didn’t recall the whole of what had occurred, Prudence’s conscience forced herself to finish telling him the tale, no matter how mortifying it was. “No, of course not. When I…er—”

“Shot me,” he prompted helpfully.

She gave him a look of reproof, threaded with guilt. “I know. There is no need to keep repeating yourself!” She smoothed a wrinkle in the bedcovers and continued, not meeting his eye, “Well, after that, you plummeted off the carriage, startling the highwayman’s horse—”

“Remiss of me.”

She gave him a single, piercing look and he sat back, satisfied. “It reared in fright, and we are not sure whether that is how you hit your head or whether one of your own horses kicked you a few moments later, for—”

“Oh, undoubtedly my own nags. Everyone joining in the fun, it seems.”

“Nonsense! We were all very upset—”

“Even the horses?”

“Particularly the horses. It must be excessively upsetting to have somebody rolling around beneath your hooves while guns are being fired.”

The amusement dropped from his face. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist, “Guns, you say? More than one? Did that blasted swine shoot back at you?”

His gaze ran over her intently, anxiously, and Prudence felt herself flushing at his warm concern. She was unused to protectiveness in a man and found it unutterably appealing. She shook her head. “No, I am perfectly well. The shots were from your man, Boyle, who, in the confusion, managed to fire at the highwayman and his partner. They took fright and galloped away. In fact, our robber,” she added confidingly, “got such a fright when I fired that he dropped my reticule and Boyle retrieved it for me. So that was lucky, wasn’t it?”

He gave her a look and said in a dry voice, “Oh, extremely lucky,” and closed his eyes.

There was a short silence, and she wondered what he was thinking.

He opened his eyes and fixed her with a suddenly intent look. “What did you mean,
‘not the ring’?”

Prudence pretended not to understand. She gave him a blank look and smoothed his sheet busily. “Are you thirsty? Do you need anything?”

“Stop avoiding the question. I thought you’d chosen to risk your life rather than hand over Ottershank’s blasted betrothal ring. But when I said so just now, you said,
‘No, not the ring.’”

Prudence shrugged in embarrassment. “I’d already given the robber the ring. I’d taken it off earlier. It was in my reticule.”

He gaped at her, and she added defensively, “I couldn’t risk everyone’s lives for a ring, even if it is valuable and an Otter
bury
family heirloom. So I handed it over. Phillip would understand.”

Lord Carradice sat up, but before he could ask the question that sprang to his lips, she added accusingly, “And as for risking your life, well, I didn’t think you’d be in any danger, because I was between you and the man’s pistol—except that you took it into your head to jump in front of me, that is! And if anyone is to be castigated for taking insane risks—”

“Well dash it all, Imp, it’s my job to protect you! Of course I jumped the blasted villain! As soon as he mentioned that blasted ring, I knew you’d—”

“Chain,” she corrected him. “He only mentioned the chain. And I don’t expect you to protect me. I can protect myself, thank you. I have been doing it for years.”

Gideon flung her an exasperated look. What the devil was he to do with such a woman? Protect herself, indeed! It galled him unbearably to reflect that she had remembered to provide herself with the means of protection when he had neglected to do so. He attempted to harness his temper and said in a clear, reasoned tone, “At the time I believed the chain was attached to the blasted ring, and I knew—at least I imagined—you wouldn’t hand that over!”

A thought occurred to him. “And while we’re explaining things, would you mind telling me why you would happily hand over a ring you told me you made a sacred promise on? You told me you hadn’t taken it off for four years, so I would have thought that of all things—”

“Yes, I know,” she jumped in hastily. “And I wasn’t
happy
about it, not at all. But, after all, it is the
promise
that is sacred, not the ring. The ring is a token and a symbol, but it represents something that cannot be stolen—my promise to marry Phillip.”

“That doesn’t explain why you took it off.” There was some significance in it, he was sure. There had to be.

To his fascination, she blushed and began to busy herself smoothing his bedclothes, fussing around him like a small, anxious hen, but hovering at the end of his bed, well out of his reach. “I took the ring off the chain when we were back in London, when you were inside that house.”

And she’d given the highwayman Otterbury’s ring.

“So you risked your life for a simple gold chain?”

He watched as she tucked the sheet tight around his feet, as if her life depended on it, head down to hide her blush. “In truth, I hadn’t intended using the pistol, unless it looked like he was going to shoot one or all of us. But when he noticed the chain and demanded I hand it over—”

“Can you adjust these covers? They feel dashed tangled.”

Absentmindedly she moved to the head of the bed and started straightening his bedclothes as she explained, “I simply couldn’t hand it over, just as I knew I couldn’t sell it. I mean, it’s not as if he would value it, because it isn’t very valuable to anyone except me—and my sisters of course. To us it is priceless.”

“Ahh, that’s better,” murmured Gideon. “Oh, and there’s a devilishly uncomfortable wrinkle under here that’s most…”

She bent to tug at the undersheet. “And so I did risk it, and while I did not intend it, you were hurt, and for that I most sincerely apologize.”

“Oh that’s all right, Miss Imp. I survived. Maybe if I move like this and you bend down you could get it…”

She bent over him obediently, striving to remove the nonexistent wrinkle. Her hands brushed underneath his legs. He could smell the scent of her hair, the faint gardenia fragrance of her soap.

“Show me what is on the chain,” he murmured in her ear.

She hesitated, then reached inside her bodice and drew out an old-fashioned locket attached to the gold chain.

Gideon nodded and wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her closer as he peered at the locket. Of course, the locket. He’d seen her face when she’d placed it with the other jewels for sale, remembered the loving way she’d cupped it in her hands, her yearning reluctance to lose it. It had cut at him, even though he knew she would lose nothing.

Prudence moved to pull the chain over her head, but he stopped her with his hands. “No, don’t take it off. I can see it well enough from here.” He pulled her closer against him, so she was half sitting, half lying on the bed beside him. His arm around her, he fumbled awkwardly with the locket.

“The catch is faulty,” she said. “I’ve been meaning to have it mended.” Her fingers brushed against his as she opened it for him.

There was a short silence as they both gazed into the locket. Gideon could feel the softness of her body relaxed against him. Her scent was intoxicating. He could feel her warm breath on his skin; his own breathing was becoming increasingly ragged. He forced himself to focus on the two slightly lopsided images in the locket. They meant so much to her. A man and a woman with old-fashioned hairstyles. The painting was clumsy. He wondered who they were. He wondered whether she’d painted the miniatures herself. He wondered whether he’d ever be able to let go of her…

“It is Mama and Papa. The only pictures of them we have.” Her thumb ran caressingly around the gold rim of the locket. “The likenesses are not perfect—they were painted by a young Italian boy who lived in the village and hoped to become a painter. Papa was to be his patron…” Her voice caught and wavered on a sob.

Gideon could not bear it.

She bit her lip and said, “I know I should not have taken such a foolish risk, but the thought of never—”

“Hush,” Gideon said gently as he tipped her face up to receive his kiss.

Chapter Fourteen

“A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart.”

W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE

S
HE DID NOT PULL AWAY.

He gave her no time to think, but covered her mouth with his, gently, possessively, tenderly, so as not to startle her into flight. She hesitated a moment, then he felt her body relax against him, and she leaned into his embrace. A sharp pain shot through his shoulder, but he ignored it, and his arms tightened around her. He felt her lips soften under his as she began to return his kiss softly, uncertainly, surprise blossoming into desire.

She kissed him gently, carefully, as if he was on his deathbed, not simply suffering a minor flesh wound. He would suffer a dozen such wounds for another of these tender, heartfelt kisses. She tasted of warmth…and tears…and just a faint hint of tooth powder. Lord, but she was sweet. He could not get enough of her.

Slowly he took the kiss deeper and deeper, the warmth and generosity of her shy response overwhelming him. He had been anticipating this moment since the last time he’d kissed her, but still, it took him unawares. The heady rush, the surge of…of
feeling
. Hauntingly familiar and yet piercingly, achingly new.