How to Wed a Warrior

by Christy English

  He backed away from her, drawing her closer to him, and farther from Mary Elizabeth. Mrs. Prudence Whittaker, heedless of anything but the battle before her, did not seem to notice that he had led her closer and closer to the only settee on the far side of the room. He spotted Mary Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye, and she wasn’t following them. Indeed, he could not be sure, but he thought he saw his sister turn her back on them.

  He smiled then, and as he watched, she finally appeared to observe something other than the battle before her. She must have seen the wolfish gleam in his eye, for he had dropped all pretense of civility and let Prudence see how much he wanted her.

  His honest lust served him well. She faltered, and her guard faltered with her. His blade found a way past her defenses. With a flick of his wrist, he disarmed her.

  Prudence’s rapier clattered to the polished mahogany floor. She did not look at it, but at him.

  “Do you yield?” he asked.

  “No.”

  Wary, she moved to maneuver closer to her abandoned blade. Robbie moved with her, drinking in the light of battle that had not died out of her eyes. She met his lust with equal fervor, a need to win if not a need to have him. Fire was fire though, and the heat in her eyes called to the fire in him.

  He backed her toward the old settee, kicking her sword so that it was a little closer to her hand. Wary, she kept her eye on him, but when she bent forward to pick it up, she let him out of her sight. A mistake she was soon to regret.

  Robbie used his boot to hook the back of her knee and bring her down on the settee behind her as she screeched. Robbie pressed his advantage then, with his quarry on her back, scrambling in the midst of her gray skirts, her petticoat twisted around her knees so that she could not rise. He leaned close and lowered his blade, drinking in the sweet scent of hyacinth on her skin.

  “Do you yield?”

  He smiled down at her, and basked in the open anger on her face. From what he knew of her, it took a lot for her to show open emotion, and he was just the man to bring it out in her. Her true colors seemed to be far more interesting than the controlled, confident attitude she adopted with his sister.

  “No.”

  He placed his knee on the settee so that her skirts were trapped beneath it and she could not even writhe anymore. He moved close enough to her that he could feel her sweet breath on his cheek. Her lips were soft pillows to bite and caress in turn. His lust rose like the tide at Brighton, and for a moment, he did nothing to tamp it down, but let the desire come.

  It was her eyes that sobered him, and the hint of fear he saw in them that she quickly masked. That hint of fear shamed him—he was a man, not a bully. As soon as their play became something else, he had to let her go. He was a gentleman, after all.

  He stepped back and offered his hand so that he might help her rise.

  “I yield to you, madam. I am a cad and a bounder to press my advantage, though our tussle should be an object lesson for my sister.” He raised his voice, turning toward Mary Elizabeth. “So you see, Mary, you cannot win against a man at swords.”

  When he looked behind him, he found the ballroom empty. Mary Elizabeth had gone off, it seemed, leaving them and her rapiers behind. He was alone with her companion, just as he had fantasized for two days straight.

  Prudence took his hand, and with a smile that spoke of irony, let him raise her to her feet. She was feather light, like a wisp on the wind. Her gown no doubt weighed more than she did.

  “An object lesson, indeed,” she said, all trace of fear gone as if it had never been. “And not just for my charge. I thank you, sir, for reminding me why a lady never raises a sword in the company of a gentleman.”

  “I did not play fair,” he said.

  “Most people don’t.”

  He took in the tilt of her head as she looked up at him, and drank in the indigo of her eyes and the soft curls that threatened to escape from beneath the widow’s cap she wore. The yellowed lace was an eyesore, but it could not hide the abundance of her beauty. He wondered why she even tried.

  “Who taught you swordplay? Your husband?”

  She did not flinch at the mention of her dead, but seemed reluctant to answer for some other reason. So he knew that, when she did speak, her answer was the truth. “My brother taught me.”

  “For his own amusement?”

  “For mine.”

  Robbie sat down on the settee, letting his own rapier hit the floor. He sighed and stretched his legs out in front of him, waiting to see what she might do. She did not disappoint him, but sat down beside him—close but not too close, keeping as much distance as she might between them.

  “Mary Elizabeth is gone,” she said at last.

  “She’ll be in the garden, deadheading the roses. It’s best that we leave her be, and let her stew a bit. I’ll go fetch her after a while.”

  “Isn’t that my job?”

  He smiled, and caught the warm light in her eyes. He wondered what that warmth might mean. Was it directed at him, or at his sister?

  “Well, no woman should work all day long. A lady might take an hour or two for herself of an afternoon, and no harm done.”

  “That is generous. Thank you. But I enjoy your sister’s company, Mr. Waters. It is no chore to seek her out.”

  “You please her greatly. To be honest, I think you are the only thing that pleases her in this benighted place. But we are going away soon, so the change of scene might cheer her up.”

  Mrs. Prudence looked heartily disappointed, and his own heart surged, as if it was his absence that inspired that look, and not the implied threat to her livelihood.

  “Where are you going, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  He did not keep her hanging. “You’ll be going with us, Mrs. Prudence. We’ll need you there, sure as the sun rises. The Duchess of Northumberland has summoned us to a house party, and we cannot refuse.”

  “Why would you want to refuse?”

  “Because being trapped in a house full of English is the last thing I or my sister would want in all the world. But Northumberland is closer to Glenderrin, and the duchess is the boon companion of my mother. It may be that my mother has relented and will let Mary and the rest of us come home.”

  “Home,” Prudence said. “I have no doubt you want that.”

  The longing in her voice called to his own hidden wistfulness, and he swallowed hard to keep emotion out of his voice when he answered her. “Aye, that’s so. And if we’re cut loose, I’ll pay you just the same as if Mary Elizabeth had found her English husband, and you’ll be free to go home as well.”

  “I don’t have a home anymore,” was all she said.

  The pain in her eyes was like a band on his heart, squeezing all the blood out of it. It fled as quickly as it came, but she was on her feet in the next moment, taking her warmth and the scent of hyacinths with her.

  “I had best go see to supper,” she said, clearly for lack of anything better.

  “Cook has it all in hand,” Robbie said, rising to his feet slowly, so as not to startle her off completely. “Take those hours for yourself. We’ll see you come teatime.”

  “All right.” She smiled at him then, and her pain seemed gone. He had no doubt, though, that it lurked inside her, just as his longing for home lurked somewhere in him.

  He did not speak again, but let her go. He stood alone for a long moment in silence after she slipped away, before he went about picking up the rapiers and putting them back in their cedar case.

  Nine

  It had been years since she had picked up a blade. Five years, and a lifetime since she had moved with such confidence, with such grace. It was almost like dancing, which she had not done for years either, save alone in her room. And there she’d had to be so careful not to knock her aunt’s china dogs off a lace-covered table, careful not to brush ag
ainst the walls that seemed to draw closer every night.

  And now she was free, and among people who valued her for the first time since her brother died. The Waterses esteemed her for herself, for what she could offer, for what she knew of the world and of how she moved in it. Only now, when peace was in her grasp, she was tempted to throw it all away. And for what?

  Hoped-for pleasure. The fleeting touch of a man who would definitely not respect her afterward.

  She wanted to keep Robert Waters’s respect.

  In spite of her employer’s generous offer of an afternoon spent alone in her borrowed, splendid room with a book and a sandwich from the kitchen, she could not stay indoors. So she donned her bonnet, pelisse, and gloves, and for the second time that day, ventured out into the London streets.

  Her clothes did not distinguish her as a lady of quality. She was badly dressed even for a governess, if she was quite honest with herself. But honest clothes cut like a spinster’s to hide her curves had served her well, promoting her invisibility for the last five years, and today was no exception.

  She walked for miles, as she loved to do, all the way to Kensington Gardens, which were open for the afternoon to promenading families of the middle class. No one of wealth or family would ever come there, which was why it was so appealing.

  Sitting on a bench beneath a flowering geranium, she thought about her life.

  She had been afraid, beneath Robert Waters on that settee in the duchess’s ballroom. He had leaned close, and the scent of cedar had all but overwhelmed her. The heat of his skin had made her want to rise up and press herself against him. She, Lady Prudence, a woman who only a week before had never felt the hint of passion, much less the heat of lust, was quickly becoming enamored of a Highlander.

  No, she was lying to herself. She was not becoming infatuated with Robert Waters. She already was.

  Only the night before, she had dreamed of him. When she stood against him today, a blade in her hand, she had felt a new and unknown hunger rise. She had not faltered or hesitated as she parried every thrust he offered, as their blades met in one stroke after another. She had not thought of her disguise, or of how a gently bred woman should know nothing of swordplay. She had met him, blade to blade, until he backed her into a corner and disarmed her.

  She had wanted to drag him down on top of her. She had wanted to feel his lips on hers. She had not thought for one moment about her young charge, about propriety, nor about her reputation. All good sense had fled. All she had wanted was to feel his large body come down on hers. She was not entirely sure of what she would do with him once he was there, but in that moment, she had wanted him to touch her more than she wanted her next breath.

  Pru had frightened herself. No doubt he had seen something on her face, for he had withdrawn almost immediately. As amusing as he was, no matter how glib or how full of wit, Robert Waters was a gentleman.

  Of course, many gentlemen took widows as discreet lovers every day.

  She had never been tempted before to become a gentleman’s plaything. When she was a debutante, it had never entered her head. Now that she was disguised as a widow, her own desire for Robert Waters tempted her more than anything ever had. She must be losing her mind.

  Could a false widow taste the freedoms of a real one? Could she have her time with Robert, and survive it with her self-respect intact? As enticing as the prospect was, she truly did not know.

  * * *

  Pru walked back to the Duchess of Northumberland’s town home no more certain of herself and her desires than when she had left. Teatime was looming, and she had been gone too long already.

  She crept up the formal staircase quietly in an attempt to avoid the butler. She slipped into her own room, and was closing the door behind her when she found Robert Waters skulking about her dressing table.

  “Please don’t scream,” was the first thing he said. “I was looking to see what scent you wear, just behind your ear.”

  Another thrill of desire raced through her, and she fought it down. Gentlemen were not allowed in a lady’s room, certainly not without invitation. Until this moment, Robert Waters had done nothing to make her think that he would take advantage of her position as his dependent. She drew herself up, ready to be firm with him, and with herself. She was no man’s plaything, and would not be.

  No matter how much she wanted him.

  “My toilet water is none of your concern. And I have no intention of screaming,” she said at last. “I do, however, have every intention of holding this door until you have walked back through it.”

  His eyes gleamed with mischief—and with something else, something darker and a bit alarming. Her stomach jumped at the sight of that heat, and a delicious shiver coursed through her. She swallowed hard and shored up her defenses. She was a lady. She was an earl’s daughter. Her family might all be dead, but she would remain a credit to them, come Hell or high water.

  Or a beautiful Scottish man.

  When he spoke again, his voice was thick with the music of his homeland—and with a warmth she had never heard before, not even from him. “Well, now, and don’t I love a woman with a backbone.”

  “I’m sure you do. Now leave this room and go find one.”

  Robert Waters laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Prudence. You must think me the worst cad and bounder to be in your room when you’re no’ at home.”

  “I am home now, Mr. Waters. Once you step outside this door, all is remedied.”

  “Aye,” he said, moving closer to her. She straightened her shoulders, and sniffed. His smile was infectious, and she had to work very hard not to give in and smile back.

  “I do love a sniffing woman. A woman who knows her own mind, and isn’t shy about telling the world.”

  “That is very edifying. I am sure there are many such women outside these four walls. Again, Mr. Waters, I bid you good day.”

  Robert laughed and shook his head, stepping even closer until he was standing a mere two feet from her. He was a good deal taller than she was, dwarfing her by his height and his bulk combined. This was a man built for the outdoors, for riding and hunting and fishing, not sitting about and chatting with women. She wondered yet again why he stayed once she had asked him to leave. The only answer that was possible seemed too dishonorable for both of them to contemplate.

  And yet contemplate it she did.

  He did not come any closer, but he was close enough. She took in the warm scent of cedar, and a hint of something else, some spice that was all Robert Waters and little else. She was sure that if he stood so close for much longer, she would lose the ability to speak at all.

  “But you see, Mrs. Prudence, that’s the trouble. There are very few women beyond these four walls who speak their minds to a man and damn the consequences.”

  “Honesty is its own reward.” Her heart thudded so hard that the pulse in her throat leaped. His eyes seemed to follow it, and then move up the line of her jaw, to her cheekbones, to her eyes.

  “I wonder if it might reward me,” he said.

  He closed the distance between them, and kissed her.

  She had been kissed before, of course. She had been a debutante during the Peninsular War, when everyone thought that the young men around them were surely going to die. She had almost been engaged, and her swain had kissed her on the garden steps of her father’s house in the moonlight, so many years ago now that it seemed to have happened to another woman altogether. But this kiss was different, because Robert Waters offered it.

  Pru shocked herself by accepting it for what it was—a warm touch in a world that was often very cold indeed.

  She found herself pressed against him in the next instant. His hands did not come down on her. He did not touch her waist or her shoulders, but held his hands aloft, as if she kept him at gunpoint. She did not think of what that meant, bu
t simply moved against him, taking in the heat of his body with her own. If only she might close the door and ignore her life and future and simply have him there in that lovely, overly luxurious room.

  She felt his tongue on her lips, and she opened her mouth to his coaxing. He tasted of warm honey from breakfast. He tasted of man, and in some strange, indefinable way, of home.

  He still had not touched her but to place his lips on hers. He withdrew his tongue, and then his mouth, and then stepped back, so that she was left alone, grasping at nothing.

  “Mrs. Prudence,” he said. “I am sorry. I have behaved like a cad twice now, and it is unacceptable.”

  Pru tried to find her tongue, and then she tried to bring her mind back from the ether where it had flown. He stood, breathing hard beside her, looking not as if he wanted to drag her beneath him on her bed, but as if he were filled with contrition.

  Humiliation rose to swamp her, and she lowered her gaze to her sensible half boots. She must remember who she was, and who she was supposed to be. It took her only a moment. When she had rallied, she faced him with the calm aplomb her mother had taught her before she’d died.

  “It is I who must apologize, Mr. Waters. I threw myself at your head. It will not happen again.”

  “That is not true. That is not what I mean. Mrs. Prudence—”

  “Mr. Waters, I think it is ten minutes past time for you to take your leave.”

  It must have been the cool control in her voice—or perhaps Robert Waters simply wanted out of that room and away from her—because for once, he heeded her when she spoke. With one last look of irritation cast in her direction, he ran his hands through his beautiful auburn curls, and walked away.

  Ten

  “What have you done now, Robbie, for the love of all the saints?”

  Robert Waters cleared his throat and drank his afternoon Darjeeling without his usual whisky tot. He reached for a scone with a dollop of cream already laid on, but Mary Elizabeth used her fan to swat his hand away.