The Perfect Rake (7 page)

Prudence scanned his face worriedly. He was very hard to read. For a second there she’d felt so…so heartened by that long look, as if she could depend on him in some way. Yet a moment later he seemed to find the whole thing hugely entertaining and was quite unworried by the prospect of Great-uncle Oswald’s imminent arrival. Was that because as a duke, he thought himself perfectly safe?

She took a deep breath and braced herself for the coming scene.

Gideon watched her interestedly out of the corner of his eye. She was an attractive little thing, he decided, not conventionally beautiful, but with a decided air of determination and a most appealing way of looking at him. Her simple, pale green gown set off her thick, glorious hair, pale skin, and wide gray eyes. The simple style, the direct gray gaze was refreshing, in a Quakerish sort of fashion.

Not that her behavior was Quakerish in the least—but then nor was his interest, he had to admit. That small, stubborn chin was braced for trouble, prepared to meet it head-on. It seemed as though, having imagined she had got him into hot water, she was now prepared to defend him.

He found it rather refreshing. He sipped the cognac and made a small wager with himself as to how far she would let the joke go before she confessed all. Of course she might be a blackmailing harpy, but he didn’t think so. He was all too well acquainted with females of that variety.

“So, you will defend me from your great-uncle?” he asked softly.

She turned back to him with wide, sincere eyes. “Of
course
I will.”

It was more than refreshing; it was irresistible, and Gideon couldn’t help himself. Without thinking, he put down his glass, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her. He’d meant it to be a swift, light kiss, something of a thanks with a touch of mischievous provocation, but instead found himself plunged into unexpected depths. She tasted of surprise and sweetness and innocence, but she could not disguise her instinctive response to him. No Quakerishness there, he thought raggedly and took the kiss deeper.

The taste of her was intoxicating. He let his own instincts rule him and drew her more firmly against his body, enjoying the way her soft curves molded against him. Her stiffness slowly dissolved and when he felt the first tentative response from her, it sent a thread of pure possessiveness arching through him.

A clatter outside the door brought him to his senses. Reluctantly he released her, and she moved back an inch or two, blinking up at him, looking adorably confused. He was very tempted to kiss her again.

She eyed him with a mixture of disapproval and shocked awareness. “You should not have done that.”

He took a moment to respond. “I’ll do it again in a moment if you don’t stop looking at me like that.”

“Don’t you dare!” She gave him a haughty little warning glare.

He fought the urge to smile. Even her disapproval was appealing. Mastering the urge to kiss her again, he picked up his cognac and sipped. The door was thrown open. Prudence jumped visibly and clutched Gideon’s arm. He was certain she had no idea of it.

“Good God!” A fussily dressed elderly man came into the room and stood stock-still on the threshold, staring at the occupants in stupefaction. “Prudence! How come you to be here?”

This was, no doubt, Great-uncle Oswald. In a leisurely manner, Gideon finished his cognac, well aware that the elderly man was snorting and snuffing in outrage, but forced by good manners to wait for his host to acknowledge his presence. Gideon let him wait. Miss Merridew was still clutching his arm—unconsciously, he suspected, though he couldn’t be sure. He waited for Great-uncle Oswald to become aware of it. It did not take long.

“What shamelessness is this?” The old man’s face darkened, and his white brows gnashed fiercely together.

Never one to overlook an opportunity, Gideon wrapped his arm around her waist. It was a delightful waist, he decided, soft and inviting, with the most appealing curves above and below. She stiffened under his clasp.

“Unhand my great-niece, you unshaven lout!” roared Great-uncle Oswald.

The unshaven lout ignored him and hugged the great-niece a little tighter around the waist. He leered down at her.

Great-uncle Oswald gobbled like an enraged turkey. Flushing, Prudence wriggled out of Gideon’s grip, pushed his hands away, and stammered an introduction.

“Great-uncle Oswald, I’d like to present you to the Duke of Dinstable.” She cast Gideon a minatory glance. “Your Grace, this is my great-uncle, Sir Oswald Merridew.”

Abandoning his pose as vile seducer, Gideon bowed correctly. “Your servant, Sir Oswald.”

Sir Oswald gibbered silently, shocked. “You—Your Grace. So it was true, then. But…you surely cannot be the blackguard who has cozened my niece in such a havey-cavey way!”

“I expect I must be,” Gideon said meekly. “Does it seem havey-cavey to you? I confess, it never occurred to me. Although blackguard does seem a trifle harsh. Rascal, I might accept, even scallywag, and unshaven lout, certainly, since I have been out all night.” He passed a rueful hand across his roughened jaw. “But blackguard? Surely not.”

In the face of this barefaced provocation, Sir Oswald resumed his gobbling. “What the devil does my great-niece mean to you, sir?” he demanded.

Aware that Miss Merridew was holding her breath anxiously, Gideon hesitated, then cast her a soulful look. “I cannot say,” he replied truthfully. After all, he knew almost nothing about her, except that her lips tasted delicious. He heard her exhale in relief and smiled to himself. Did the girl really think he would denounce her? When he was having so much fun?

“Do you deny that you have extracted from her a promise?”

“I could deny it, I suppose, but I doubt you would believe me.” He sighed plaintively.

“Disgraceful! Especially for a man of your position. Y’must have known the girl was too young to be allowed to make a promise like that without the knowledge of her guardian!”

Gideon glanced at Prudence and shrugged. “She does not seem too young to me.”

“Blast it, man—sixteen is far too young!”

Gideon stared at Prudence in shock. “You cannot be only sixteen! I do not believe it! You look, er, much more mature—” His eyes dropped to the evidence of her maturity.

“Do not prevaricate with me, man! I am talkin’ about four and a half years ago, as you very well know!”

“Four and a half years ago?” Gideon repeated blankly.

Prudence, observing his hesitation, stepped into the breach. “When we became betrothed, of course. You must have known I was sixteen
at the time
.”

“Must I?” He grinned. “How?”

“We discussed it
at the time,
” she replied with composure. “You have forgotten.”

“Ah yes, I must have been thinking of other things
at the time,
” he agreed, adding softly. “So, that means you must be, what?—add four and a half to sixteen—more than twenty now? Such a great age. No wonder Great-uncle Oswald is desperate to fire you off! Almost on the shelf, as you are.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and her fists clenched as if she itched to box his ears. She was utterly delightful, thought Gideon, enjoying himself hugely.

“But you are a duke!” Sir Oswald thundered. “Why wait four years if you wanted the girl?”

“Why, indeed?” Gideon poured himself another cognac. “Brandy, Sir Oswald?”

“Poisonin’ your innards with brandy? At this hour of the morning? Disgraceful!” Sir Oswald turned puce.

“Ah yes, Miss Merridew did warn me. Tea for you, then,” agreed Gideon gently and waved a hand toward the teapot. “Or shall I ring for a fresh pot?”

With visible difficulty, Sir Oswald harnessed his outrage and moderated his tone. “No, no. Nothin’ to drink, I thank you. What I am tryin’ to understand,” he said, “is why all the secrecy and creepin’ around?”

Gideon raised his eyebrows. “Have I been creepin’ around?” he asked Prudence in a tone of dread. “How very peculiar of me.”

Though she primmed her mouth at him, a dimple betrayed her. She was enchanting, caught like this between amusement and outrage.

Sir Oswald persisted. “You know what I mean, blast it! If you wanted the gel, you must have known your suit would be looked on favorably—dammit, you are a duke, after all, even if you do dress like a shag bag!”

Gideon looked affronted. “A
shag bag?
” He glanced ruefully down at his disheveled clothing, sighed, and turned a pair of mournful eyes on Prudence. “I creep about, and I dress like a shag bag. Are you sure you still wish to be betrothed to me, my dear?”

“No! Not at all,” Prudence snapped in exasperation. The interview was not going at all as she had planned it. She should have taken control of the conversation much earlier, only her brain seemed to have seized up for a moment after that kiss. Several moments, in fact. Instead of concentrating on the matter at hand, her wretched mind kept sliding back to relive that scandalous kiss. Even her lips still seemed to tingle from it.

She was in command of herself now, but in the meantime the situation had galloped out of control. If only this wretched duke would stop his nonsense and let her enact the role she had spent half the night rehearsing, it would all be sorted out by now. Instead he seemed to be having a high old time of it.

“Enough of this shilly-shallyin’ around!” snapped Great-uncle Oswald. “I want an answer—now! Why did you not come to speak to her guardian, like an honest man?”

Prudence opened her mouth to explain.

“Be silent, gel! I want to hear it from him, dammit! He has spent long enough avoidin’ the question!” He turned to the duke. “Come, sirrah! Explain! Why did you not ask for her hand—openly—like a man?”

There was a short silence as the duke considered the question. Prudence held her breath.

“I was shy,” said six-foot-one of bashful male. He grunted as a sharp, feminine elbow thudded inconspicuously into his side.

Prudence stepped forward resolutely. “Great-uncle Oswald, my eyes have been opened. I no longer wish to be betrothed to this…this…”

“Cad,” the duke supplied, sotto voce.

“Cad,” she declared, mastering the faint quaver in her voice. “I find I was mistaken in his character. I was foolish at sixteen, but now I am, er, a woman grown—”

“Beautifully grown,” murmured a deep voice in her ear.

“And I could not possibly marry a man who did not have the courage to face you or Grandpapa like a ma—”

“Not Grandpapa as well!” The cad beside her groaned theatrically. “What a miserable coward I have been!”

“Yes,” she agreed severely. “And now it is too late for that, since poor Grandpapa lies—”

“God rest his soul,” the wretch intoned piously.

“Poor Grandpapa lies on his
sickbed!
” Prudence corrected him. “And he is therefore unable to be spoken to.” She faced Great-uncle Oswald resolutely. “In any case, I find my eyes have been opened to His Grace’s true defects of character—”

“After all this time, I thought you must be willing to overlook the defects,” murmured the duke irrepressibly. “Don’t tell me you didn’t even notice them? I am mortified, simply mortified!”

Prudence pressed her lips together a moment, forced a bubble of laughter back down, and continued, “I cannot marry a man who is such a miserable coward—”

“Not miserable, surely. Quite cheerful at—”

“And who, moreover”—she flung him a quelling glance—“displays a deeply flippant attitude to the serious things in life.”

“One of those being Great-uncle Oswald,” the dreadful man beside her murmured. “He is frightfully serious, is he not? Could do with a bit of cheering up, in my opinion.”

Prudence spluttered as the mirth bubbled up inside her again. “Great-uncle Oswald, I find, on reflection, this man is quite unsuitable, not to mention that fact that, he, er—” She tried desperately to think of a final, clinching reason to sever her betrothal.

“Dresses like a shag bag? Is an unshaven lout?” the duke offered, under his breath.

She ignored him.

“Brandy in the morning?” he muttered.

Prudence seized on it, “A man who drinks brandy at this hour of the morning could never be the right man for me!”

Great-uncle Oswald frowned and considered her statement. “Yes, that is all very well, and I take your point.” He glared at the duke, who immediately looked crushed. So pathetically crushed, in fact, that Prudence found giggles welling up in her again. She glared severely at the wretch. The wretch winked at her.

“Don’t you dare wink at my great-niece like that, you blasted scoundrel!” snapped Great-uncle Oswald. “She is not some loose woman to be winked at by the likes of you…” He seemed suddenly to recall that this unshaven, carelessly dressed lout was a duke and added, “Er, duke or not.”

“I beg your pardon?” a soft voice said from the doorway.

Prudence and Great-uncle Oswald glanced around in surprise. In the doorway was a neatly dressed man of medium height. In many ways he was the opposite of the duke, Prudence thought. Where the duke was tall and loose-limbed and disheveled, this man was plump and square and compact. Where the duke was dark and unshaven and casually dressed to the point of carelessness, this gentleman was as neat as wax, freshly shaved, his hair perfectly coiffed, and his clothing crisp and fresh. He looked to be about thirty.

“Morning, Edward,” the duke said, grinning.

“Good morning, Gideon,” the gentleman responded. “There seems to have been a great deal of noise coming from this room. Could I prevail on you to explain it to me?”

“This is private business, sir,” Great-uncle Oswald began. “And I’ll thank you to—”

The gentleman ignored him. “Gideon?” he repeated.

“Hang it, sir,” Great-uncle Oswald blustered. “Who the devil do you think you are to be demandin’ explanations when I just told you it was our private business!”

The gentleman turned haughtily. “Who the devil am
I
?” he said in a cold voice. “I, sir, am Edward Penteith, the Duke of Dinstable, and this is my house. And who might
you
be?”

Chapter Four

“She’s as headstrong as an Allegory on the banks of the Nile.”