The Perfect Rake (35 page)

The girls shook their heads.

“Nothing
ever
happens!” Lady Augusta sat back and regarded them with satisfaction. “At least it didn’t until the Merridew gels arrived.” She raised her voice and said, “Edward, when is this wedding to be?”

“We’ve booked the church for next Wednesday,” he responded vaguely, still preoccupied with his bride.

“Wednesday! That is a bare week from now!” Lady Augusta surged to her feet. “Come, gels, there is much to arrange. A private ceremony is one thing, but it need not be a shabby affair. Your sister may think she has enough pretty dresses, but she’s about to become a duchess. And you shall be the sisters-in-law of a duke, and if that is not the best excuse for shopping, I don’t know what is!” She sailed from the room, sweeping the twins and Grace in front of her.

Gideon glanced at his cousin and Charity. “I think we should give them a little privacy, don’t you?” he murmured.

Prudence, still feeling a little emotionally unsettled, nodded and allowed him to escort her from the room. He led her through a passage and into a small, pretty room furnished in blue and gold. Before she knew it, she was seated on a sofa wrapped in a firm, immensely appealing masculine embrace.

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t,” she muttered feebly.

“Hush!” He tucked her securely against his chest. “Just let me hold you for a moment. Just for comfort. There’s nobody to see, and I promise you I shall be the soul of propriety.”

Prudence gave a watery chuckle. “I don’t think the high sticklers would think much of your notion of propriety.” Even being alone with him was indiscreet, let alone the way he was holding her. But she didn’t care. It was lovely being held like this, even for a short time. Just for comfort, she told herself. For friendship.

“Tell me about this promise Charity mentioned.”

“Oh, it was just something I used to tell them when things were at their darkest.”

His right hand stroked the soft inner skin of her arm, sending warm ripples through her. “Tell me,” he insisted softly.

“Mama and Papa were very happy, very much in love,” she began. “And we lived in Italy. I think because theirs was a runaway marriage, and they—and we—were wonderfully happy…until they died…”

“How did they die?”

She drew in a deep, shaky breath. “It was a fever. They caught it in the city where they’d gone for a party, staying a week or more. Papa died in the city, very quickly. And when Mama returned with the terrible news, it was clear she was ill, from the moment she arrived.” She shivered, remembering. “The servants recognized the illness at once and fled. I found Concetta, our nursemaid, sneaking out the back. She told me why everyone else had gone.”

He put his arm around her, and she allowed herself to lean against him, just for comfort. She said, “I convinced Concetta to take the baby and the children with her, to safety.”

“And you, a child yourself, stayed behind to look after your mother.”

She nodded. Her face crumpled as she whispered, “But she died, anyway…”

He hugged her tight then, as she wept a few more tears.

“Tell me about the promise,” he prompted after a long interval.

“When she was dying, Mama made me promise to look after the little ones. She promised that no matter what happened in our lives, we would each find great love and happiness…” She scrubbed at her eyes, embarrassed at the outburst. “But then we were sent to live with Grandpapa, where there was no sunshine and no love and certainly no laughter, though we managed to have a few moments of happiness. So when life was bleakest, I used to promise my sisters that no matter how bad it seemed, one day we would all live like we did in Italy. With sunshine and laughter and love and happiness.”

“I see.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “And now Charity is the first of them to find love and happiness.”

“Is she, indeed?” he murmured, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Why do you say ‘them’ like that? As if you don’t believe in that promise for yourself.”

Prudence hesitated. “I do not think I was born lucky.”

“Why not?” he asked softly.

“Well—I thought I’d found—” She broke off.

“You thought you’d found love when you were sixteen,” he said in a deep voice.

She nodded.

“And then you found you’d made a mistake, that Ottershanks had feet of clay and a brain to match.”

“Y—No! I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said, suddenly struggling to sit up.

He allowed her to sit up but caught her by her shoulders, facing him. A twinge of protest came from his injury, but he ignored it. Gazing intently into her eyes, he said deliberately, “He left you, Imp. Abandoned you to fate and the mercy of your grandfather who, according to your sisters, thrashes you. Did Otterclogs know about the thrashings?”

Her gaze dropped.

“So he did know and he left you to—!”

“No.” She cut him off. “They were never as bad until…until after Phillip left.”

Gideon’s eyes bored into her. “What happened after Phillip left, Imp?” he asked softly. “What happened to make your grandfather treat you so badly?”

“I was…” Her face twisted with grief, and she tried to pull away. “No, no, I can’t!”

“You can tell me anything, love,” he said gently. “What happened after Phillip left?”

“There was…I found I w—” She closed her eyes for a moment, swallowed convulsively, took a deep breath, and said, “I discovered I was with child. That is what binds me to Phillip, not simply the promise.”

In fact, she hadn’t even realized it herself. It was Grandpapa who’d noticed she couldn’t keep her breakfast down five days in a row, Grandpapa who’d recognized symptoms of which she was ignorant, Grandpapa who informed her that, like the harlot he’d always known she was, she was breeding a bastard.

It was the worst day of her life. Until now, she’d told no one, no one except Philip. Not even her sisters knew.

Now she’d told Gideon. Without waiting to see his reaction, she fled the room.

Chapter Sixteen

“Love is the whole history of a woman’s life,
It is an episode in a man’s.”

M
ADAME DE
S
TAËL

P
RUDENCE FLEW UP THE STAIRS, HER HEART IN TURMOIL. SHE
hadn’t been able to look him in the eye—she wasn’t sure why.

Her grandfather’s words came back to her as she sought the sanctuary of her room.
No man will want another man’s leavings…

Was that how Lord Carradice would see her now? As
another man’s leavings?
She shuddered. No! It was an ugly image, planted in her mind by a twisted old man. She ought to know better than to think of it. She wasn’t anyone’s
leavings.
She was herself, Prudence Merridew, no particular bargain, perhaps, but still…

She shuddered again. It was a disgusting expression. She would banish it from her mind this instant.

She opened doors, searching for the bedchamber allotted her, but her mind worried at the question like a tongue at a sore tooth. Would this change Lord Carradice’s opinion of her? And if so, how?

Would he still want her now he knew the dreadful truth? She would find out soon enough. Had he ever truly wanted her in the first place? She’d been warned repeatedly that he was a ‘here and therian.’ That the chase was what he liked. And she had led him a chase.

Self-doubt crowded in on her. Other people’s warnings echoed in her mind. Just because he sounded sincere did not mean he was. And just because she wanted to believe him, it did not mean he could be believed. Girls were ruined every day because they believed what men told them. A girl would have to be foolish to take a well-known rake at his very appealing word…wouldn’t she? No doubt the more appeal, the more danger…

No doubt of it at all.

The only use any man would have for the likes of you is as a whore!

Stop it! Stop thinking such vile thoughts! She clapped her hands over her ears, as if the thoughts could be blocked out like that.

Lord Carradice would never think of her in that way, she told herself firmly. He wasn’t a bitter and twisted old man. He was more compassionate, more understanding. He wouldn’t try to take advantage of her secret. Prudence was certain of it.

She discovered her portmanteau sitting at the foot of a bed in the room in front of her. Her hat was on the bed. She entered the bedchamber, closing the door quietly behind her.

Prudence sat down on the bed, her knees suddenly weak. Lord Carradice had said once that Prudence was too innocent for the company of women like Theresa Crowther. Yet Mrs. Crowther had once been his own mistress. He hadn’t spoken of her with respect.

She thought of how hard it already was for him to behave with even a semblance of propriety toward her. Now that he knew she was no virtuous maiden…would he still think she didn’t belong with Mrs. Crowther and her ilk?

Of course he would, she decided. He was kind. He was not a hypocrite, like many in society. It was good that he knew her secret, knew the final guilty tie that had bound her to Phillip.

She removed her short spencer jacket and hung it in the closet. Grandpapa had painted a terrifying picture of what fallen women suffered.

Had she not lost the babe, she would have learned those consequences firsthand. Grandpapa would have cast her out, never mind the slur on the family name. He’d called the death of her baby a judgment on her.

Prudence’s eyes filled with slow, bitter tears. She’d been forced to grieve in silence and in secret. Had she disobeyed, her sisters would have suffered even more for her sin. She was bidden to silence and so had told no one of the child—only Phillip, in two letters that he must not have received, for he’d never responded. She’d spent many an hour at Mama and Papa’s cairn, however, weeping alone until her eyes were swollen and dry. She’d added many a small pebble to Mama’s cairn, for the baby…

Pouring some water out of the ewer on the dresser, she wondered whether, if Grandpapa had cast her out, and if she had by some stroke of chance met Lord Carradice…no, the idea was ridiculous! She would have died in a gutter of starvation, no doubt. Or perhaps she would have gone to Mrs. Otterbury, and then Phillip would have sent for her.

Only Phillip
hadn’t
sent for her. She splashed cold water on her face.
Why not?
she wondered for the hundredth time.

Mama said you had to seize your chance at happiness. Prudence had been given her chance. She’d refused to run away with Phillip; she hadn’t been able to leave her sisters behind. She’d made her choice.

And because of it, her baby had died.

Prudence had to live with that.

A child! Gideon was stunned. It was a bigger barrier than he’d realized to win her. He’d felt quite confident of his ability to win her from Otterbury, but a child! He couldn’t compete with a child. She clearly felt the child bound her to Otterbury.

He felt a surge of rage. Dammit, what sort of a loose screw was Otterbury to get a young, gently bred girl with child and then abandon her to seek his fortune!

He wondered about the child. Was it alive still? Many babes did not see their first birthday. He tried to think back to how she had put things.
That is what binds me to Phillip,not simply the promise. That
being the child.
Binds
, she had said, not
bound
. So the child was still alive.

Was it a girl or a boy? And where was it? Not in Norfolk—she wouldn’t leave a child with her grandfather and flee herself. So, had the babe been wrested from its mother and hidden away from sight, farmed out to strangers for a few guineas? It was the usual thing in such cases.

Only Prudence was a rare, loyal creature. She couldn’t even give up on a man who’d left her alone to face the consequences of his lust, left her for four long years. If she couldn’t forget a creature like that, could she forget her own child? Never. Not a woman like his Prudence.

Did she ever see the child? Would she be allowed? Did she even know where he or she was? Was it a boy or a girl? He pictured a tiny girl with Prudence’s eyes. He hoped it wasn’t a girl. He couldn’t bear a little girl with Prudence’s face growing up alone and unloved. And if it were a boy…He imagined a small boy with curly red hair, a look of dogged determination on his little face, a stubborn little chin, just like Miss Imp’s firm little chin.

Oh, God, the whole idea was unbearable. He had to speak to her at once.

“Dammit, Aunt Gussie, she won’t speak to me. It’s been days now and I haven’t been able to get her alone, not even for a moment.”

“Well, what do you expect, you foolish boy? She’s busy. And so am I. Has it escaped your notice that her sister and my nephew are getting married the day after tomorrow?”

“But this is important.”

Aunt Gussie waved a dismissive hand. “Pooh! You can talk to her anytime—a wedding is but once in a lifetime—and don’t look like that at me, young man, it is
not
my fault that both my husbands died! Women have more stamina than men, that is all. And stop distracting me! There are a thousand things to be done. Even the smallest, most private ceremony takes a great deal of organization, you know!”

Gideon gave her a blank look. “I don’t see how that follows. All you need is a bride, a groom, a parson, and a couple of witnesses, and that’s it. So there should be plenty of time for Prudence to—”

His aunt rolled her eyes. “That is exactly what Edward said to me. You men have no idea, do you?” she said. “It is still a very important day in a young woman’s life, no matter how small and private it may be. Whether there are to be five hundred guests or five, it must be a day young Charity can look back on without regrets. She is being rushed into this as it is—she has barely had a coming-out, poor child, and if she had, she would have had all London at her feet.” She shook her head. “Such an exquisite creature should have been able to spread her wings a little, experience the power of her beauty before tying the knot and being dragged off to the wilderness, as I’m sure Edward will do, the wretched boy!”