The Perfect Rake

by Anne Gracie

  He reached out and possessed her hand. “Tell me.”

  It occurred to Prudence for a fleeting moment that she ought to tell him. Though she did not know if she could bear the way he would look at her afterward, she might as well tell him and get it over with, because she didn’t think she could withstand his tender assault on her virtue much longer. But as she gazed into his dark, concerned eyes, the coward in her put the moment off a little longer.

  “It’s not fair of you to undermine my principles, to disregard what I have told you about my betrothal.”

  “Haven’t you heard, Imp, all’s fair in love—”

  She cut him off. “But you have all the advantage here!”

  He touched his bandage and regarded her soulfully. “I do?”

  “Yes! And stop looking at me like that. You know perfectly well what I mean. Phillip can’t compete with you. He is far away across the sea, and you are here.” He did not conceal his satisfaction at that, so she added crushingly, “Always underfoot! He was little more than a boy when I saw him last, whereas you are a man of practiced charm. Very practiced!”

  He grimaced.

  “You need not pull that face. You know it’s true, whether you like the fact or not. And pretty compliments drip easily from your tongue—”

  He ostentatiously wiped his mouth.

  “—while poor Phillip writes staid and matter-of-fact letters. But not all men can be poets and it would be shallow of me indeed if I abandoned him because he does not make my head whirl with pretty compliments and you—” She broke off, seeing by the look in his eyes that she’d said too much. “Whatever, it does not matter. I am not so shallow nor so dishonorable as to jilt Phillip in his absence, so we shall drop the subject henceforth, if you please.”

  Apparently he didn’t please. “If he doesn’t make your head whirl—and I’m not referring to compliments—he’s not the man for you, Imp. Duty and honor is a dashed dry foundation for a marriage. Oh, I know many make it, but you deserve more, my Prudence. You need—and deserve—to be most thoroughly and completely loved. And by a man who makes your head whirl.”

  His words and the look in his eyes as he said them robbed her momentarily of breath. Prudence avoided his gaze. She felt shaky. Blast the man—just as she had bolstered her resolution to resist him, he must go and say something else that made her yearn for her life to be different. To have been different.

  “I have to go,” she said. “I shall order a nuncheon to be brought to you.”

  A slight frown wrinkled his brow. “Something else is disturbing you, and I intend to discover what it is. I don’t like to see those shadows in your lovely eyes, my Prudence.”

  “I am not your Prudence,” she retorted, taking refuge in propriety.

  He did not argue, just smiled at her in a deeply masculine way that annoyed her, even as her insides melted.

  “I’m not!” she argued, flustered.

  He arched an eyebrow at her.

  “I don’t understand why you persist with this nonsense! I thought we’d agreed to drop the subject!”

  He sent her a sizzling look. “You agreed. I didn’t.”

  “It is not for discussion. I can do nothing until I see or hear from Phillip. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is. Besides, there are things between him and me that—” She broke off. “Well, never mind that.”

  “I shan’t mind if you don’t,” he agreed. “But I’ll not let you go, Prudence. I’ll not pester you, but know this: I will wait until you choose to listen to your heart.”

  “Pshaw.” It was a feeble effort. She took a deep breath and tried again. “Humbug! How can you presume to know my heart?”

  He smiled a slow, devastating smile. “You are my heart.” He lifted her hand and kissed it. “And our hearts beat in tune. I know it—I, who used not to believe in such things. And you know it.”

  She shook her head but was too shaken by his words to say anything. Our hearts beat in tune. I know it—I, who used not to believe in such things. Did that mean what she thought it meant? That he, a notorious rake, now believed in love…even after what he’d told her of his parents? Because of her?

  Oh, dear Lord, what a mess she was in. Promised to one man and bound by honor and duty to keep that promise. And yet…and yet…Oh, unruly heart!

  Even if he wasn’t being rakish, even if he meant what he said, that he could perhaps have feelings for her, he didn’t know her whole situation. He would think differently about her if he did. She tried to comfort herself with the reflection. Cold comfort…

  She had learned enough about the world that in some matters, at least, Grandpapa and society were as one.

  “Don’t fret yourself, my dear,” he said. “I know you hold your promise to Otterbottom sacred and I cherish you the more for it. Kept promises have not figured largely in my life till now, so I value one when I see it. But I shall wait for you.”

  Prudence just looked at him. I cherish you the more for it. Oh, why must he use such words? He would not cherish her if he knew…

  She would have to tell him. It was the only way. Only then would he stop this relentless, tender wooing that was tearing her apart. She swallowed and took a deep breath, then closed her eyes.

  No, she could not do it, not now. Not yet. She could not bear to tend him in his sickbed while he stared at her in disappointment. Or condemnation. Or worse.

  She would not even think the words her grandfather used so freely on her.

  But it would flay her alive to have Gideon say them—or even think them. She would have only a little time more with him. It was cowardly of her, she knew, but she would not tell him the truth until he was well again, and she could flee his condemnation in good conscience. She gave his bedclothes one last vague, distracted swipe and turned to leave.

  His hand shot out and caught her wrist. “Trust me, Imp.” His voice was deep and dark and soft with sincerity.

  Her heart seemed to seize in her chest like a hard, cold ball. She froze, closing her eyes. He was right. It was time. She could put the moment off no longer. And if he…after he knew the story, if he…well, her sisters could tend him. They’d be glad to, she knew.

  “Very well, since you insist, the whole story.” She fetched a hard, wooden chair from the corner of the room and sat a few feet from the edge of his bed. She didn’t think she could do it if he was too close and able to reach out and touch her.

  Folding her hands in her lap, she looked at him for one last moment, drinking in the last moments of his warm, unshadowed gaze. After this there would be a different kind of knowledge in his eyes, and she didn’t think she would care to look into his dark, dark eyes again and see it there. Not with the memory of tenderness and laughter. She took another deep breath, then with trembling lips, began to burn her bridges.

  “I never thought any of us would marry. Grandpapa said our blood was inferior and we should not spread the mongrel taint.”

  Gideon stiffened, but before he could say anything, she held up her hand and continued, “It’s all right. We know we are not mongrels. He hated our mother, you see, and considers her blood tainted, but there was nothing at all wrong with her,” she added in an impassioned voice. “She was beautiful and loving and—” She broke off and took a deep breath. “Mama’s family was not gently born. Her grandfather began as a butcher and his son, our grandfather, was also in the butchery trade, so they were what Grandpapa calls cits, though immensely rich ones. We do not care, of course, but because of his prejudices, Grandpapa would not allow us to go about or to attend any of the local functions—except for church, and even then we had services in our private chapel when possible. But the point of all this is that we girls grew up not knowing many people.

  “Phillip’s parents owned the property next to Grandpapa’s. We did not know him, for he and his older brother were away at school, but we did know Mrs. Otterbury from church, so we knew of him. Anyway, one day while we were out walking, we met him. His horse had gone lame and Phillip wa
s leading it home, taking a shortcut through the Court—that’s Dereham Court, where we lived—to spare the horse, so of course, we started talking and, oh! You have no idea how wonderful it was to talk to someone other than my sisters, someone of my own age!” Her eyes shone with a soft, reminiscent glow. “That day I walked with him to the edge of the property and we just talked and talked—about everything and nothing.”

  “How old were you?” Gideon interjected, feeling ridiculously envious of that glow.

  “Oh, about fifteen, I think,” she said. “And from then on, we met often, in secret, of course. His mother used to visit occasionally, which was unexceptional, since she did not bring Phillip. And though Grandpapa did not like her coming and was shockingly uncivil to her, there was no actual reason for him to forbid her visits.” She smiled reminiscently. “She is very kind, Mrs. Otterbury, and put up with all sorts of rudeness in order to visit us.”

  It occurred to Gideon that Mrs. Otterbury recognized an opportunity for her younger son when she saw it. Each of the Merridew girls were reputed to be handsomely dowered; an ambitious mother would certainly brave more than incivility to secure a fortune for a son otherwise unprovided for. His Prudence was too unworldly to see a more mercenary motive in her neighbor’s sudden friendliness.

  Prudence continued, unaware of his cynical thoughts, “The little ones, particularly, loved her visits, as they have few memories of Mama, and Mrs. Otterbury was so warm and kind and…and motherly. You know, she even cuddled them sometimes, and it was so wonderful—little girls need to be cuddled frequently, you know.”

  “So do big ones,” he said softly and held out his hand to her.

  She shook her head, but her color heightened. “You think there are only a few shared childhood memories binding me to Phillip, don’t you, apart from the promise and the ring? There is more. I did not plan to tell you…but perhaps if I do, you will understand and cease this…this…”

  “Courtship,” prompted Gideon.

  She gave him a look he couldn’t interpret. “Just let me explain.”

  “Very well.” Gideon leaned back and folded his arms and prepared to listen.

  “Phillip’s departure for India was very sudden. I had no idea he was going anywhere until just a day or two beforehand.”

  Young men just didn’t up and leave on the spur of the moment to take up a position in India, thought Gideon. It wasn’t like taking the stagecoach to London; the trip to India took months. There were all sorts of arrangements to be made: passages to book, clothes to be fitted, special supplies to be purchased, such as remedies against tropical diseases; the list was long. He’d wager Phillip had been busy preparing for his journey for some time; he simply hadn’t chosen to inform Prudence.

  “It was very distressing,” Prudence said. “I didn’t know if I would ever see him again—it’s terribly dangerous in India.”

  “So Miss Grace informs me,” Gideon murmured.

  “Yes. Phillip wanted me to marry him and go, too, but of course I was too young to be able to wed without permission, and in any case, Grandpapa was growing more…” She hesitated. “I suppose you would call it…harsh. So I couldn’t leave the children with him, and Phillip said India was too dangerous for the younger girls.”

  “Not too dangerous for a sixteen-year-old?”

  “Oh no, for I am not at all frail or helpless. Besides, Phillip said he could protect me from danger.”

  Gideon managed not to snort. He was hardly in a position to criticize, after all.

  “But it was not practical for all five of us to go, even with the assistance of my dowry—Papa’s will leaves us money even if we marry without permission, you see—for that is what he and Mama did.”

  Gideon nodded. He did indeed see. Otterbury tried to persuade a lonely sixteen-year-old to wed him on the sly, knowing she came with a handsome dowry.

  “Phillip proposed to me at The Cairn—that’s what we call Mama and Papa’s grave—and don’t look like that, it isn’t really their grave, but we girls made a pile of stones in a corner of the Merridew family burial yard. It is next to the Dereham private chapel, so nobody goes there except family and the gardener who keeps it tidy. We planted flowers around The Cairn and when we were lonely or unhappy, we used to go and talk to Mama or Papa. It was a comfort, you see. We’d tell them things, just small items only of importance to family—like girlish secrets and Grace’s teeth.”

  Gideon frowned. “Her teeth?”

  Prudence smiled, “Every one of her baby teeth was added to The Cairn with great ceremony. Teeth falling out are exciting for a child, and no one else at Dereham was interested, but Mama and Papa were always listening. That’s what we thought, anyway.” She smiled to herself, a little misty-eyed.

  “So that’s where Otterclogs proposed?” Gideon said. Cunning bastard, he thought.

  “Yes, he asked their permission first and then—” She broke off at the sound of a soft knock on the door.

  “How is our wounded hero?” a low, feminine voice called. Gideon swore under his breath.

  “It is Charity!” she explained, clearly flustered by the interruption. “I—er, I didn’t tell them it was I who shot you! They think it was the robber!”

  Gideon nodded. “Your bloodthirsty tendencies are safe with me, Miss Imp.” Dammit, she’d been about to explain the hold that blasted Otterbury had on her. He was in no mood to entertain visitors, but he could see she’d snatched at the interruption like a drowning man snatches at a straw.

  She jumped up and opened the door. Charity entered on tiptoe, carrying a covered tray. “Is he awake?” she whispered.

  “I’m awake, Miss Charity,” Gideon responded.

  “He’s awake!” A cluster of golden heads peered around the door and in seconds his bed was surrounded by sisters and his cousin.

  Prudence, suddenly recalling his chest was naked but for the bandage, quickly whisked the sheet up around his chin and tucked it in firmly, watched by four pairs of curious female eyes.

  “How do you feel, Coz?” asked Edward. Gideon winked, and Edward relaxed.

  “Oh, you poor, brave man, thank heavens you’re recovering. I’ve brought you some nice, hot gruel.” Charity set the tray on a nearby chest and lifted the cloth to reveal a spouted invalid bowl, containing an ominously gray liquid.

  Gideon pulled a face. He had no intention of drinking gruel.

  “Oh look, he’s in pain,” exclaimed Faith. “You’re very brave, sir.”

  “Is it very painful?” asked Hope.

  “Of course it is,” said Grace scornfully. “He bled everywhere, all over the landlady’s best sofa. It’s absolutely ruined!” she pronounced with relish. “Did you kill any of the villains, Lord Carradice? Prudence wouldn’t discuss it.”

  “That’s quite enough, Grace, dear,” interrupted Prudence hastily. “We don’t want to exhaust Lord Carradice, do we?”

  “Oh, Lord Carradice wouldn’t mind,” the invalid murmured. “A little exhaustion, in a good cause…”

  Prudence blushed and seized the invalid bowl. “This gruel will help you get your strength back, sir.”

  “No, I thank you, some beef and burgun—”

  The spout was deftly inserted between his teeth. Gideon spluttered and tried to object, but the vile stuff was poured gently but ruthlessly down his throat.

  His visitors stayed and chatted for some few minutes, and pleasant though it was, Gideon soon found that he was indeed exhausted.

  Prudence picked up on it instantly. “I think our invalid needs to sleep now,” she declared. When the visitors had left the room, she came back to his bedside, gently smoothed his pillows, and tucked him in. Like a babe, he thought in disgust.

  “Sleep now,” she whispered, passing a hand across his brow.

  He caught it and held her hand against his cheek. “I still don’t know what your terrible secret is, my dear, but there is nothing you could tell me that would make a difference. You have led a sheltered life—” He h
eld up a weary hand. “No, don’t argue with me. I have no doubt that what you think scandalous and unforgivable would not be so very dreadful to a man such as myself. I shall wait. It will make no difference to me.”

  He subsided, and Prudence turned to leave. His words stopped her in her tracks. “I shall wait for you until I am old and gray if I must. But I’ll have you in the end, my Prudence. And you’ll come to me with a whole heart, you’ll see.”

  Prudence was stunned. He would wait for her until he was old and gray? The look in his eyes caused her heart to pound. She put out a shaking hand as if to hold him off, though he wasn’t touching her, and hadn’t made a move toward her. “But you are a rake,” she whispered.

  He gazed into her eyes for a long, long moment. “Yes. And when a rake finally falls, he falls forever.” He let her digest that for a moment and then added solemnly, “Besides, you should not scorn my rakishness. Having a rake about the place will come in extremely useful.”

  She frowned in puzzlement. “Useful?” It was an odd word to use. “What do you mean? What possible use would I have for a rake?”

  “I could tidy up all your fallen leaves each autumn.”

  It took her a moment to perceive the jest. Laughter and tears trembled on her lips at the same time. Oh, what to do with him? How could anyone love such a wicked, funny, foolish man?

  How could they not?

  Prudence left the room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “But having done whate’er she could devise

  And emptied all her Magazine of lies

  The time approached…”

  JOHN DRYDEN

  THE CITY OF BATH ROSE FROM A GREEN AND VERDANT VALLEY, THE afternoon sun seeming to gild the rows and rows of terraced houses rising in serried ranks like the steps of an amphitheater.

  “I had no notion Bath was so beautiful, so very splendid!” exclaimed Prudence.

  Hope and Faith peered out from the coach windows on one side, while Prudence and Grace peered from those on the other. Lord Carradice observed the young ladies indulgently, pointing out various sights along the way, lounging on his seat, his coat slung around his shoulder in a careless style that disguised the bandaging.