How to Wed a Warrior

by Christy English

  “No,” he answered. “I don’t think she’d wander that far.”

  “The Serpentine in St. James?”

  “It’s worth a gander.”

  Prudence slanted her eyes his way, but took his arm when he offered it.

  “Nothing ventured,” she said, looking longingly at the food laid out on the sideboard.

  “I’ll buy you a hot cross bun,” he said gallantly.

  Prudence smiled at him, her eyes gleaming behind those cursed glasses. “They only bake those at Easter. But thank you for the offer.”

  Robbie reached out and took two buns from the table, handing one to her. “We’ll eat again when we get home.”

  “Once we’ve found her.”

  “If I don’t drown her first.”

  Prudence slapped his forearm with her glove before taking the almond pastry from him. She ate the thing in a trice, and he devoured his own before they were out the door. He watched as she licked her fingertips before putting on her glove. His mouth watered as he watched her, and he fought the sudden desire to drag her into a convenient corner and taste the lingering sweetness on her tongue. He held still and reminded himself to be a gentleman.

  If only morning weren’t his favorite time to dally. He sighed, and followed her delightful posterior out into the street in search of his errant sister.

  Seven

  Pru found herself distracted by the heat of Robert Waters’s forearm beneath the cotton of her glove. Perhaps it had simply been too long since a gentleman had offered his arm to escort her, but she could not remember ever having been so out of sorts before. Even the sweet bun he bought her from a vendor to chase down the pastry from the duchess’s chef did nothing to focus her mind on her stomach. The warmth in her body seemed to have settled in a lower, more disconcerting place. She frowned like thunder, and did not speak.

  His scent was distracting as well—the aroma of cedar on clean, pressed linen. She took in great draughts of the coal-smoked air, but nothing would dispel her intense awareness of the Highlander beside her. He did not speak either, so she could not grouse at him, which made her even more irritated.

  She was being a shrew, if only in her own mind, and she did her best to keep her voice even and pleasant when at last they found Miss Waters, without a bonnet or gloves, fishing in the Serpentine.

  “Mary Elizabeth, for the love of God, what are you doin’?”

  Robert Waters asked the inane question in a voice loud enough to wake the dead. Rousing herself from her warm stupor, Pru swatted his arm to silence him. He obediently fell silent, if only to turn his dark blue eyes on her. She ignored him, as well as two gentleman strolling home from a late night out, both of whom were looking at Mary Elizabeth with undisguised interest, their eyes lingering on the softness of her unbound hair. Pru shot them a look that got them moving, as she stepped forward to face his sister.

  “Miss Waters, it seems you forgot your gloves and bonnet,” was all she said.

  Mary Elizabeth looked miserable, standing by the stream in the center of London, in the center of St. James. The girl sighed deeply, and Pru began to see that there was more than thoughtlessness behind the girl’s wild actions, more than rebellion for rebellion’s sake. Her soft, blonde hair was styled unfashionably in one long, messy braid. Her walking gown was a flattering shade of green, but the stoop of her shoulders showed that she did not care about it, or about much of anything.

  Prudence felt a chill on the morning air, and cursed in silence, using a word in her mind that her brother had taught her when they were small. It seemed Lady Cecelia and Lord Grathton were out for a morning ride, both walking their horses sedately down the path closest to her charge. Pru felt the color rise in her face, but Grathton only shot her a look of sympathy before he politely glanced away.

  Lady Cecelia, on the other hand, smiled like a cat that was contemplating a bird she might soon devour. The soft tones of her voice did not carry well over the distance between them, but Pru could hear the censure in her tone, coupled with a gossiping glee. No doubt word of Mary Elizabeth’s latest indiscretion would spread through Town before breakfast, and there was little Prudence could do about it.

  Pru pushed aside all thought of her charge’s reputation, and focused instead on the girl before her. She kept her hand on Robert Waters’s arm as if to force him, by her strength of will alone, to hold his silence. She waited a long moment to allow Lady Cecelia to pass out of earshot before she spoke.

  “I know you are sorrowing for home,” Pru said. “I know your heart is hurting. But there are things to be done to make it right.”

  “I want to go north, to Glenderrin,” Mary Elizabeth said, her green eyes filling with unshed tears. If she had noticed the small furor she was causing among those who had risen early to stroll in the park, she did not seem to care. All Pru could see in her eyes was pain, and that pain called to her own heart.

  Pru left Robert Waters behind then, and offered the girl her handkerchief, embroidered with small forget-me-nots. Mary Elizabeth blew her nose loudly, and Robert Waters shifted on his feet behind them. Even now, surrounded as they were by ill-wishers, exposed to criticism by Mary Elizabeth’s heedless behavior, Pru was aware of every move he made, and of every move he didn’t make. That awareness pricked at her skin like a sewing needle that had slipped past the thimble to dig into her flesh.

  She ignored that awareness, and every other soul present, and focused on the girl in front of her. She told her the simple truth, a truth she never spoke of.

  “I, too, lost my home. I, too, had my heart bruised. But there are ways to mend it.”

  “How?”

  The girl looked at her, suddenly seeming as young as her eighteen years. Mary Elizabeth was so headstrong, and seemed so sure of herself and of her place in the world, that Pru had forgotten how truly young she was.

  “With small steps are things soonest mended.”

  Mary Elizabeth wiped her eyes. “What steps might those be?”

  “Come back to the town house with me, and let’s find out.”

  Pru did not refer to their borrowed house as a home, and Mary Elizabeth heard the omission for what it was. No building in London would ever be home to her, not for the space of an hour. When Pru did not prevaricate, Mary Elizabeth smiled, just a little, and slid the borrowed linen into her sleeve.

  “All right.”

  Robert Waters took the fishing pole from his sister, still without a word. He clearly gave the people standing near not a moment’s thought. The closest persons strolling by were a nurse and a footman walking with a baby in a pram. He ignored them as if he were alone with his sister on his own land. Before the women could walk toward the entrance to the park, he took his sister in one arm, and gave her a long, affectionate squeeze.

  “No more running off before dawn, Mary. You’re not tucked away, safe in the Highlands. The English might make away with you, and then where would I be?”

  “Happy? Free to go home?”

  Robert Waters did not release his sister, but squeezed her harder. “My heart would be broken then, and I would be cursed all my days. You wouldn’t want that, now would you?”

  For a moment, Pru thought Mary Elizabeth might push him away. But then the barest hint of a smile came onto her face, like the shadow of something long forgotten. Mary Elizabeth hugged her brother back. “I would not.”

  “Then bide awhile, Mary. We’ll make it come out right. I promise you that.”

  Robert Waters spoke seriously, not as if he were humoring the idle nonsense of a young girl, but considering a problem that needed solving. As she and Mary Elizabeth began to walk back to Grosvenor’s Square, Pru felt her heart lift. Robert Waters was an ally, then, as well as a secret thorn in her side. She supposed she should be grateful.

  It was hard to be grateful when the scent of cedar walked behind them, humming a lilting tune
and distracting her from the task ahead. Pru quickened her pace, but he did not falter. He matched her easily, step for step, so that she could not get away.

  * * *

  It was more difficult to decide how best to help Mary Elizabeth, for once her brother was out of the room, she did not seem interested in a feminine heart-to-heart chat, as Pru had hoped. She did agree to write to her mother and her absent brothers.

  After two hours of working on correspondence, though, it was obvious from her restlessness that Pru’s young charge was ready to fly out of the second-floor sitting room window. The girl had eaten very little at breakfast, though the cook had sent fresh eggs and toast, along with a bit of oat porridge in a silver chafing dish. Mary Elizabeth hadn’t touched the stuff, but Pru had found she enjoyed it, as long as she added liberal dollops of honey and milk to the mix.

  In a vain effort to stave off boredom, Pru showed Mary Elizabeth how to walk gracefully with a large tome on her head. It amused Mary Elizabeth for almost a half an hour, mostly watching the large book fall from Pru’s skull. Mary Elizabeth mastered the skill in less than five minutes, and proceeded to see how quickly she could walk with the entirety of the bound Ladies’ Home Journal, from 1802, on her head. Before her charge could resort to a run, Pru changed the subject yet again.

  “What if we tried something new?” she asked.

  “Like what?” Mary Elizabeth answered.

  “What if you taught me something?”

  “Like a cultural exchange?”

  Pru had a horrible flash of herself in the kitchen up to her elbows in sheep innards, making haggis. “If you like.”

  The gleam in Mary’s eye brightened, and she dropped the Ladies’ Home with a resounding thump. “Perfect,” she said.

  * * *

  Robbie had enjoyed his brief morning walk with Mrs. Prudence, but after he had eaten, he kept himself in the music room. He was still writing songs for the Gathering, in the hope that by some miracle his mother might relent, or that Mary Elizabeth might find herself a husband before August. He would see to it, if he had to tie the girl to the first Englishman he found who had a spine.

  He did not know what to do to make his sister happy again. She had not even looked happy while fishing, though what she had hoped to catch in that trickle of a river was beyond him.

  Mary Elizabeth loved to dance. Perhaps they could throw a ball at the duchess’s house, with reels and all. He was still thinking over his options when a courier arrived, announced as bringing word from the north.

  It could easily be a command from his mother, telling him that they might all finally come home. But once he had paid the courier and offered him a meal in the servants’ hall downstairs, he saw that the crest on the vellum was not his mother’s. Rather, it belonged to the lady of the house.

  Robbie read the letter, and smiled. The Duchess of Northumberland had called them to join her on her estate. It was as though fresh air had come into the room after a long spell with the windows painted shut. Northumberland was not home, but it was not London. It was almost far enough north to see the lights in the sky at night.

  Robbie found himself longing for home as he might for a lost limb. If Mary Elizabeth felt even half as homesick as he did, she must be miserable indeed. And with her fight with their mother still unresolved, she would be unsettled in her mind. Some would say that women were always unsettled in their minds, but Robbie did not hold to that. Unhappy women made those around them long for death, but now, with a summons that would bring them closer to home, perhaps Mary Elizabeth would be more cheerful.

  If she did not land in Northumberland only long enough to light out for the Highlands, leaving him and Alex in the dust.

  Robbie pushed that unwelcome thought out of his head, and replaced it with the pleasant fantasy of being trapped alone in a carriage with the widowed Prudence for hours on end. He might forgo horseback for that joy. With a smile on his face, Robbie went to find his sister.

  Eight

  Robbie opened the ballroom door to find his sister brandishing a rapier in Prudence’s face.

  He did not think but put himself between them, noting only as it touched his chest that the tip of the blade was blunted. He felt as much as heard Prudence Whittaker’s gasp of surprise. One small hand rose to press against his back, alongside his shoulder blade. He thought he might come out of his skin at that innocent touch. He moved to turn on her, to drag her against him—but then his sister’s voice washed over him like cold seawater, sobering him before he could do anything ridiculous. Or worse, something he might regret.

  “Robbie, move out of the way! We’re in the middle of a phrase and Mrs. Whittaker has not yet had a chance to respond.”

  It took him a moment to grasp what she was saying. A blade had been drawn, so as always, it was in his nature to act first and to speak second. He stepped back from his sister’s sword, bringing Prudence with him. Her hand had dropped back to her side, and when he touched her, it was only to take her arm gently, as any gentleman might.

  Which was when he noticed that Mrs. Prudence Whittaker was indeed holding a rapier of her own. The women were fighting without face guards or pads, but facing each other completely vulnerable. Though the blades were blunted, Robbie was not pleased.

  “Mary Elizabeth, you know better than to fight without padding.”

  “And will a cutpurse allow me to don padding before I wallop him, Robbie?”

  He smiled in spite of himself. “You plan to wallop him with that blade?”

  “You know what I’m saying. A woman might wrap herself in cotton wool, but that doesn’t mean she’ll get to live that way. Damned uncomfortable, too, if you ask me, to live like a mummy.”

  “Mary Elizabeth!”

  “Language, Miss Waters.” Mrs. Prudence’s voice was calm, not censorious, but thoughtful. “Gentlemen and ladies alike are shocked if we speak in off-color language. We must rule our tongues as we rule our actions, with thought and careful planning.”

  Mary Elizabeth ignored Robbie as if he were not there while she chewed on that bit of wisdom. “I am not one for planning,” Mary Elizabeth said finally.

  “And you are displeased with your life, are you not?”

  Robbie braced himself for the storm that was sure to rain down upon their heads at that, but his sister did not shriek in fury. She merely blinked. “Aye. That’s so.”

  “So perhaps a little careful planning might serve you well. If not, you can always go back to your own methods, and damn the consequences.”

  Mary Elizabeth smiled even as Robbie stared at Prudence. He had never heard a lady curse before. As strange as it was, the sound of it was oddly erotic. But then, if this woman wore a birdcage on her head, no doubt he would find that erotic, too.

  Mrs. Prudence looked at him then, her deep blue eyes wide behind her glasses. “All is well here, Mr. Waters. You may withdraw.”

  She sniffed, and he thought for one delicious moment that he would lose control of himself and drag her down onto that hard ballroom floor, hideous gray skirts and all. He retained some semblance of sense, however, for he merely smiled and bowed. “No, indeed, Mrs. Whittaker. I find myself interested in fencing all of a sudden.”

  “It would not be proper for ladies to fence in front of a gentleman,” she said. Her voice was even, almost disdainful, but Robbie thought he saw the hint of a blush rise above the neckline of her ugly gown.

  “Is it proper to learn to run a man through? Perhaps not. But damned useful.” He quirked a brow at her, and watched her frown.

  “Language, Mr. Waters, if you please.”

  Robbie did not turn from her, but held out his hand to his sister. “Mary Elizabeth, let me try a pass. If you would allow it, Mrs. Whittaker.”

  Prudence glared at him now, her simple frown melted away. He watched as she warred with herself, her bosom heaving beneath the gra
y wool. He wondered which side of her might win, and how he might find other ways to coax out the Fury he saw hiding behind those spectacles.

  No matter; this time, the Fury won.

  “I will allow it, Mr. Waters, if you then concede and leave the room to us.”

  Robbie smiled. “I’ll consider it. If you win.”

  “Robbie, she’s new at this. She only picked up a blade an hour ago,” Mary Elizabeth said. He heard annoyance in his sister’s voice, but as always, he ignored it. He kept his eyes on the tempting woman in front of him.

  Prudence flushed with ire and with what he dreamed was untapped lust. How long would it take him to persuade her to let him tap it? She would benefit from the encounter. He would see to that.

  The very idea made his whole body tighten like a bowstring. He felt the slap of leather on his palm as Mary Elizabeth handed him the blade with more force than was necessary.

  “It’s not a fair fight,” she groused. “My blades are lighter than yours should be.”

  Their father had ordered special, lightweight fencing gear made for his sister. She was right about the lack of fairness. Robbie tested the blade, the hilt like a feather in his hand. But he was distracted, much more distracted than he should have been. And Prudence-turned-Fury had never held a blade before that day. Still, Robbie found he did not care. All the sporting honor his father had beaten into him over the years of his childhood vanished like so much smoke. He wanted to watch Prudence move with a blade in her hand. That she would be moving against him was just one more juicy tidbit to savor.

  He knew he was being an ass, but he didn’t care. And from the light of battle that had come into Mrs. Prudence’s eyes, she would not let him back down now in any case.

  He loved a woman with fire in her belly.

  He let her take first pass after they saluted each other. She fumbled the salute, but with a casual air of trying too hard. Robbie felt his first suspicion then, but it was not until she met every thrust he offered, and parried every move only to return with a flurry of attacks of her own, that he realized he’d been had. Thank God he didn’t have money riding on the outcome of the fight.