Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors)

by Galen, Shana

  “What’s your hurry? I thought we could talk for a few minutes.”

  “No, thank you.” Pru tried to move around him, but he stepped in front of her.

  “Don’t you like me, Miss Howard? Or do you only tumble blind madmen in the clearing off the road?”

  Pru tried to prevent her face from showing any emotion, but she knew she’d failed when he gave her a satisfied smile. Her heart was pounding now, the sound loud in her ears. Northgate had seen them. He’d seen her with Nash. She remembered the sound of the snapped branch, and she wished she’d looked harder or at least investigated. She didn’t want to face Northgate alone.

  “I’m expected for dinner,” she said. “Move out of the way.”

  “What? No sweet words for me? If you want me to move, you have to ask nicely.”

  Pru swallowed. She was in trouble. She knew it, and Northgate knew she had few options. Yes, she was expected at dinner, but no one would come looking for her. Not yet. Not for hours. She often stayed late at Wentmore, and Mrs. Blimkin and the vicar wouldn’t worry about her for at least another hour or more.

  “Please let me pass,” Pru said, making her voice as sweet as possible.

  “That was nicely done,” he said. “But I think you can do better. Give me a compliment.”

  Pru swallowed her distaste. This would not work. The more she appeased him, the more he would want. She would have to try another way. “Please, Mr. Northgate,” she began. “You are so handsome and intelligent and—what is that?” She gasped and pointed, and Northgate turned sharply to look behind him.

  Pru took the chance and used both hands to push him as hard as she could. He’d already been in motion, and the momentum carried him forward, and he stumbled and fell. Pru didn’t wait to see what would happen when he stood again. She lifted her skirts and ran.

  She was a fast runner. The skirts slowed her down, but only a little. She’d always been fast, though her mother had told her running was not ladylike. When her mother was busy or not about, Pru had challenged other children in places like Rome and Constantinople to foot races. And she almost always won.

  So it surprised her when she heard Northgate behind her. He was chasing her, and she didn’t dare waste a moment by looking back. He didn’t sound too close, but she hadn’t expected him to chase her.

  “You stupid bitch!” he called after her, words broken by ragged breaths. Thank God he sounded winded. He wouldn’t be able to sustain his pace for much longer. “You will be sorry. I’ll tell everyone what I saw.”

  His voice was fading, but his threats were clear enough.

  “You’ll apologize to me. You’ll get on your knees before me or I’ll make sure that sightless monster is taken away within the hour. I can do it.”

  His voice was far away now, but Pru didn’t slow. She had met men and women like him before. He was the sort of person who her mother said needed to look hard at the tenth commandment—Thou shall not covet thy neighbor’s house. There was something in there about a neighbor’s wife and oxen as well. George Northgate couldn’t stand for anyone to have something he did not. He didn’t want Pru, but he didn’t want Nash to have something he didn’t. He would carry out his threat. People like him always took perverse pleasure in the suffering of others.

  The only way to forestall him—and it was a temporary solution—was to do as he asked. She’d have to apologize. He’d said he wanted her on her knees, and she had no illusions what else he’d want when she was on her knees before him. Even if she could stifle her pride and give him what he asked for, she couldn’t be his whore. She had to find another way to save Nash from the asylum.

  MR. HIGGINBOTHAM OFFERED to drive Pru to Wentmore the next day. He had a small gig he used once a month to visit the farms the farthest from Milcroft or on the occasion when he was asked to preach at a neighboring congregation because their clergyman was indisposed. The horse who pulled the gig was quite plump, spending most of his time grazing and eating apples Pru fed him, and seemed in no hurry to make the three-mile trek to Wentmore. Pru thought she could have walked the distance faster, but that was probably because she was anxious about what she would find at Wentmore.

  She was anxious too at whether or not the earl would tell the vicar that he’d found her in Nash’s bedchamber. She’d considered telling Mr. Higginbotham the night before, but she hadn’t been able to do it. He had been so complimentary of Nash at dinner. He’d gone on and on about the preparations for the festival and how gracious Mr. Pope had been that Pru hadn’t wanted to tarnish the vicar’s good opinion—of Nash or herself. Nash needed all the support he could muster at the moment. He definitely did not need an angry clergyman descending on his home.

  If he was still at home.

  She hadn’t been able to sleep all night, worrying that Nash had been taken to the asylum under the cover of darkness.

  But once the great house came into view and she spotted the maid sweeping the front stoop and a groom smoothing the gravel on the drive, she dared to hope.

  “What a pleasant prospect,” Mr. Higginbotham said. “The earl must be very pleased with the work his son has done on the place.”

  “I’m certain he is.” She hoped he was. She’d mentioned the earl’s arrival at dinner last night. Being that the earl provided a living to the vicar, the two men were acquainted, but Mr. Higginbotham had not seemed to know any more than Pru herself that the earl had planned to arrive that day.

  The groom stopped his work on the drive and took the horse’s reins. “I wrote to Lord Beaufort many times to comfort him concerning Mr. Pope. I told him if we trusted in the Lord and prayed without ceasing, his youngest son would come to see the light—er, figuratively, of course.”

  Pru took the vicar’s hand and descended from the gig, keeping her smile pasted on her face. She rather thought Mr. Higginbotham had written to the earl to report on Nash and the poor state of the house. It was more the arrival of Mr. Payne than anything the vicar had done that helped Nash, but being that she was in a precarious position herself at the moment, it seemed wise to hold her tongue.

  A footman met them at the door. Pru didn’t recognize him and realized he must be part of the earl’s household. He showed them into the drawing room, which was a chamber Pru had only entered a time or two, and though she could see some of the furnishings needed reupholstering and the draperies were a bit faded, the room was clean and airy. The earl’s servants must have stayed up all night readying it for the earl, who was seated near a window, but stood as they entered.

  “Mr. Higginbotham,” the earl said. His gaze moved to Pru and lingered for just a moment. “And Miss Howard. How good to see you again.” She had worn her new dress today, though that meant she would have to wear it two days in a row as she wanted to wear her best dress to the festival tomorrow. Pru held her breath that the earl would not mention the state of undress he had found her in yesterday.

  She glanced about the room, but it seemed the earl was alone. Did that mean he’d sent Nash away? Where was Mr. Payne? If only she could catch his eye, she might know something.

  “My lord,” she said with a tight smile. “I hope you passed a restful evening.”

  “Very much so. I have forgotten how quiet the country is. Very conducive to rest. Please, both of you, take a seat.”

  They sat and Mr. Higginbotham began to rhapsodize on the virtues of the country. Pru looked about, still hoping for some sign of Nash. The quarter hour dragged into a half hour and finally the earl suggested they walk to the back of the estate where the tent that would house the baked goods to be judged this year had finally been erected. Pru practically jumped out of her chair and then had to force herself to walk slowly and demurely behind the two men.

  Finally, they emerged into the crisp, sunny afternoon, and Pru shaded her eyes to catch a glimpse of not only the tent for the baked goods but also a small stage and several booths in the final stages of construction.

  “Quite the undertaking,” Mr. Higginbotham
said.

  “Yes,” the earl agreed. “I’m given to understand your Miss Howard played a pivotal role in managing all of this.”

  Pru nodded at the compliment, but her heart was beating too fast for her to form a polite response. She’d spotted Nash. He was turned away from her, looking toward the informal gardens. From the way he stood, she could tell he was uneasy. She wanted to go to him, comfort him, ask him if the sounds of the laborers were troubling him, maybe walk with him in the informal gardens. Perhaps steal a kiss...

  “Miss Howard, would you walk with me?” the earl asked her. Pru looked at him, startled at hearing her name.

  “Of course. I wanted to show Mr. Higginbotham the area where I thought the children’s games could take place.”

  “Perhaps you can show him later. I would speak with you alone.”

  Pru looked at the vicar and he cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I will say good day to Mr. Pope.”

  Pru watched him walk toward Nash and wished she could take his place.

  The earl offered his arm, and Pru took it. Now was the time he would chastise her. She supposed she should be grateful he hadn’t done it in front of the vicar.

  “Which way to the games area?” the earl asked.

  “That way,” she said. They walked in silence for a few moments and when they were away from the main house and within sight of the lawns, Pru took a breath.

  “I thought we could section off different areas for foot races and...” She was so nervous she couldn’t even think of any of the other games. This was ridiculous. She released the earl’s arm and turned to face him. “I’m not sorry,” she said. “I know you probably think I’m some sort of lightskirt and feel obligated to tell the vicar the situation in which we met yesterday.”

  The earl raised his brows, his blue eyes grave.

  “But I cannot apologize for it or regret it. I cannot bring myself to regret a single moment I have spent with your son. And if that means my reputation is ruined, well, there are worse trials.”

  “Miss Howard,” the earl began.

  She shook her head. “I’m not done.”

  The earl’s brows shot up higher.

  “I simply ask that you don’t accuse Nash of ruining me. He did not ruin me. I seduced him.”

  The earl’s lips pressed together. “I see.”

  “He’s a very good man, and I know he pointed that pistol at you yesterday, but he didn’t realize it was you. I have never been in a war, so I cannot imagine what it must be like. Have you ever been in a war, my lord?”

  “No.”

  “Then you cannot understand either. Nash isn’t dangerous. He just needs time to recover. And he really is recovering. He is so much better than he was—”

  “Miss Howard.”

  “And I think given time—”

  “Miss Howard.”

  “Sir, I am trying to talk you out of sending him to the asylum.”

  “I realize that, Miss Howard. And your feelings for my son do you credit. He is a good man. He always has been.”

  Pru stared at the earl. “Have you told him you think so? You can’t imagine how much that would mean to him.”

  “We have not been on good terms for some time.” The earl looked past Pru, toward the lawns.

  “All the more reason to make amends now.”

  Beaufort’s gaze flicked back to her. “Miss Howard, you are very forthright for a young person.”

  “I know. I keep telling my mouth to shut up, but it keeps ignoring me. Oh!” She grasped the earl’s hand and squeezed it.

  “Miss Howard, this is quite—”

  “Shh!”

  “Miss Howard,” he hissed.

  “Look.” Slowly, she raised her free hand and pointed into the hedges bordering the far end of the lawn. “Do you see him?”

  “Do I see who? Really, you should release my hand.”

  Pru released him and placed her hand on his arm. “The peacock,” she said. “He’s just right there.”

  She felt his arm stiffen under her hand and then his shoulders dropped, and he let out a small chuckle.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  Pru glanced at the earl. He was smiling broadly, his eyes dancing with merriment as he watched the peacock strut in front of the hedges.

  “I’d quite forgotten about those birds. How can he still be alive? I brought them here years ago.”

  Pru told him what she’d learned about the peacock lifespan in Constantinople. “Mrs. Northgate told me the day of the garden party you asked Nash to give a sharpshooter demonstration.”

  The earl’s smile faded slightly. “Yes, I did.”

  “She said he was only about ten and was better than all the men of the village.”

  “Quite true. He was always a natural with a firearm. I’m quite a good shot myself, so he comes by it honestly.”

  “My lord, you were proud of Nash that day,” Pru said. “Do you not think you could be proud of him again?”

  The earl let out a sigh. “Miss Howard, you are speaking of things you know nothing about. Much has happened in the years between, and Nash is not the same man he was when he left for the war.”

  “But he’s still your son. And he still needs your love.”

  “Miss Howard, these matters do not concern you.”

  “I know.” She spread her hands wide. “I told myself a dozen times to keep my thoughts to myself, but how can I when all the signs tell me to speak out?”

  “What signs?”

  “The peacock!” Didn’t the earl see that as a sign? What were the chances that the elusive peacock would be here, in this exact place, just as the two of them happened to come to stand here? “I can’t stay silent when the peacock is there.”

  The look on his face indicated perhaps he thought she should go to an asylum. “I don’t follow you, Miss Howard. What has the bird to do with whether or not you mind your own business?”

  Really. She could see the family resemblance more than ever. Neither Nash nor his father seemed to have any imagination. “My lord,” she said, summoning all her patience. “The peacock is part of your past—a symbol of the love and pride you once had for your son. To see one now is a clear sign that Nash needs that love and pride from you again.”

  “Or it might just be that the bird has managed to survive all these years.”

  As she’d thought—no imagination.

  “Have you not been back to Wentmore in the last twenty years?” she asked, trying logic, though it pained her.

  “I have.”

  “And have you ever seen the peacock? Your son led me to believe everyone thought the peacocks dead—succumbed to the elements or eaten by foxes.”

  “I have not seen this peacock until today. What of it?”

  Pru moved to stand directly in front of the earl. “It is a sign. Give him a chance, my lord. Please.”

  A movement behind him caught her attention, and she craned her neck to see the vicar and Nash making their way toward them. “Here he comes, my lord. This is your opportunity.”

  Twenty-Two

  Nash did not like his empty pocket. He continued to reach for it, touch it, even though he knew it was empty. He tried not to panic. He reminded himself Rowden had his pistol. Rowden had his back.

  The vicar arrived and came to speak to Nash, and Nash nodded and smiled. But he had no idea what the man said. Nash could only think about the pistol. And then he realized if the vicar was here, Pru might be here.

  “Is Miss Howard with you?” Nash asked, interrupting some monologue on God creating Eden.

  “Eh? Oh, yes. She is showing Lord Beaufort the lawns set aside for the games.”

  She was with his father? Alone?

  “Speaking of Eden,” Nash said. “You should see that view as well. Come.” Without waiting for Mr. Higginbotham, Nash started in the direction of the east lawn. He brushed his walking stick before him periodically to make certain he would not crash into any unexpected objects, but for the most part,
he knew the way well now.

  “Mr. Pope!” Pru said as he neared and just the sound of her voice calmed him. He wanted to reach out and take her in his arms, but he had enough sense to give her a formal bow.

  “Miss Howard, thank you for coming to assist with the final preparations. We can certainly use your support.” He hoped she understood what he was really saying.

  “I wouldn’t dream of staying away,” she said, and her voice was warm. “But now I think your father wishes to speak with you. Mr. Higginbotham, might I request your counsel on that area over there? I thought we might set up skittles.”

  “Skittles? Where?”

  “Come. I’ll show you.”

  He heard the swish of her skirts as she moved away, and Nash wished he could go with her. Standing before his father now, he felt like the little boy he’d been twenty years ago. It might have helped to be able to see the man, reassure himself he was taller than the earl now, but the brightness of the sun made even seeing shapes impossible at the moment.

  “You’re looking well this morning.”

  Nash swallowed and tried not to touch his empty pocket. Funny how he’d forgotten about it when he’d known Pru was here and when he’d been in her presence.

  “I feel like hell,” Nash said, surprising himself with his honesty. “I didn’t sleep all night, wondering if my door would be knocked down by a drove of doctors paid to take me away.”

  “Come now, Nash. Is that what you think I would do? I’m not a monster.”

  “No, you’re not. You’d drive me yourself and tell yourself you were doing the best thing for everyone.”

  The earl sighed. “Can you blame me? When you came home from the war, your mother and I didn’t even recognize you. You looked the same, but it was as though a stranger had taken over your body. You would not come out from under your bed for three days, Nash. You shot a hole in the ceiling of the music room, scaring your sister half to death.”

  Nash had a vague recollection of being in the town house, but he did not remember these specifics.