The Perfect Rake (34 page)

With everyone finally seated, the Lady Augusta plunked herself breathlessly down on the nearest chair and beamed around the room. “Edward has already told me the barest modicum of your story—I shall speak to you gels later and receive the whole of it, but Gideon!” She stamped a slippered foot. “How many times must I ask you! How did you hurt your arm?”

Gideon chuckled. “If you had once stopped to draw breath, O Aunt, I might have found an opportunity!” He held up a hand to stop her retort and hastily said, “I was shot in an encounter with highwaymen, a mere flesh wound. Don’t look so horrified, Aunt Gussie, there was no real damage done, and nothing was lost!”

Lady Augusta rolled her eyes. “Men! No idea how to tell a tale properly! Miss Merridew, I rely on you to fill me in with all the details later. I understand you were there when the villains accosted you.”

“Oh, she was, indeed,” said Lord Carradice. “In fact, it wouldn’t have been nearly such an exciting adventure without her.”

Lady Augusta sat forward excitedly. “Oh, do tell.”

Prudence narrowed her eyes at Lord Carradice in a silent message. They had agreed that it would be better for everyone that the truth would remain their little secret. If anyone discovered it was she who had shot Lord Carradice and not the robber, she would become the object of gossip and notoriety. And though Prudence did not give a fig for what people might say of her, she did not wish to draw undue attention to herself and her sisters. They were in hiding, after all.

Lord Carradice responded to her quelling look with one of limpid innocence. “Oh, a gentleman never tells tales, Aunt Gussie.”

“Nonsense, Gideon! We are family!” snapped his aunt. “Besides, explaining to your aunt how you were injured is not telling tales. It is your duty as a nephew!”

She was a very forceful little lady, Prudence decided. She glanced again at Lord Carradice, willing him to silence, not trusting him an inch. That mischievous look was back in his eyes.

He opened his mouth, glanced at Prudence in a show of uncertainty, leaned forward, and explained, “No, I am sorry, dear Aunt, but indeed, it would not be gentlemanly.” He glanced at Prudence again and added, “Besides, it is not even interesting. Screaming and fainting never is.”

Prudence gasped. The wretch! Painting her as a foolish, fainting female was as bad as telling the truth! Worse! She glared at him.

Lord Carradice continued hastily, “However, afterward she gallantly sacrificed her petticoat for the stanching of blood, for which I will evermore be grateful.”

Lady Augusta sniffed, unimpressed, and said to Prudence, “Well, I daresay highwaymen can be alarming, but I was never the least bit in favor of fainting as a tactic unless it is to avoid awkward questions—then it is very useful. But I have had many an encounter with ruffians and
bandidos
myself in Argentina, and I am of the firm belief that a cool head and a show of strength is what is needed in an emergency of that sort. “

“Yes, ma’am,” murmured Prudence, vowing silently to strangle Lord Carradice the moment she could discreetly do so.

Lady Augusta’s voice softened. “Don’t look so chagrined, child. You cannot be blamed—in this country, well-bred females are only ever taught to be feeble and decorative—such nonsense! I myself always carry a gun when traveling. You would do well to consider it!”

“Yes, Lady Augusta, I shall in future,” Prudence said with a darkling look at Lord Carradice. He smiled benignly on her in the manner of an elderly uncle.

Lady Augusta beamed. “Good girl! That’s the spirit. I shall even instruct you in the use of a firearm, if you wish. I have a small yet deadly pistol, especially made for me.”

“Thank you, Lady Augusta,” Prudence said politely. “I would appreciate that very much. I can think of a use for a small but deadly pistol. Right now, in fact.”

Lord Carradice made a smothered sound, which he tried to turn into a cough.

His aunt’s eyes narrowed. She glanced shrewdly from her nephew to the stiffly polite young lady seated beside him. “Oho! So that’s it, is it? Gideon, you are as wicked a young rascal now as ever you were. Never mind, my dear. I perceive that this rapscallion has slandered you shockingly—no, there is no point denying it, Gideon. I can tell from the mischief in those wicked black eyes of yours. You never could lie to me!” She turned back to Prudence. “I collect that the edifying story he, er,
didn’t
tell us was a complete farrago of nonsense.”

Gideon slapped a hand over his heart. “Aunt, you wound me to the quick.”

Lady Augusta sniffed. “That confirms it. Miss Merridew, we shall speak later, and you shall tell me the whole—yes? I gather it is not for general consumption, but I assure you, I am the soul of discretion.” There was another muffled sound from her nephew. “When it comes to family, I mean!” she added with dignity.

Family?
Prudence’s head came up at that. She glanced wildly from Lady Augusta to Lord Carradice. What had he told her? Had he told his aunt they were betrothed? Was that why Lady Augusta was willing to have five unknown young ladies foisted on her with no notice?

“Family?” she queried. She had to clarify the matter instantly. She could not accept this lady’s generosity on false pretenses. She could not pretend she was betrothed to Lord Carradice—not to this aunt who clearly adored him. Heat rose in her cheeks. “Lady Augusta, I think you should know—”

“Aunt Gussie is referring, of course, to Edward’s as yet unofficial betrothal to your sister,” Lord Carradice interrupted in a bland voice.

Prudence blinked.

“Aunt Gussie is Edward’s aunt as well as mine. She was our mothers’ sister.”

“Oh.” Prudence nodded. “Of course.” She wanted to sink through the floor. Luckily at that moment the door opened, and in came the butler, Shoebridge, and several footmen carrying an immense tea tray and another tray piled high with cakes and other delicacies. The scent of fresh-baked scones filled the room, providing an instant distraction. Lady Augusta poured tea and served scones and jam, adding dollops of clotted cream with a lavish hand.

Prudence ate and drank in silence. Of course, there would be no need to pretend to his aunt that there was an understanding between them. There was no longer any need for that fiction. It had been for Great-uncle Oswald and now its purpose was fulfilled. Charity had made her coming-out and had found herself a husband. Once she was safely married, she could keep the younger ones safe until Prudence came into her own inheritance.

She bit into a scone slowly. Lord Carradice was now free to do as he wished. He’d already done more than anyone could expect, escorting them to safety. He could bow out gracefully if he wanted to, leaving them in the competent hands of his cousin and aunt, and return to the carefree pleasures of his previous reprehensible way of life.

That would be a relief.

He wouldn’t bother her anymore. She would no longer have to put up with his nonsense. No more wicked teasing. No more shocking impropriety. No more illicit kissing and fondling to set her pulse leaping and her body tingling. Life would return to its usual serious purpose.

It would be a relief. It would, she was sure.

Once she got used to the idea.

That was the trouble with his sort of frivolity and fun. It was addictive. Her life had been so grim, so serious, so without joy…until Lord Carradice came into it. And viewed his way, problems seemed to shrink. Gazing into those dark, laughing eyes, she could believe that nothing and nobody could hurt her again. The trouble was, gazing into those eyes of his, she could believe almost anything—even that she was beautiful. Her looking glass was more honest, however, and her common sense more truthful.

The trouble was she’d needed him more than he needed her. And now he was free to leave.

She was worrying again, Gideon saw. She had that little anxious crease between her brows. He didn’t like it, didn’t like to see her fretting about anything. His fingers itched to reach out and smooth it away. He could dedicate his life to that crease, to making sure it never appeared.

If she’d only let him, blast it!

Talk about hoist with his own petard. Having spent most of his life making everyone believe him a frivolous fellow who took nothing seriously, the one time he wanted someone to see through the pose for the sham it was, she couldn’t. She didn’t believe a thing he said, was determined to keep him at arm’s length. Even now, he could feel her leaning away from him on the sofa, as if she could be compromised if they so much as touched.

He almost wished she could be so easily compromised. Dammit, he would take her any way he could—well, no, he wouldn’t. She had to come to him of her own free will, without pressure, without fear, without hesitation. That was the trouble.

Because of her own free will she had promised herself to Otterbury. Not Gideon. Gideon was only the substitute, the passing stranger, the next best. Dammit!

Just then the door opened, and Charity and the duke came in. “Excellent!” exclaimed Lady Augusta. “You’re back just in time for tea. Another two cups, Shoebridge.”

Gideon eyed his cousin. Edward looked different: excited, more assured somehow.

“What have you two been up to?” he asked casually.

They jumped and glanced at each other like guilty schoolchildren. The duke looked a silent question at Charity. She nodded, biting her lip in excitement and trepidation.

“We just spoke to the bishop,” announced Edward.

“Of Bath and Wells? Whatever for?” exclaimed Aunt Gussie.

“A bishop!” Hope said in disgust. “I’m sure there are much more exciting sights to see in Bath than a bishop’s palace.”

“Actually, the bishop’s palace is in Wells, not Bath,” said Aunt Gussie. “Don’t tell me you drove all the way to—”

But Gideon understood at once. “And did you get it?”

Edward nodded and patted his pocket.

“Get what? I wish you boys would explain, instead of talking in this odiously cryptic manner,” Aunt Gussie said crossly. “Charity, my dear, what are they talking about?”

Charity blushed, glanced at Prudence apologetically, and said softly, “Edward was showing me the sights, when we heard that the bishop was visiting Bath. He thought we should take advantage of the opportunity to apply for a license. Without having to drive all the way to Wells.”

There was a sudden silence, broken only by Grace’s question, “A license? What for?”

“A license to get married without having to wait to call the banns,” Prudence said shakily. “Oh, Charity—you’re going to be married!”

Pandemonium broke out. Five females—Lady Augusta included—leaped to their feet and embraced Charity, pelting her with questions and exclaiming in amazement. Tea and scones grew cold, forgotten.

Gideon strolled over to his cousin, who had been pushed to the edge of the excited group of females. “Congratulations, Coz. She’ll make you very happy, I think.”

Edward, beaming, nodded. “I never believed I could be so happy about tying the knot, Gid, when you think of how we both swore to avoid it. But with Charity, it’s different. I cannot imagine life without her. She…she’s perfect, isn’t she?”

“For you, she obviously is,” Gideon said. “You’re looking extraordinarily happy, I must say.” He eyed his cousin thoughtfully and added, “I don’t suppose you’ve done the deed already, have you?”

Prudence heard the soft question. “What? What did you say?
Done the deed already?
” She stared at Edward a moment and turned back to Charity. “Don’t tell me you’re already married! Charity—you haven’t, have you?”

Edward reached out and gathered Charity to his side. “No, we haven’t, but it wasn’t for want of trying.”

Prudence stared at him. “What?”

Edward shrugged. “I could have talked the old boy into doing it then and there, I’m sure—there are advantages to being a duke, after all.” He smiled at Charity, who nestled happily into the curve of his arm. “But my bride wanted to wait.”

“Of course she did, you silly boy!” exclaimed Aunt Gussie. “She doesn’t want a hasty hole-in-the-corner wedding! She’ll want to purchase bride clothes and send out invitations and order a special dress and then there’s the wedding breakfast—”

“Oh no,” interrupted Charity gently. “I don’t care about any of that. I would have been very happy to be married immediately. A small and private ceremony is exactly what Edward and I want. And I have plenty of lovely new clothes, thanks to Great-uncle Oswald’s wonderful generosity.”

“Then what delayed you, child?”

Charity said simply, “When I marry, I want my sisters with me. We’ve all anticipated this day so much…” She flushed and added in a low voice, “Only I never expected it to be such a happy occasion.”

Gideon watched as Prudence’s lovely eyes grew bright with tears. “You are happy, aren’t you, Char?” she whispered.

Charity’s eyes flooded. “Oh yes, Prue, I am. Very happy.” She wiped her eyes and added, “I never dreamed I could feel like this.” She leaned closer into the duke’s embrace. “Just like you promised.”

Prudence’s face crumpled. “Oh, Charity…”

Gideon handed her a handkerchief. She clutched at it blindly. He took it back and proceeded to dry her eyes, ignoring her halfhearted efforts to repel him. “Don’t fuss, Imp,” he said softly. “All eyes are on the bride. Nobody is looking at you.”

“You are,” she said in a watery voice.

“Yes, but I can’t help myself. You couldn’t stop me looking at you if you wanted to. And you’re beautiful when you’re damp.”

For some reason, this brought on a fresh flood of tears, and Gideon busied himself with drying them, too.

Aunt Gussie frowned and turned to the younger girls. “We’ll get no sense out of this lot for a while, so come and sit over here near the fire and while the gentleman dry your sisters’ eyes, we shall plan our wardrobes. Don’t worry about the tears, Grace, child—everyone cries at weddings! It’s a tradition.” She smiled at them all. “I am very glad you gels have come to stay with me. I was bored to death, you know. Bath used to be extremely fashionable before I left this country, but these days the town is crowded with people I’ve never heard of—dowdies, fossils, and mushrooms and—d’you know the worst thing about it?”