The Perfect Rake

by Anne Gracie

  “I suppose such an imposture was bound to be exposed in the end,” he added. “Imposture always does come out.” He looked at Prudence sadly.

  Imposture! He was about to expose her. Prudence took a deep breath and braced herself.

  “I apologize for deceiving you, Miss Merridew.”

  Prudence blinked.

  “You cannot mean you did deceive this young lady as to your identity, Gideon?” The duke looked mildly shocked.

  Lord Carradice shrugged sheepishly. “I am such a worthless fribble, you know, Edward. Girls are so much more impressed with your title than mine.”

  The duke’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

  Prudence held her breath.

  Great-uncle Oswald finally spoke. “You, sirrah, are a disgrace to your name and your class! Tellin’ a filly a few Banbury tales to impress her is one thing; masqueradin’ as a duke and enterin’ into a secret betrothal is quite another! And this poor, trustin’ little creature has waited for you to speak to her grandpapa or me—as a man should—for nigh on four and a half years!”

  “Four and a half years, four and a half months, four and a half minutes…” Lord Carradice gazed at Prudence soulfully. “Time means nothing, when one is in love.”

  The duke frowned, sent a piercing look toward his cousin, then turned his gaze on Prudence.

  Prudence didn’t know whether to kiss Lord Carradice or to strangle him! She was grateful that he had not exposed her, of course she was! But his talk of love was making things worse again. She had severed the false betrothal, and he was off the hook. If he would only be quiet, she could leave now, and though Great-uncle Oswald would be angry, it might not be the complete disaster she had feared a few moments before.

  “Come, Great-uncle Oswald, let us leave,” she said in a low voice. “I have no desire to have my folly any further discussed. My betrothal is at an end, no harm has been done, and I would be grateful if we could depart at once.” She took the old man’s arm and tried to steer him toward the door, but Great-uncle Oswald refused to budge. He glared from Lord Carradice to the duke and back.

  “So that’s it, then, is it?”

  Nobody responded. Prudence tugged at his arm, in vain.

  “You engage yourself to my great-niece in a dashed havey-cavey manner, under a false title, you keep the gel danglin’ for four years, then I find you meetin’ her in secret, alone and unchaperoned—”

  “No, no! I brought Lily with me.”

  Great-uncle Oswald dismissed her maid with a wave of his hand. “In the hallway—doesn’t count!”

  “And there was the butler. He was with us almost all the time,” Prudence added desperately.

  “Pah! Butlers can be bought!”

  An affronted snort came from outside the door.

  Lord Carradice grinned. “Bribe Bartlett? But he’s so expensive!”

  “Be that as it may,” said Great-uncle Oswald, “the gel has been compromised enough by—”

  “No, no,” cried Prudence, realizing Great-uncle Oswald was about to insist on marriage. “There is no question of compromise. I utterly refuse. The betrothal is off. I cannot marry a man such as, such as…this!” Unable to think of any sufficiently damning epithet, she gestured at Lord Carradice in disgust. She looked at him hard, willing him to take up her lead. Surely he would.

  Lord Carradice opened his mouth to speak. Prudence relaxed a little.

  “What if I shave?” he said. “I look much better when I’m shaved. My cousin will vouch for that—do I not look almost handsome when I shave, Edward?” He didn’t wait for the duke’s reply but turned earnestly back to Prudence. “Do you think you could marry me if I shaved?” The duke frowned and stared at Lord Carradice intently. Lord Carradice ignored him.

  The man was impossible! Prudence glared at him. “No,” she snapped. “I would not marry you if you were the last man left alive in the world! You are a complete—an utter—” She waved her hands in frustration, but the words would not come. All she could think of was shag bag, or scoundrel, or unshaven lout, or smoky knave, and if she uttered those words, she knew she would be completely undone.

  It was impossible. The whole thing had got completely out of control. She had tried everything she could think of and now she could see only one way out of her current predicament.

  So she fainted.

  It was quite a good faint, she thought, being unplanned and the first she had ever attempted. It certainly put an end to the ridiculous conversation about her betrothal to Lord Carradice. The only trouble was that she should perhaps have signaled her imminent collapse to Great-uncle Oswald—a sigh or a small gasp of feminine distress perhaps. Elderly men clearly found it not to their liking to be the recipient of an unexpectedly falling female.

  Great-uncle Oswald staggered and gasped under her weight. He seemed in imminent danger of dropping her to the floor. It may have been a miscalculation on her part to fall toward him instead of collapsing gracefully into insensibility onto Cleopatra’s barge. It took all her control to maintain the illusion of insensibility as she felt herself slipping.

  And then, with shocking suddenness, she was snatched from disaster by a pair of muscular arms. She was only just able to prevent herself from squeaking as she was lifted bodily off the floor and clasped securely against a broad, masculine chest.

  It was not Great-uncle Oswald’s chest. It was not the duke’s. Prudence hoped very much it was the butler, Bartlett, who was holding her with such apparent effortlessness, but Bartlett had seemed more cushionesque than otherwise. She sniffed surreptitiously. There was no telltale scent of musk. There was—she sniffed again, just to be sure—a faint aroma of spirits and tobacco, a tang of soap and starch from his linen, and, most intriguing of all, the scent of…She was hard put to recognize it, but it was most appealing. Could it be, the scent of…a rake?

  Reluctantly, Prudence allowed her mind to recognize what her body had known instantly. It was Lord Carradice who had snatched her thus. Against whose chest she was nestled. It was a very broad and comforting chest, she had to admit. She felt an overwhelming desire to curl up against it forever, but apart from the fact that she had no business feeling anything so shocking, she knew that within that chest beat a heart that was quite without proper feeling of any kind.

  Great-uncle Oswald had called him a famous—nay, an infamous rake, a scoundrel, and a reprobate. And he hadn’t denied it. He’d even seemed quite proud of having such a dreadful reputation. It seemed quite conclusive.

  And Prudence had the evidence of her own eyes that he took nothing seriously. He ought to have been shocked by her wicked forwardness. Instead he had casually entangled them both even further in deception, embroidering on her initial lie with merry abandon, adding layers and layers of further complication, without, apparently, a thought for the consequences.

  She did not excuse her own part in creating the lie in the first place, but she at least had been driven by desperation. He seemed to have joined in for…for fun! He’d even taken most shocking advantage of her duplicity by using it to steal a kiss. Moreover, a kiss that had not only taken her by surprise, but that had undermined her own sense of ladylike behavior.

  She could not quite rid herself of the suspicion that she had pressed herself against him in quite a forward manner. And there was no denying that the experience—though shocking!—had been pleasurable. There had been several instants after he’d stopped kissing her before she’d remembered to push him away.

  And those dark, wickedly dancing eyes told her he knew it, every time he looked at her. It was most ungentlemanly of him.

  He seemed to have very few notions of gentlemanly behavior. In fact, judging by his demeanor throughout, he seemed to thrive on deception. She supposed rakes must—else how would they be rakes? Ladies, surely, did not wish to be ruined; there would have to be deception or trickery involved. Wouldn’t there?

  She sighed, feeling the very appealing strength of the arms that held her. It was sud
denly much clearer to Prudence how an otherwise virtuous lady might find herself wishing to be ruined.

  She waited for him to put her down, knowing that a pony-girl had to be too heavy for any man to carry for more than a few seconds. So she held her breath…and waited…and waited…and he showed no sign of needing to do so. Prudence had never felt so delightfully delicate and feminine in her life. She knew she was not, of course, but the sensation was indescribable.

  It was a very good thing that gentlemen in general were not encouraged to carry ladies about, otherwise there would be even more sin in the world than there was already, she decided.

  She kept her eyes firmly closed, lying limp against his chest, in absolute certainty of his strength supporting her. If she looked up, she knew she would find herself looking into a pair of dark, laughing eyes. And from this distance, she would find him extremely difficult to resist. And that would be fatal.

  She dangled bonelessly in his arms and listened to the flurry of activity around her. Bartlett had apparently produced some feathers and was wishing to burn them under her nose.

  Lord Carradice objected to that, saying the smell of burned feathers disgusted him.

  Bartlett said that was the point.

  Lord Carradice responded that he did not wish to be disgusted at such an ungodly hour, that he had had quite enough to deal with as it was, and that Bartlett would oblige him by putting the feathers away and fetching a glass of water instead.

  Bartlett sniffed. The scent of musk receded and Prudence concluded that he had gone to fetch the water.

  Uncle Oswald was searching through Prudence’s reticule, muttering that women’s indispositions were very disconcertin’ things for a man to deal with—very disconcertin’! And why the deuce wasn’t she carryin’ her dratted smellin’ salts?

  The duke, it appeared, had fetched Prudence’s maid and seemed to be expecting Lily to do something, but Lily, overwhelmed by the grand company in which she found herself, said to the duke over and over again, “I dunno to be sure, Your Highness. She ain’t never fainted before.”

  Prudence felt another giggle coming on. She stifled it and abruptly felt herself squeezed in the most alarmingly exciting manner.

  “If you dare to laugh now, I shall drop you in the fire along with my tailor’s bills,” he murmured under his breath, his mouth against her ear. “You have carried the whole thing off beautifully, but if you giggle, you shall ruin everything.”

  He knew she was feigning insensibility. And yet he continued to hold her in this shockingly intimate fashion. Prudence stiffened with indignation. And then the meaning of his words sank in.

  His tailor’s bills? The love letters he had tried so heartrendingly to rescue from the flames were his tailor’s bills? She compressed her quivering lips together, hard. Oh he was a devil, to be sure. She had felt so guilty at burning them. His tailor’s bills!

  “Put me down at once,” she hissed through stiff lips.

  He made no move to do so. Instead, he jiggled her in his arms in a most provocative fashion.

  “Put her down, at once!” Great-uncle Oswald’s voice echoed her words uncannily.

  “Oh, there’s no danger of me dropping her,” said Lord Carradice casually and jiggled her again. “I am merely trying to get more air in her lungs. Oh, well, if you insist, I shall place her here, on the settee.”

  Prudence felt herself being lowered onto something long and padded. Cleopatra’s barge, she thought. As his arms released her she sighed. With relief, she told herself.

  “Should we not fetch a carriage and take her home?” said the duke’s soft voice.

  “Yes, yes—her sisters will know what to do,” exclaimed Great-uncle Oswald in obvious relief. He sounded quite flustered. “Ladies’ indispositions best left to ladies, after all! You, gel, whatever your name is! See to your mistress while—demmit! I sent the carriage home. Thought I’d be here longer.” He turned to the duke. “It will have to be a hackney, if one can be procured. But your man will need to inspect it first. Last time I used a hackney it stank shockin’ly of onions! And check the seats. If m’great-niece is to lie on the seats—oh, hang it. I’ll inspect it m’self. I need some fresh air after all this botheration.” He turned back to Lily and barked, “Don’t leave her side for a moment, gel!”

  “Yessir, Sir Oswald.” In her mind’s eye, Prudence could see Lily bobbing a curtsy. She heard the duke and Great-uncle Oswald leave the room. Silence fell. She was alone, then, with Lord Carradice and Lily.

  Prudence lay still, her eyes tightly closed, trying to decide when would be the best time to make her recovery. She had no wish to allow Great-uncle Oswald to have second thoughts about her so-called broken betrothal with the false duke, Lord Carradice. On the other hand, she did not think she could cope with being carried out to the carriage by Lord Carradice. It was too…unsettling.

  Motionless, eyes closed and breathing gently, Prudence considered her options. Cleopatra’s barge was surprisingly comfortable. She was lolling on it, she realized suddenly, and had to suppress a spurt of laughter.

  “Lily, is it? I wonder, could I trouble you to you pop out to the kitchen and desire Mrs. Henderson, the housekeeper, to give you a bottle of smelling salts?” said Lord Carradice in a soft, deep voice that was all liquid charm.

  “Oh, er, well, sir, it’s just—” Lily hesitated.

  Lord Carradice chuckled. “You don’t think I’m going to do your mistress any harm, do you Lily?” His voice was pure, dark honey.

  Prudence stiffened. No woman could resist that voice, let alone a simple country maid like Lily. She decided to give Lily an incentive to stay and moaned a little, as if she were about to come around.

  “Look there,” said Lord Carradice instantly. “See, she is coming to. Run and fetch those smelling salts instantly, there’s a good girl.”

  “But Sir Oswald said…Shouldn’t I stay?”

  “What if she should fall over again, Lily? You would not be able to catch her, a frail little creature like yourself. I think I had better stay.”

  Frail little creature indeed! thought Prudence furiously. Lily was a good fourteen stone at least, and had been known to knock a cheeky footman on his ears with one blow! Oh, he was a rake indeed! Wickedness incarnate. There was not a word of truth in him!

  “Yes, o’ course, sir,” murmured Lily in a dazed, adoring voice. “That would be best. I’ll fetch those smelling salts, sir, no trouble at all.”

  “And perhaps a reviving cordial,” suggested Lord Carradice in a solicitous voice. “Mrs. Henderson will know which one.”

  The room fell silent. Prudence felt a sudden warmth against her leg. He’d had the cheek to seat himself on the settee right beside her. So close beside her, in fact, that she could feel the heat of his body right through her skirts. Cautiously, she opened her eyes and immediately found herself gazing up into the darkest, most alive pair of eyes she had ever beheld in her life. He bent over her, his hands gripping the gilt edging of Cleopatra’s barge on either side of her, not actually touching her, but imprisoning her all the same. If she tried to sit up, she would have to push against him and she already knew his strength. She had never in her adult life been carried so effortlessly.

  “Feeling better?” He smiled down at her.

  There ought to be a law against smiles like that, Prudence thought dazedly. But he had no doubt smiled in just such a caressing way at her impressionable maid. She rallied her defenses. “You know perfectly well that I didn’t faint. In fact, you should be grateful to me for it.”

  “Oh, indeed I am,” he said, grinning irrepressibly, and somehow she just knew he was recalling the shocking way he had jiggled her in his arms.

  Prudence tried to strain away from him, pressing into the padding on the settee. She felt completely breathless. His eyes smiled knowingly at her, as if he could somehow read her secret thoughts and desires. As if he knew they were at war with her principles. In defense, she dropped her gaze to his mouth. It was a v
ery nice mouth, she thought breathlessly. Finely chiseled and made, it seemed, for laughter. And for kissing. She glanced up at him again and instantly took fright.

  “Go away!” She wriggled and thrust her hands against his broad, warm chest. “Let me up!”

  “It’s no use you looking at me like that,” he said softly. “It’s far too late to attempt escape.” And with that, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Chapter Five

  “O nothing is more alluring than a levee from a couch in some confusion.”

  WILLIAM CONGREVE

  IT WAS NOT LIKE THE FIRST KISS HE HAD GIVEN HER—THAT SWIFT, startling stolen kiss that had wiped her mind as blank as a new slate and left her lips tingling many minutes afterward.

  This was altogether more…more…

  Just more.

  She had been kissed before, yes, but not like this…not with the whole mouth. His lips were firm and sure, effortlessly robbing her of her will. Domination by pleasure. His tongue was like warm velvet, stroking, seeking.

  She could taste him! She tasted the brandy he had drunk a short time before. But beneath that, there was hot, dark, irresistible…enticement.

  With each stroke, Prudence’s resolution dissolved a little more. Without conscious volition, her body arched against him. Her fingers tangled in his hair.

  She ought to stop this…but whatever it was that he was doing seemed to have robbed her mind of every coherent principle…and all resolve. It was magic…It was bound to be sinful. It was…Prudence could not think. She could only hold onto him, helplessly…entranced…as sensation swamped her.

  His tongue moved in a slow relentless rhythm. A feverish rush of pleasure engulfed her. She’d never felt like this, her mouth and body possessed, fueled by heat and magic.

  After a moment Prudence realized he had stopped kissing her. She battled to marshall her wits, but all she could do was blink and stare at his mouth, so close to hers, and wonder at the turmoil it had caused within her…was causing still. Who would believe what mere lips could do? And tongue. She flushed again, as a wave of heat passed through her.