The ego was back in place too it seemed.
‘Mr Fairweather,’ she said, straightening her skirts. ‘I was not expecting to see you here amongst polite society.’
She did her best to look bored. Meanwhile her insides were betraying her, fluttering with unbridled excitement. ‘Reconnoitring the carriages out the front so you know which you’d like to rob later?’
His grin faded. ‘And that’s what you consider polite, is it?’
His hurt expression didn’t fool her. She could still see the tell-tale glint of mischief in his eye.
‘As a matter of fact, Miss Stanforth, I keep a place in town as well as a house in the country.’
‘Then bushranging must pay much more than I had first thought.’
‘Prudence?’
‘Hmm?’ She turned her head to see Frederick standing beside her, glancing questionably between her and Jack.
‘Oh, Frederick.’ She had forgotten all about him the minute she’d landed in Jack’s arms. ‘Mr Jack Fairweather, may I present Mr Frederick Grantham.’
The two men shook hands but neither looked overly thrilled to be meeting the other.
‘Grantham,’ Jack said in greeting.
‘Prudence, may I get you a drink?’ Frederick asked.
‘Please.’
‘Will you meet me out on the terrace?’
She smiled sweetly. ‘Of course, Frederick.’
‘Frederick Grantham,’ Jack said when the man had disappeared into the crowd. ‘A solid choice by your grandmother. Good breeding, a man of no occupation. Just perfect for the Lady Carrington’s granddaughter.’
‘A man of no occupation is better than a man who makes his living by others’ loss.’
‘Touché.’
‘And we only met Mr Grantham tonight. I’m sure my grandmother has more good sense than to align me with a man we know nothing about.’
‘I’m sure your grandmother learned all she needs to know about Mr Grantham long before tonight.’
She opened her mouth to argue but had no retort.
Had her grandmother been planning a match between her and Frederick Grantham for weeks without her knowledge? Prudence felt a flicker of concern, but she refused to let Jack bait her.
‘Excuse me, I must meet Mr Grantham on the terrace,’ she said and began to walk away. But Jack was right there beside her as she moved through the crowd.
‘He will bore you to tears.’
Prudence said nothing. She would not let him rile her.
‘Do you think he will understand your love of books?’ Jack went on as they made it to the rear terrace of the building. ‘Do you think that once you’re married he will allow you to ride alone? In a man’s saddle? Wearing a man’s breeches?’
‘I never said I would marry him,’ she shot back.
‘He will ask. And your grandmother will approve the match. If you believe you have much say in the matter, you are not as clever as I had first thought.’
Happy to be out in the fresh air Prudence turned to face Jack.
‘Why do you care who I marry, Jack the Devil?’ she asked, lowering her voice. ‘You are a solitary man. Isn’t that what you said? No woman will tie you to the house or make an honest man of you.’
‘That’s right,’ Jack said, his humour seemed suddenly less smug.
‘So it shouldn’t matter to you who I do, or do not, choose to marry.’
‘That’s my point,’ he said. ‘You will have no choice.’
With an angry flick of her skirts, she turned and made her way across the terrace.
***
With teeth grinding together, Jack gazed after Prudence. She tapped Frederick on the shoulder and he turned to face her, a drink in each hand. Jack was filled with the oddest sensation as he watched her fall into conversation with the other man. He didn’t have anything against Grantham in particular, but he suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to ram the man’s teeth down his throat.
Taking a glass of whiskey from a passing waiter, Jack moved to the far end of the terrace where he could stew in his sudden filthy mood alone. But he also made sure that he could still see Prudence. He breathed deeply the fresh night air and drank as he took in the wide expanse of stars above him.
On more than one occasion over the last month, his mind had floated to Prudence Stanforth. The woman haunted him. She entered his mind far too often, both in daylight hours and in his dreams. It didn’t help that everywhere he went he seemed to run into her. Thanks to the gold rush, there had to be hundreds of thousands of people here in the new colony by now. How was it possible that he continued to see the same woman over and over again?
Since that fateful day, when he’d bailed up a carriage and been transfixed by a pair of large green eyes, he’d run into her at the races, on his morning ride and now again here at the Lord Mayor’s Christmas Ball.
He wasn’t often caught by surprise, but when she’d fallen into his arms on the dance floor just now, he had to admit he’d been overwhelmed with pleasure to see her.
Looking back across the terrace, she and Grantham had been joined by her aunt and grandmother. Obviously enjoying the party, they were all smiles and laughter. Who knew the old bat could smile? He watched them for a while longer, and although he couldn’t hear what they were saying, he could see the smile slowly wane from Prudence’s pretty face.
She turned her head and looked directly at him. The resignation in her eyes said everything. He’d been right. Granny had organised the meeting between Frederick and Prudence, and it was a pre-ordained match.
Jack continued to watch the small group, stewing in his bad mood as he tossed back another whiskey. When Prudence excused herself and headed indoors again, he ignored his better judgement, and that little voice in his head that told him to stay away, and went after her.
Moving in the direction of the ladies powder room, he waited outside as she went in. A few moments later she stepped out and with no one around to see, Jack grabbed her arm and pulled her down the corridor and into the nearest empty room, closing the door behind them.
‘Mr Fairweather, let me go.’
‘I wish I could,’ he mumbled, but doing as she asked he let her go and paced away from her.
He spun to face her, but that spelled disaster. The wide orbs of green now fixed on him, wide with surprise, served to fill him with more lustful thoughts. Why had he dragged her into this room? The absolute last place she should be was alone with him.
‘Why do you continue to pursue me, Mr Fairweather?’ she asked, sighing. She wore a downtrodden expression as though she were suddenly very weary.
‘I find you interesting,’ he said, baffled by his own behaviour.
‘I find you annoying,’ she shot back.
He smiled at that. ‘No you don’t. You find me fascinating, exciting and handsome.’
She snorted out a laugh. ‘You are very impressed with yourself, Mr Fairweather.’
‘I’d be happier if you were impressed with me, Miss Stanforth.’
‘That will never happen.’
Dammit, he’d never had this much trouble wooing a woman before. Most ladies thought him quite dashing as Jack Fairweather. He rarely allowed the women he associated with to know his other persona. Bed partners could have very loose lips, particularly if slighted or scorned. Hell hath no fury, and all that.
‘You asked me to keep your secret and I have,’ she said. It was as though she had read his mind.
‘I would hope so,’ he said, the gruffness in his voice caused her to blink and lean away from him. It sounded angry even to him. He turned away from the apprehension that had come into her eyes. He was not angry with her. He was angry with himself for his lack of control when it came to her. He shouldn’t be chasing her down. He should be running as fast as he could go in the other direction. He did not want to scare her, but if he didn’t kiss her again soon he would go stark raving mad.
Leaning closer, he braced one hand above her head against the door,
but only stared into her eyes. Those eyes, green like a Christmas tree, lit up and sparkling.
‘Are you going to kiss me again, Jack?’
Her question floored him. The woman was too perceptive, too bewitching.
Battling his own confusion, he paced away and back, and away again, before he faced her once more. She didn’t look frightened. Why did she never look frightened around him? It was almost offensive. People should be scared of bushrangers.
‘Why are you never afraid of me?’ he asked, snapping out the question he hadn’t meant to verbalise. ‘I’m a dangerous criminal who has just dragged you away from the safety of a party.’
Her chin went up in that stubborn show of strength he was coming to adore.
‘Is that what you want? Do you want me to be frightened of you? Do you want me to think you are big, terrifying criminal? The legend of the Victorian highways, the great Jack the Devil?’
He thought about it. Yes, he wanted people to remember him as the famous bushranger, to cower in his presence. But no, he couldn’t bear the thought of her thinking of him that way.
‘No, that’s not what I want,’ he said, his voice quietening as he got lost in her eyes again. Dammit it all to hell, he couldn’t help it. ‘This is what I want.’
In two steps he’d reached her, in two seconds he had grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him. His lips pressed roughly against hers and he heard her quick cry of shock before she surprised him by leaning into him and kissing him back.
She was kissing him back. Fervently. He hadn’t imagined it at the races that day. Her inexperience was unmistakable, but when her head tilted a little to allow him better purchase against her mouth and she opened ever so slightly, he could see she was learning fast.
It was all the encouragement he needed and he pressed his tongue into her mouth, lightly at first, his body sizzling to the bone when his tongue touched hers.
Moving his hands from her shoulders, he slid them down her arms to her torso where he rested them on the soft fabric just below her breasts. Straining against the urge to take the two beautiful mounds and feel the soft weight of them, he glided his hands down and fixed them against her hips instead.
Her sharp intake of breath spurred him on; spurred him on when he should be stepping back.
He shook his head and tried to pull out of the kiss. But suddenly her hands were there grasping the lapels of his jacket, forceful, holding him closer. She allowed him no escape and pressed her tongue into his mouth, licking and tasting with a new found skilfulness that erased his mind of any intention he had of letting her go. Oh, she was a fast learner alright.
‘God, help me,’ he said against her mouth, pressing her back into the door. But it was he who gasped when her hands moved around his neck and she pulled him closer, her fingers fisting tightly in his hair. Sweet Jesus, she was a wildfire, hot and bright and out of control. Control. It was time he found his.
She was a maid. He was sure. It didn’t matter how much he wanted her, taking her would be wrong. Her eyes were hooded and her lips were pink and swollen, her chest rising and falling alluringly with the depth of her breaths. She was the very definition of the unwitting temptress. A special breed of woman who did not know her own power of seduction, but could tempt a man with only a smile. She had bewitched him. He thought of her more than any man should think about an innocent woman. And he was almost certain that she would be engaged to Frederick Grantham before the night was out.
A bushranger had no chance with a lady of Prudence’s standing. She deserved better than the likes of him. Even if it weren’t Frederick Grantham, knowing she would marry some well-bred gentleman one day tore at him. He couldn’t do this to himself any longer. Pulling her away from the door, he tore it open and without looking back he dashed from the room.
***
Her face was scorched with heat. Her blood felt like warm molasses, thick and heavy. Her mind whirled and sparks sizzled across her skin as though his hands and mouth were still on her.
While he’d kissed her, she’d felt a clenching sensation low in her belly and a heat building lower still. Her nipples had hardened of their own accord when his hands had slid down her bodice. She’d thought he was going to take her breasts in his hands and believed she would have liked that very much. She hadn’t been the stiff, resisting girl this time. When he’d pressed his lips to hers, something inside her revelled in the glorious sensation and she’d gone willingly into his arms, into his mouth.
And then he’d torn himself from her and run. She sighed. Body and mind were scattered, confused by emotions she didn’t quite understand. A heady thrill mixed with frustration at the loss of him. She leaned back against the door and closed her eyes, committing every touch, every kiss, every exquisite reaction he had incited from her to memory. And what he could do with his tongue? She licked her lips, still tasting him there.
Straightening her dress, she checked her appearance in a mirror to ensure her hair was in place. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks were a little flushed, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. Taking a deep breath she left the room and made her way back out to Frederick and her grandmother.
People moved about the ballroom in a golden haze and she had the sensation of floating on air as she moved through the crowd.
‘Prudence,’ Frederick greeted her but then frowned. ‘Are you alright? You were away so long.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Why are you so flushed?’ her grandmother asked, ever observant.
‘Oh, am I?’ Prudence put her hands to her cheeks. ‘It’s very warm inside.’
Frederick took her hand in both of his. It was bold in such a public setting and her eyes flitted to her grandmother, waiting for her to admonish him. But Grandmother only smiled and respectfully turned her face from the intimate moment. Despite the innocence of the touch it felt … wrong, compared with having Jack hold her only a moment ago.
‘Sweet Prudence, I have wonderful news,’ Frederick began. ‘Your grandmother believes we will make a suitable match and I must say I am inclined to agree.’
‘A suitable match?’ Her head was still reeling from Jack’s kisses and she struggled to comprehend him.
‘Yes, she has proposed a marriage between us.’
Prudence felt her mouth drop open, but she could find no words.
‘Don’t look so astonished,’ he chided. ‘I’m known as quite a catch, you know.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ she answered in a small voice. Jack had been right. Her grandmother had secured Grantham for her. Without her knowledge. Her shock began to give way to irritation, but she held her temper in check. She’d always known this day would come, but now that it had, she felt impotent, like a chess piece moved about a board with no say in her own life. Of course Grantham would want to marry her. She was the granddaughter of an earl. His importance would rise upon their union.
‘I have told her, of course, that I need to get to know you better first and for you to get to know me better,’ he went on. ‘But it’s all for appearances as I already believe we’re going to make the perfect couple. I will come to Carrington Manor the day after Christmas and shall stay until the new year at the least. There is quite an age difference between us, but I hope the time we spend together will allow you to feel more comfortable around me. Are you thrilled?’
Prudence tried to smile, but knew she was failing dismally. ‘I am beyond words.’
‘When our week together is finished we will announce our engagement to the world.’
She felt her dress tightening around her ribs. Was she still breathing? She couldn’t tell anymore. Marriage? To Frederick Grantham? The dress was strangling her.
‘It is allowable for you to show your pleasure,’ Frederick said in a gentle tone, as though he was imparting some great social wisdom upon her.
‘Oh, I know,’ she said. ‘I think I’m just …’
‘Surprised and overjoyed? Consumed with happiness?’
&
nbsp; ‘Okay.’
Her brain cells were still shattered and scattered by the kiss of another man and she couldn’t think straight. Surprised? Yes. Overjoyed? That probably wouldn’t have been the first word that entered her mind. But she was sure once she had time to digest the idea of marriage she’d realise it was a good match. Wouldn’t she? It was so fast. But at least there would be no announcement until the new year. She would take the week of his visit to decide if she could endure being married to Frederick Grantham for the rest of her life. And if she couldn’t?
As Grantham moved away to speak with a friend, Prudence recalled the look in Jack’s eyes after he’d kissed her. She’d been unable to discern the look then, but now she realised what it was she had seen in his pale brown eyes. Defeat. Defeat and resignation. He had guessed that Gran was negotiating with Frederick for her hand. Defeat. Under it all, Jack Fairweather was an honourable man. He would not kiss another man’s wife. And yet, the thought of Jack never kissing her again sent a wave of unexpected desolation through her.
‘Are you alright, Prudence?’ Alicia asked, ever the sympathetic observer. ‘You’ve gone pale.’
‘I do feel a little out of sorts.’
‘Perhaps you’ve had enough excitement for one evening,’ Alicia said with an understanding smile.
She had no idea.
‘Yes, perhaps.’
‘I’ll tell the others you are ready to leave.’ She laid a hand on Prudence’s arm before moving away to speak with Deidre.
‘Thank you.’
It wasn’t much cooler outside than it had been in the busy dance hall, but the air was definitely fresher and Prudence inhaled deeply to calm her addled emotions.
Frederick took her hand to help her into the carriage, and as she sat he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly.
‘Goodnight, Prudence,’ he said. ‘I look forward to seeing you again after Christmas at Carrington Manor.’
She could only muster a weak smile as he stepped back and the carriage pulled away into the night.
***
The Bushranger's Wife Page 8