My Favorite Things

by Lynsay Sands

  Struggling for breath, Prudence acted instinctively and brought her cane down square on top of Hawkman’s head. Her tormentor released her at once. Sucking in great gasps of air, Pru stumbled backward, just avoiding the retaliatory fist the man sent flying at her face as she tumbled to the floor beside the serving girl. She wasn’t terribly surprised that the man had tried to hit her despite knowing she was a woman. After all, he hadn’t been treating the serving girl very well. Everyone was surprised, however, when the blow he intended for her landed squarely on the jaw of a large blond man who had apparently stepped forward to intervene. The blow was enough to send the man crashing to the floor, and Prudence bit her lip and winced in sympathy, but was more than grateful that she had not managed to stay on her feet for that shot.

  Silence fell in a wave that spread to the far corners of the room as the blond shook his head and regained his feet. Then Hawkman, looking pale and frightened, blurted, “I did not mean to hit you. I was—”

  It was as far as he got before the blond man’s fist plowed into his face. Prudence almost cheered at the blow. She did hate cowards, and any man who was so vicious to women, then quavered when confronted with a man his own size, was definitely a coward.

  She watched with satisfaction as Hawkman stumbled backward, then winced as he crashed into a serving girl who had just come through a nearby door with a tray of beverages. The tray upended, sending the drinks flying over a pair of men; then all hell broke loose. The two men promptly joined the fray and were quickly followed by others—everyone soon striking out at his neighbors. The violence moved in a wave much as the silence had a moment before, rippling out over the crowd until everyone seemed to be involved.

  Pru pushed herself up to a sitting position and gaped at the riot breaking out around her, then scrambled up to rescue her father’s second-best top hat from between two combatants’ feet. Unfortunately she was too slow, and the hat got slightly dented and compressed. Prudence scowled at the damaged item, then glanced to the side a bit wildly when someone tugged at her arm.

  “Come on,” the serving woman cried, then promptly shifted to her hands and knees and began to crawl away through the legs surrounding them.

  Pru stared after her in amazement for a moment, then, afraid of being left to fend for herself in the midst of the mob, shifted to her hands and knees and scrabbled after her. She started out trying to crawl while holding her father’s cane in her hand. That was a painful endeavor, as she found herself grinding her fingers between the hard object and the floor with her weight on it. Leaving the item reluctantly behind, she found it easier going and was able to make much better time, despite having to pause every few feet to yank up her breeches—crawling about left her with no hands to hold them up, and the activity seemed to drag at them.

  “Do you not think we would move faster on our feet?” she asked breathlessly, dodging between a couple of flailing legs to catch up with the woman, whose path was blocked by a pair of men rolling on the floor, fists flying.

  “Sure, if you don’t mind a fist to the face,” the servant answered over her shoulder as she changed direction to crawl around the battling pair. The words sounded practical enough to Prudence, but she couldn’t help thinking that she might prefer a fist in the face to a boot in it.

  Pru had barely had that thought when she got a boot to the stomach as someone tripped over her. It was more a knock than a kick, but was enough to startle an “oomph” out of her and make her decide she would risk the fists. Pausing, she started to draw her knees up to rise, only to find herself assisted to her feet by someone grasping the back of her collar and jerking her upward.

  Closing her eyes instinctively, Prudence clutched at her drooping drawers and winced against the blow she felt sure was coming. She was spun on her feet to face her assailant.

  “You!”

  Opening one eye cautiously, Pru nearly groaned aloud—Lord Stockton. She silently cursed her luck. Then, deciding that bravado was her best option in the situation, she beamed at the man as if he were a dear friend she had run into unexpectedly in the middle of a crushingly overcrowded ballroom.

  “Oh! Good evening, my lord! What a pleasant surprise. And how are you this evening?”

  Watching the red suffuse his face, darken, then turn to purple as his mouth worked silently, Prudence considered that bravado might have been the wrong choice.

  “You!” This time the word was not shocked so much as a long, drawn-out, frustrated and furious sound. Yes, she had definitely made the wrong choice with bravado. Perhaps throwing herself into his arms with relief and pretending to desire his protection from the mad horde around them would have been a better approach. She almost carried that thought through to action, but was denied the opportunity when a pair of struggling combatants suddenly rammed into her captor, sending him reeling. Prudence actually almost rushed forward to catch him and help him regain his balance, then realized that she would hardly be doing herself any favors and decided that fleeing was the better option.

  She whirled away and started to try to fight her way through the crowd, only to quickly understand what the serving girl had meant. Not only were fists flying, but elbows were thrusting, and bodies were banging. It was almost impossible to get through the men on foot. Glancing over her shoulder in a purely panicky action to see that Stockton had regained his balance and was now fighting toward her, Prudence returned to her hands and knees and began to scramble past, around, and even sometimes through the pairs of legs shifting and stumbling around her, sometimes hopping along like a three-limbed dog as she was forced to yank at her damned breeches. Still, she was able to move much more swiftly like this, and she was just congratulating herself on the maneuver when she was collared again, dragged to her feet, then hustled through the crowd.

  Stockton had pushed his way through the fighting men much more effectively than she had managed, she admitted unhappily as she was half pushed and half dragged through a door. Finding herself in the kitchens amidst the culinary staff and few servers who had managed to reach the relative safety there, she forced another smile to her face and tried to turn it on Lord Stockton. It was no easy task, with the way he still grasped her by the neck of her cape. She ended up smiling into her collar as she offered a cheerful “My goodness! I am forever in your debt, my lord. I was finding it nearly impossible to make my way through that mob.”

  She did not think it was a good sign when he merely ground his teeth a little harder than they had already been grinding and jerked her along, ushering her through the kitchens to another door. It turned out to lead to an office. His, she supposed as he pushed her inside and slammed the door.

  She glanced briefly over the small, neat room with its sparse furnishings of a standing cupboard and a desk with one chair behind it and one in front, then turned to eye the man standing statue-still before the door. “I—”

  “Do not say it!” he interrupted harshly, beginning to pace.

  “But you do not even know what I was going to say!” Prudence protested.

  “I do not care. Do not say anything. Anything at all,” he snapped.

  “Oh, now surely—” Her words ended on a startled gasp when he suddenly whirled and strode forward with an expression that did not bode well.

  Alarm coursing through her, Prudence lurched back, only to come up against the chair before his desk. She opened her mouth desperately, ready to babble that she was sorry and would remain silent, only to have his mouth close down over hers as he paused before her. Eyes wide open, she stood completely still as his mouth moved over hers, her heart seemingly dead from shock in her chest. Then she felt the first smoky tendrils of passion stir to life within her and she softened under the kiss, only to be left gasping when he suddenly tore his lips away.

  She started to lift one hand to her lips, but he had grabbed her by the upper arms and still held her.

  “You kissed me,” she said in a gasp. His mouth twitched at her startled announcement, then twisted when she add
ed, “Why?”

  “To silence you,” he answered abruptly.

  “Oh.” She heard the disappointment in her voice and nearly winced at the softening it caused on Stockton’s face, positive he would now feel pity for her. Prudence wasn’t left to worry over the possibility long. Despite his claim that he had kissed her to silence her, and the fact that she had finally fallen silent, he suddenly covered her lips again, his mouth moving warm and firm over hers. Pru tried to resist the feelings the kiss stirred in her. Well, all right, perhaps she didn’t try very hard. It wasn’t more than a moment before she gave in on a soft sigh and let her hands slide up around his neck as she kissed him back.

  He had opened his mouth over hers, prodding gently at her lips with his tongue to urge them apart, turning the kiss into a terribly interesting experience for Prudence, when a knock at the door interrupted them. Breaking away, Lord Stockton moved a couple of steps distant and turned to call out for the person to enter.

  Pru sucked her lower lip into her mouth, tasting him on it as she watched the door open to reveal Plunkett.

  “I put an end to the fighting, my lord, and—” The large man’s words died as his gaze slid to Prudence. Seeing the shock on his face, Pru grimaced, knowing that the large man no doubt now recognized her and understood why she had seemed so familiar. But then Stephen frowned and followed the man’s gaze, his expression changing to one of consternation. When he quickly stepped in front of her, sheltering her from view, she had the most horrendous idea that—

  Glancing down, she cried out in horror. Her father’s breeches were lying in a pool around her feet. She had given up her hold on them to put her arms around his neck, and apparently the kiss had been sufficiently distracting that she hadn’t noticed when they glided down her legs. Only her father’s overly large shirt was left to cover her where the cape was open, and that reached only partway down her thighs.

  Her face burning with embarrassment, Prudence bent quickly to pull the trousers back up, not even hearing Stephen’s babbling excuse. She pushed past both men and fled as fast as her feet would carry her.

  STEPHEN TOOK A step forward, intending to chase after Prudence, then caught himself with a sigh. The poor girl had been thoroughly humiliated. His chasing after her would achieve nothing more than to embarrass her further. Besides, he had already proven that he couldn’t be trusted around her. He had been enraged when he had spotted her there in his gaming room, shocked that she would dare enter—dressed as a man no less—and furious that she would risk her reputation so. But all that shock and fury had quickly turned to a different sort of fire the moment he had gotten her alone. And hadn’t that been a brilliant idea? He took a moment to berate himself for treating her so cavalierly. At the time, kissing her had seemed an acceptable alternative to the throttling she deserved. Obviously he hadn’t been thinking very clearly. No lady deserved to be treated as thoughtlessly as he had just done.

  Not that she had fought him off, he thought, enjoying the memory, then gave himself a shake. The girl was obviously as innocent as a babe. She had probably been overwhelmed by his attention. Hell, he had been overwhelmed himself. But his behavior had been simply unacceptable.

  A quiet shuffling drew his attention. Plunkett still stood just inside the door, but his stunned expression at the sight of Prudence with her drawers on the floor had turned to grim disapproval that the man was directing straight at his employer. Stephen felt himself straighten defensively.

  “I had nothing to do with her trousers falling down.” The words came blurting out without his volition. He really had no need to explain himself to his staff. Still, the words came out, and when Plunkett looked doubtful—as anyone would after seeing the red, swollen, obviously just-kissed state of Prudence’s lips—Stephen felt compelled to explain further. “Well, I did kiss her, but . . . it is not as if we have not been introduced. We have met at various balls.”

  That wasn’t strictly true. Stephen had attended several of the same balls as the Prescotts and always noted their daughter’s presence. Prudence was a lovely woman. Her beauty was the sort that shone through like a collection of snow white daisies in a mixed arrangement, not screaming for first attention like a red rose with its hidden thorns, but subtly drawing the eye with its soft loveliness. Of course, with his precarious situation in the ton, he hadn’t ever approached the woman until just recently. It was only when the rumors and gossip had begun to circulate about the state of the Prescott finances, when the rest of the ton had begun to draw away, that he had dared ask for a dance or two. He had not wanted to sully her with his reputation.

  But with the ton acting as they were, it had given him the perfect opportunity. He had approached under the guise of saving her from being a wallflower, something he had done in the past with other shy young ladies. That had been the ruse under which he had made his polite request, and he had found himself drawn to the girl with her soft voice and quick wit. The only reason he hadn’t recognized her right away that first night outside his club was because of the darkness, the unexpectedness of her presence there, that silly hat she had been wearing, and the way she had been bundled against the cold.

  Aware that Plunkett was still glaring at him like a father who had caught him mauling his daughter, Stephen shifted impatiently. “You say the fighting has ended?”

  Plunkett spent another moment looking down his stub of a nose at Stephen, then nodded slowly. “Had to clear out the club to do it, though. The place is empty and the doors locked. Should I open ’em up again?”

  Moving behind his desk, Stephen made a face and shook his head. He dropped wearily into his chair. “No. That was enough excitement for one night. Is there much damage?”

  “A couple tables broke and a couple of the serving girls got roughed up. Sally took a nasty poke to the eye. It’s swollen shut and blackening bad, and I think Belle’s got a cracked rib or two.”

  Stephen scowled. For all the years that he had been in this business, it still startled him to see how a little drink and a game of cards could bring out the worst in these supposed “men of nobility.” Some nights he was ashamed to be counted a member of them, and those nights were coming more and more frequently. Stephen had always loathed the weakness that shone through as he watched desperate men gamble away what little they had left in the hopes of making a fortune. But more and more often of late, he was also bearing witness to a cruelty hidden beneath some of those men’s suave exteriors. It wearied his soul and made him think that perhaps it was time to get out of this business. He had even looked into several alternative ventures, but had not struck on anything as lucrative yet. Once he did . . .

  Shrugging his thoughts away, he turned his attention to the matter at hand. “Take Sally and Belle to be tended; then see them home. Here.” Unlocking the drawer of his desk, he retrieved a sack and tossed it to his doorman. “Split this between them and tell them not to come back until they are recovered.”

  Nodding, the large man turned and left him alone with his thoughts, which promptly returned to the woman he had been kissing only moments before. Damn, she had looked fine in breeches. Even sagging, baggy breeches. But, he thought with a small smile, she had looked even better with them pooled around her ankles.

  Chapter Three

  Oh, dear.”

  “‘Oh, dear’ is right!” Prudence quit her pacing and dropped glumly onto the settee beside Eleanore. The Kindersleys’ town house was where Prudence had taken her father’s clothes to change into them before attempting her infiltration of Ballard’s. After fleeing the scene of her humiliation, she had been forced to return to change back into her gown. She would have preferred to have Jamison take her straight home, where she could weep over her humiliating failure in private, but, dressed as she had been, going home had been impossible. Meg Prescott was not aware of what her daughter was up to. It was her Christmas wish, after all. Besides, she probably wouldn’t have approved.

  Now that she was here and had revealed the humiliating
results of her venture, Prudence found that she did actually feel a touch better. Eleanore’s sympathy was a soothing balm.

  “What was it like?”

  Pru turned a confused gaze to her friend. “What? Realizing that I was standing there with Father’s breeches down around my ankles like some—”

  “Nay.”

  The other woman started to smile, but bit it back quickly, Prudence noticed.

  “Nay,” she repeated. “I meant the kiss. What was his kiss like?”

  Prudence glanced away, her mouth twitching and twisting before she could control it. She wasn’t at all surprised to find her friend curious about that. They had often talked about the members of the ton, discussing the men they found attractive and such. Stephen had been one of them.

  He was terribly handsome and debonair. And she and Eleanore were not the only ones who thought so. The older set among the ton might have resented having to admit him to society, but the younger ladies were more than happy to have him around, and they often vied for his attention. Eleanore and Prudence had never been among those who vied, but they had certainly noticed the man and would not have said nay had he asked for a dance, or the opportunity to fetch them a refreshment.

  It wasn’t just that he was attractive, but he had shown his kindness on several occasions. It was well known that he had a tendency to befriend those the ton saw as just barely acceptable, and there was never a wallflower so long as he was in attendance. He made a point of being introduced, and of making everyone feel included. Pru and Ellie had both appreciated that. Especially Prudence, who just lately had found herself in need of being rescued from being a wallflower. She rarely attended social functions, but had on one or two occasions under pressure from Eleanore. Unable to afford a new gown, she had been forced to wear last season’s fashions. That fact had been recognized at once by all, and the fact that it meant the family’s wealth was now failing had been understood. There was nothing the ton fled from faster than those whose wealth was dwindling. Prudence had found herself in the uncomfortable position of being avoided by most people as if she had the plague. And absolutely no one had asked her to dance—except for Stephen, once, at each of the events. No, he might not have recalled her upon their meeting, but she had had no problems remembering him.