The Perfect Rake (50 page)

To Prudence’s surprise, Great-uncle Oswald just stared at Lady Augusta and blushed. “Oh, Gussie.”

To Gideon’s amazement Aunt Gussie blushed, also. She said testily, “I meant these children here, Oswald! Prudence and Gideon! Their wedding, not…any other one.”

“Oh, oh, yes, of course,” Great-uncle Oswald agreed. But he did not stop gazing at Lady Augusta. And Lady Augusta’s blush didn’t go away for the longest time.

Prudence looked at Gideon, her eyes wide. Great-uncle Oswald and Lady Augusta? He grinned, winked, and lifted her hand to kiss it.

Sir Oswald cleared his throat. “St. George’s, Hanover Square, I trust.”

Gideon looked at Prudence, a question in his eyes. “Wherever you want, my love.”

Prudence smiled back. “Bath Abbey, a week from today—if we can get word to Charity and Edward. I would like them there with us.”

“Does nobody wish to get married in St. George’s?” grumbled Sir Oswald. He darted a look at Lady Augusta.

She colored up again but addressed herself to Prudence and Gideon. “And where do you plan to take Prudence for her bride trip, nephew?”

Gideon looked down at his bride and grinned. “Into Italy, of course.”

Prudence gasped. “Italy?” was all she could say. She hugged his arm and gave him a wavering, brilliant smile, knowing her eyes were filling again. “Italy.”

“But why Italy?” asked Lady Augusta, amid general exclamations of excitement.

Gideon sighed, theatrically. “It seems I must instantly flee the country. My tailor is pursuing me because of certain bills someone impetuously dashed into the fire.”

Later that afternoon, Gideon and Prudence were ensconced in the cozy back parlor at Lady Augusta’s. He was sprawled, loose-limbed, on the sofa; she was snuggled next to him. A fire crackled in the grate. Outside, wind and sleet pelted the windows.

Gideon said, “You know, Imp, looking back, I have idled away the years and wasted myself in folly. And all to no purpose.”

“What do you mean no purpose? Can there be purpose to idleness and folly?”

“Oh, there can, indeed. In the shallow life I adopted, I was trying to avoid love. I thought it a weakness, you see, a point of extreme vulnerability. I thought love killed my father. But I was wrong. It wasn’t love that caused him to kill himself—it was loss of love.”

Prudence took his hands in hers and said passionately, “No, he was wrong. He may have lost your mother, but he had you, his son, to love and to love him back. If he had thought of you, instead of himself, he would have remembered that love. And it would have healed him. Even when no one loves you, there is
always
someone to love, someone who needs to be loved. Always. You just have to look outside yourself.”

“As I did.” He kissed her tenderly. “And I saw you, sitting on the edge of an Egyptian chair, scared stiff, clutching that ugly, great reticule, and I fell in love. And then you defended me from your great-uncle, and I fell even more deeply, in a way I never believed possible.”

“I did, too, though I fought it for the longest time,” she said shyly. “I thought it was your rakish wiles I couldn’t resist, but it was you, just you. I love you, Gideon, more than even I believed possible.”

His grip tightened around her. “And I love you. I’ll never let you go, Prudence, never. If you ever run away from me, I’ll want to come with you.”

Nestled within his arms, she hugged him back. “Good, I would insist upon it, anyway. I never believed Mama’s promise would come true for me, but it has. Sunshine and laughter and love and happiness.” She laid her face against his throat. “And see, it has all come true.”

“All of it? What about the sunshine?” Gideon looked out at the gray sleet still hammering against the windows as it had for the last hour and then down at the bright head of the woman in his arms. She looked up at him and smiled.

“Ah, yes,” he said softly. “I can see the sunshine now.”

Award-winning author
Anne Gracie
spent her childhood and youth on the move. The gypsy life taught her that humor and love are universal languages and that favorite books can take you home, wherever you are. In addition to writing, Anne teaches adult literacy, flings balls for her dog, enjoys her tangled garden, and keeps bees.

Visit her website at www.annegracie.com.