The Perfect Rake

by Anne Gracie

  “Fleeing the country? Good God, no!” Gideon stared, then realized he needed some sort of rational explanation. “I—er, was called away urgently, but recalled I’d promised to get these fixed. No time to delay, you know. They’ll be needed pretty urgently when I return.”

  “Very good, me lord. I’ll have them sparkling and perfect again for the little lady.” Sitch shuffled to the door and opened it.

  “There is no little lady!” Gideon said meaningfully.

  Sitch peered out into the street. Prudence sat bolt upright in the phaeton, looking anxious, fretful, and to Gideon’s eye, wholly adorable.

  “Quite right, me lord. Trick of the light. I never saw no little lady.”

  “Good man.” Gideon took his leave. Prudence looked so relieved to see him, it took all his self-restraint not to snatch her into his arms and kiss the jitters out of her. Instead, he climbed aboard the phaeton, concentrating on sang froid.

  “Here you are,” he said in a terse voice. “I hope it is sufficient for your needs.” He pulled a thick roll of notes from the pocket of his greatcoat and handed it to her.

  The thickness of the roll made Prudence’s eyes widen. “London prices must be much higher than elsewhere. You’ve done better than I expected. Thank you.”

  He shrugged, a trifle embarrassed by her misplaced gratitude. “Sitch has done business with me for years. I knew he would not let us down. Now, we’d best make speed to catch up with Edward and your sisters.” He lifted the reins. “Are you going to hold that money in your hand all the way, or do you have somewhere to put it?”

  She started. “Oh, yes. Of course.” She carefully peeled off half a dozen notes and placed them in the Egyptian reticule. Gideon waited with interest to see what she would do with the rest. “Turn your back, please,” she said briskly, looking a little self-conscious.

  Gideon quizzed her with a look, then shrugged. “Boyle, turn your back,” he called to his groom, then he also turned his back, or as much of it as the seat of the phaeton would allow. There was not a lot of room for maneuvering. A shame he was bred a gentleman; he was dying to know where she planned to hide the rest of the money. He felt her wriggling beside him. A sharp little elbow nudged him high on the shoulder. “Sorry,” she gasped. “Stay where you are. I’m not finished yet.”

  From the angle of that elbow, her bodice was the fuller by several hundred pounds, he surmised. He chuckled to himself. He couldn’t imagine how she thought her bosom would hide that much money; her curves might be delightful but they were not so full as to be able to disguise a thick wad of banknotes.

  “Not yet!” she hissed.

  He heard the slither of fabric and a surge of velvet cloak and muslin gown frothed across his lap. Gideon grinned. Unless he missed his guess, Miss ImPrudence Merridew had just exposed her legs to a London street—a silent and empty street, to be sure, but a public thoroughfare just the same. He grinned.

  “Cooling your limbs, Miss Imp?” he murmured.

  A gasp and a flurry of fabric being hastily tugged down was his reward. “I asked you not to look! If you were a gentleman—”

  “Rest easy, Miss Imp. I didn’t cheat.”

  “Then how did—”

  “I turned my back as you asked, but I’m not deaf, and when this falls across my knees—” He gestured to the folds of her dress and cloak. “I put two and two together.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, it is true, I did pull my skirt up a little. But there is nobody here to see, and I keep my stocking purse under my petticoat, for safety.”

  “Very sensible. Now, may I turn around so we can resume our journey?”

  She made a small sound, which he took for assent, so he turned back to face the front again. He whistled to his groom, and as the horses moved on, Gideon glanced at her and smiled. “So, how much is your bodice worth? I’m guessing”—he glanced again—“fifty pounds.”

  Prudence blinked, then clapped her hand to her bodice with a small shriek. “You did watch, you…you rogue!” She thumped him on the shoulder furiously, and he laughed, denying it.

  “Not at all! You must acquit me of everything except excellence in surmise. You bumped me with your elbow, and it was in such a position that I worked out the rest.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Perhaps, but how could you possibly know there was fifty pounds in my bodice?”

  He gave her a slow, knowing look, as if to say, Work it out, my dear.

  She blinked. He must have…to have noticed a change in the size of her bodice, he must have looked at her! Intimately! Prudence blushed. He was indeed no gentleman!

  “Exactly.” He seemed to have read her thoughts. “Any change in your bodice, and I would notice.”

  “That—that’s…You are quite outrageous!”

  “I know.” His tone was apologetic, but Prudence wasn’t fooled for a minute. “I’ve told you before of the trouble I have with my eyes,” he continued. “The poor things are anxious, you see—too anxious for their own good.”

  She was silent for a minute, frowning while she debated whether to maintain an aloof dignity or satisfy her curiosity. It was fully three blocks at a smart pace before curiosity won.

  “What do you mean, anxious? Your eyes don’t look anxious to me at all! As far as I can see, they are bold and perfectly wicked!”

  He edged the grays to a walk while they negotiated a jumble of handcarts and barrows, nearing a market. “Ah, but that is their tragedy. All that bold wickedness is just a brave front, you see. Underneath, they are sadly anxious. Particularly about your bodice.” He paused a moment, then added, “I mean, what if something should fall out? It’s very worrying, I can tell you!”

  She gasped. Casting him a darkling look, she drew her cloak together and beneath its shelter, folded her arms across her bosom. “You are quite incorrigible!”

  But Gideon could see the dimple lurking in the corner of her mouth, even as she glared down her masterful little nose at him.

  “I should turn it off without a character, if I were you,” he said in a conversational tone. “It betrays you every time.”

  There was a long pause as she turned the comment over in her mind. “Turn what off without a character? What are you talking about? I don’t think I could ever turn anyone off without a character reference.”

  “You really should, you know; it betrays you time and time again.”

  She turned to him, puzzled and not a little suspicious. “What does?”

  “That dimple.”

  She flounced her shoulder away from him and observed the road in silence for the next moment or two.

  “See, there it goes again,” he said softly. “Every time you try to be cross and schoolmistressy and put me in my place, out it pops, betraying you!”

  The dimple disappeared for a moment, then returned as she struggled for propriety.

  “I find it adorable,” he murmured and put an arm around her to steady her as they turned a corner at a smart trot. Muffled in the voluminous folds of her cloak, she was unable to fend him off as he could see she would prefer to do.

  “I would hate you to fall off,” he murmured and tightened his hold. “So undignified, not to mention dangerous.”

  She made a halfhearted effort to wriggle away from him, then sighed and allowed herself to be held firmly against his side. A stern look gave him to understand she would tolerate no further encroachment, but after a few moments of stiff resistance, the warm curves of her body relaxed into him, swaying with the movement of the carriage in perfect synchronization with his.

  Gideon smiled to himself. It was the closest he’d got to her in ages.

  They turned onto the turnpike road, and Gideon set the grays to at a steady clip, driving one-handed, unable to bring himself to release her. She would be cross with him again when she discovered he hadn’t sold a thing. But he was damned if he’d let her sell her precious bits and pieces only for some nonsensical notion of propriety.

  He’d had every intent
ion of selling them for her, hadn’t thought twice about it initially. What were jewels, after all, but hard pieces of metal and glittering stone; a decorative form of business transaction. Men and women traded jewels all the time in his experience; a diamond necklace for favors granted, sapphire ear bobs for an apology, an emerald bracelet as a silent farewell. Oh, women had always spouted stuff about symbols of love, but he’d always thought it a lot of nonsense, a polite lie to disguise basic avarice.

  Until now.

  He recalled the soft look in her eyes as she’d gazed into the box, the tender wistfulness with which she’d handled each piece, as if saying a silent farewell to it. The women he knew would have been most reluctant to give up the diamond and sapphire sets—they were clearly the most decorative and valuable pieces. Yet the piece Prudence had handed over with most reluctance had been a scratched and worn old locket with two amateurish portraits inside.

  There had been tears in her eyes as she’d handed them over, he was sure of it, even in the dark. Something about the husky tone of her voice and the way she wouldn’t look at him directly.

  Tears. Over a scratched old locket with two bad portraits.

  He hadn’t been able to get a clear look at both pictures, but one of them was of a man’s face. Her parents? Or was the man in the locket Otterbury? If she hadn’t been battling to hide her tears he might have asked her about it. But now was not the moment.

  The lights of London soon dropped away behind them. They passed through several sleepy villages at a fast clip, the only light that of the moon and the carriage lanterns. The sound of the horses’ hooves rang in the night, disturbing a few dogs here and there, leaving them barking in the distance. To Prudence, it felt like they were the only people awake in the world.

  She had done little traveling as an adult and found the pace of his lordship’s phaeton a little alarming, to tell the truth, particularly on the turnpike road. It was very disconcerting to be driving pell-mell into the night, not knowing quite where they were headed, so she was very grateful for the occasional light of the moon when it came out from behind the clouds.

  The moon! Recently risen, the heavy, creamy globe shone from behind directly along the road they were traveling.

  “Lord Carradice, we are driving away from the moon!” Prudence exclaimed.

  “So we are.”

  She tugged at his sleeve. “But the moon rises in the east!”

  “So it does, and very romantic it is, too, don’t you think?”

  “But Derbyshire is to the north.”

  “Correct again, Miss Merridew,” Lord Carradice congratulated her. “I can see you’re a whiz at geography. Shall we play at geographical question-and-answer to while away the miles, then? I do so enjoy discussing geography, don’t you?” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and continued in a chatty tone, “Did you know that there is a place called Goatfell in Scotland, for instance? One can only surmise that a noble goat gave its life for—”

  Prudence snatched her hand back and said in exasperation, “But you told Niblett we were going to your seat in Derbyshire. So why are we traveling west instead of north?”

  “Because if we want any supper, we must hurry along. Are you hungry? I must say I am—”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! What are you talking about?”

  “You mean you’re not hungry?”

  “Yes, of course I am, but—”

  “Well then, we’d better make haste. It doesn’t do to keep a lady hungry.”

  He urged the horses to even greater speed, and Prudence was forced to grip his sleeve again, this time for security. It really was a frightful pace, but she managed to say in a firm enough voice, “Lord Carradice, I insist you explain why we are traveling west!”

  He turned his head, and his smile glinted wickedly in the moonlight. “My cousin has sent a man ahead to bespeak rooms and a late supper for us all at The Blue Pelican in Maidenhead. Granted, it is not very far out of London, but you cannot wish to travel through the night like the mail does.”

  Prudence relaxed a little, relieved to hear that her sisters and the duke were also apparently heading for Maidenhead, though the choice of destination seemed a bizarre one. “Whether or not we travel through the night is immaterial to me, as long as my sisters are safe, but that is not the point! Why Maidenhead? It is nowhere near Derbyshire.”

  “Neither it is,” agreed Lord Carradice, apparently much struck by the notion.

  “But you told Niblett we were going to Derbyshire! And you paid him handsomely not to tell!”

  “I did say you could trust my judgment of his character, but, no! You wouldn’t heed me.” He attempted to look downcast by her lack of faith in him, but a tiny curl of his lips gave him away.

  Prudence’s jaw dropped. “You mean you bribed Niblett not to tell…but told him a lie, knowing he could not be trusted, anyway?”

  Lord Carradice looked affronted. “Of course I trusted him—trusted him to pass on the information instantly.”

  “How did you know he would not honor the bribe?”

  Lord Carradice tapped the side of his nose and looked wise. Prudence wasn’t fooled. “You have tried to bribe him before!”

  “You have a very suspicious mind, Miss Imp.” Lord Carradice looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

  Prudence nodded, satisfied. “I thought so. It is very wrong to bribe servants, you know, but in this case you did the right thing. Let us hope Niblett will not suddenly turn over a new leaf. It would be most unfortunate if he decided not to tell.”

  “No chance of that,” murmured Lord Carradice, adjusting the reins in his grip. “I only gave him five guineas.”

  “Five guineas?” Prudence exclaimed in horror. “But that is far too much!” She knew exactly how much five guineas would buy, and it seemed foolishly improvident to squander it on bribing a devious and untrustworthy butler.

  “Nonsense. It is sufficient to make him realize the information was worth something, but believe me Miss Imp, Niblett holds himself a great deal more expensive than five guineas. He will be insulted by the paltry nature of the sum and will hasten to inform your grandfather of our supposed destination. And thus, if your grandfather pursues us, he will head directly for my seat in Derbyshire, and my people there will have received the message to send him on to Scotland. Alternatively, he may decide it is too far and give up.”

  Prudence shivered. “He will pursue us,” she said in a low voice. “There is no doubt of that.”

  Lord Carradice frowned at her sober certainty and laid one hand over hers. “He may pursue you,” he assured her firmly, “but he shall not find you.”

  She gave him a look of the bleakest misgiving. “In my experience, Grandpapa does not give up easily. And he is very good at intimidating others. Your people might be too in awe of him to deceive him.”

  “I doubt that,” he began, and then, seeing she could not be convinced of that, added, “and if by some mischance he does find you, he shall not lay so much as a finger on you, that I promise you. You are safe with me, my Imp, and so are your sisters.”

  His voice was deep and sure and steady, and Prudence was comforted, despite herself. She ought to have removed her hands from his grasp, but she could not bring herself to do so; it seemed as if strength and calmness flowed into her from him. She had an overwhelming impulse to lay her cheek against his shoulder, as if she could, just for a while, lay all her burdens on that broad, strong resting place.

  But she couldn’t. It was just a momentary weakness on her part. He thought his assistance, his gallantry, and his wonderful generosity in helping her would make a difference—and it did, but only to her feelings. He thought it was only a matter of time before she broke her vow to Phillip. But then, Lord Carradice was used to ladies who thought nothing of breaking vows, even marriage vows.

  To Prudence, such vows were sacred.

  And even if her feelings had changed, even if what she once felt for Phillip was a pale shado
w of what she feared she now felt for Lord Carradice, she could not betray Phillip’s years of loyalty. She and Phillip were joined, even if not in the eyes of society and the law; a ring had been given and accepted, and promises made in the churchyard, under the eyes of God.

  And the bond had been sealed by blood.

  If she was ever to come to Lord Carradice—and deep in her heart she acknowledged that she wanted to—she would come to him free and clear and wholeheartedly, not as an oath-breaker. Love was too precious to be tainted.

  She buried her hands in the folds of her cloak. She had managed on her own before; she would manage again. Even if Grandpapa did find them, and used the law to get Prudence and her sisters once more under his control, she was determined to defy him. She would turn one and twenty soon.

  And if Charity and the duke wed—as she hoped they would—perhaps the duke would help her to force Grandpapa to sign over the money. Lord Carradice might try, but a duke, especially if he were a relation by law, would have more power. If the duke and Charity married.

  In the meantime, Prudence could protect her sisters, surely.

  Assuming Grandpapa was not so enraged he beat her insensible again…

  She swallowed. She must not dwell on her fears. Fears sapped your strength. If she stayed strong, Grandpapa could not get the better of her. That other time, she had been ill, feeling lost and abandoned, and he’d caught her at her most vulnerable. She would not allow that again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “The curfew tolls the knell of parting day…

  And leaves the world to darkness and to me.”

  THOMAS GRAY

  THEY CHANGED HORSES AT BRENTFORD AND THE PACE WAS NOT quite so fast or so smooth, the horses being not so well matched nor as smooth-gaited as Lord Carradice’s. A few miles farther on, the land opened up before them, an endless, bleak expanse of silver and shadows lying silent and cool under the moon.

  “Hounslow Heath,” said Lord Carradice, apparently responding to the tightening of her hand on his arm. She had found it easier to ride thus, holding on to his arm—purely for security, of course. The light carriage was very well sprung, but it did tend to bounce around a little on uneven patches of the road.