How to Wed a Warrior

by Christy English

  “Mrs. Prudence, no woman pays my way. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.”

  He climbed down from the hack and slammed its door shut behind him. She blinked at him, not smiling, taking him in as if he was a mystery she had not even begun to solve. “Too bad, Mr. Robert. He’s already been paid.”

  The hack drew away from the curb, and Robbie swore under his breath. Prudence slipped her bag back into its hiding place and stared him down. “I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head.”

  “I’d thank you if it were yours.”

  She blinked at that, but did not say another word. She left him standing by the roadside, a cock stand in his breeches.

  “We’re not done talking, Prudence.”

  Save for their moments of mortal danger at the docks, it was the first time he had ever used her name without a title to distance them. She met his eyes, but did not chastise or correct him. “I think we are. For now.” She moved to walk away, but before she had gone very far, she turned back. “Thank you for saving my life.”

  With that, she strolled into the grand house, as bold as you please, her decadent hips swaying before him like a snake with its charmer. He watched her every step as the butler opened the door and let her inside. After a long look down at Robbie, Pemberton closed the door behind her.

  Robbie stayed outside and paced a bit, not giving a damn for what the ducal neighbors might think. It took him a bit of time to cool down, and to get himself under control. In those minutes, he thought awhile about Prudence Whittaker, and of how to teach her who was master here.

  His resolve hardened, he turned to go back into the house. He thought to go to Prudence at once and have it out with her, hoping that their chat might end up with her on her back. He did not get past the first stair, however, before he heard a woman shriek.

  He took the stairs so fast he did not feel them beneath his boots. He followed the shriek to Prudence’s room, where he found her standing over a pile of dresses, all laid out neat on her borrowed bed. She turned to him, her face like the Wrath of God. He looked over the room and found no man in it.

  “What is it, Pru?” he asked. “Who was in here?”

  “I want to ask you the same question,” she answered, her face so red he thought her cheeks like beets instead of apples. He had never seen such a temper on her, and he wondered for a half a moment if he was man enough to stand his ground. He was, of course, but her fierceness did make him blink. That, and the memory of what her booted heel had done to the man he had throttled.

  She breathed deep, and he was distracted for a moment by the rise of her abundant charms pressed up against the black bombazine of her gown. “Where did these dresses come from?”

  Sixteen

  “Dresses?” he asked, as innocent as a lamb. Pru did not swallow that innocent look for one instant. She knew him too well by now to even consider it.

  “These gowns, which I neither ordered nor paid for,” she said, doing her level best to stay calm, though her heart was racing.

  “Those? I ordered them for you.”

  Prudence knew that she was going to start shrieking again, and closed her mouth against it. She was not a fishwife, but an earl’s daughter. But this man could make her so angry, so fast, it made her head spin.

  What must he think of her, if he had bought her clothes? What must he think of her, after she threw herself at him in the hired hack? Dear God, what was becoming of her? Where was her willpower? She had better find it, and quickly.

  “Get out,” she said to him.

  “Are you done shrieking then?”

  “Get. Out.”

  “I believe this room, and this house, is mine.”

  “It is the Duchess of Northumberland’s house.”

  “I’ll not split hairs with you, Prudence. We were having a bit of a chat in the carriage. A chat you began, if I recall. I think it best if we finish it.”

  He stepped into her room and closed the door tight behind him.

  Prudence knew then that he thought of her as a whore. She was shaking with temper, a temper that might soon turn to rage. Was the man a fool? Did he not have the sense to leave when a woman ordered him gone?

  “I’ll thank you to open that door again,” she said.

  “I will when I’m good and ready.”

  She knew that she was still shouting. Robert had not raised his voice, but she had done nothing but screech since she saw those gowns laid out like pirates’ plunder on her bed.

  The silks alone were beautiful. Six shades arrayed before her like jewels. Heart’s blood red, emerald green, sapphire trimmed in silver. She had never seen such beautiful gowns in all her life. For her one Season in London, she had been a debutante. She had worn only shades of white and cream, all trimmed in light pink and sky blue. The gowns on her bed were fit for a queen. They were fit for a courtesan, which she supposed was what he thought she would become.

  Somehow, though she had been in his arms only minutes before, the evidence of his certainty struck her to the heart. She realized then that she was angry, yes, but behind that anger laid pain. She had not felt pain like this since the day she knew that her brother was not the hero who would come home to her, but merely a man who had died and left her all alone. She had not realized how highly she had thought of Robert Waters, or how much she valued his good opinion, until she knew that she had lost it.

  She felt tears rise just as her anger drained away. She supposed some foolish part of her had wanted him to cherish her. She had wanted him to love her. Not to buy her a courtesan’s clothes, no matter how beautiful those gowns might be.

  She sat down among them, drawing off her gloves so that she might touch the silk. The fabric was slick beneath her fingertips. She took her hand away.

  “I cannot accept these,” she said at last, her voice quiet. She could feel the tears in her throat, and she fought to tamp them down. “I am no whore, to wear clothes bought for me by any man. Not even you.”

  Robert did not defend himself at once, nor did he lie. He came and sat beside her on the bed. She tensed, ready to hit him if he touched her, but he did nothing but pick up her discarded glove and toy with it, not looking into her face.

  “I meant no offense. You are the furthest thing from a whore I ever knew. I just thought you might want to wear something that isn’t black,” he said. “Or gray. Or brown.”

  She did not answer him, but sniffled, trying to draw her tears back into herself so that they would not fall.

  “You’re a lady who deserves a bit of color in her life,” he said. “I am sorry if I hurt your feelings. It was not my intention.”

  She had never heard Robert Waters apologize for anything. She had known him less than a week, but she had the distinct impression that he never admitted he was wrong, certainly not to outsiders. She wondered if he thought her one of them, since he was apologizing to her. She had half a mind to ask him, but the door to her bedroom flew open and Mary Elizabeth stood in it, glaring at them both.

  “What’s this, then?” she asked. “What on God’s green earth are you doin’, Robbie?”

  “None of your concern, Mary. You’re not my keeper.”

  “Aye, I’m not. But I’m hers.”

  “Miss Waters—” Pru began, but her charge cut off her words with one imperious gesture.

  “None of that, Mrs. Prudence. I am Mary Elizabeth. We’ve discussed that already. And it looks to me that not only has my brother closed himself away with you, but he has also made you cry.”

  Pru swallowed convulsively and found that she could not speak.

  “Mary, I’m apologizing for the love of God. Can a man not say he is sorry in peace?”

  Mary Elizabeth looked slightly mollified at that. “All right,” she said. “But be quick about it. Mrs. Prudence and I have better things to do.” She stepped back out into the hall,
giving her brother the evil eye as she left. She left the door standing open behind her.

  “Do you and my sister have a pressing engagement that I don’t know of?” Robert asked.

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  He smiled at her prim tone and handed her a handkerchief. It was large, embroidered with his initials, and smelled like him. She wiped her eyes.

  “I’m sorry to pain you, Mrs. Prudence.”

  “Just Prudence,” she said. “When we’re alone.”

  He sat very still, taking that concession for what it was—some kind of strange miracle.

  She went on. “Pru, actually. My brother always called me Pru.”

  Robert Waters smiled at her, the crooked smile she had begun to love in so short a time. She was not sure what it was about him that made her love him. Perhaps it was the warmth of his eyes when he smiled his crooked smile. Perhaps it was the fact that he respected and adored his little sister, no matter how much trouble she caused.

  If Pru was honest, it might be the way he made her laugh, as no man living ever had. It might be the way he cared for her, and looked after her, in spite of herself, respecting her all the while. He had come to her rescue when men had tried to kill her, and risked his own life to do it. He had given her his handkerchief when she was angry and sad. The fact that it was he who had made her angry in the first place did not diminish the kindness of the gesture. The Waterses were kind people. She would miss them, and badly, when her time with them was done.

  “Pru it is then,” he said.

  Robbie stood up, and she stood, too. They looked at each other, neither certain what else to say. Their kiss had faded like a dream, and now they were alone in companionable silence, as if that storm had never passed over them at all.

  “I’ll leave you to Mary Elizabeth,” he said. He crossed the room, and then stopped in the open doorway. “Consider the gowns, Pru. They would suit you, I think. Consider them a uniform, paid for as part of your wages.”

  Before she could protest again, he was gone. She looked down at the gown closest to her, the sapphire evening dress with the high waist, trimmed in silver gilt. She caressed it once before straightening her shoulders and turning her back on it. She walked as calmly as any matron might to meet her charge, whom she had no doubt still lurked in the hallway.

  * * *

  Robbie put his Prudence out of his mind, for he could not think of her sweetness and deal with her troubles at the same time. For he had no doubt that she was troubled, and had no way of helping her until he knew more of whom and what she was.

  He sent word by carrier pigeon, and Gregor came within the hour, standing with Davy and Eachann behind him.

  “I need to know a bit about a woman named Mrs. Prudence Whittaker,” he said.

  “Would that be the fluffy dog who drank with us down by the docks?” Eachann asked.

  “Aye,” Robbie said. “But you’ll keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak of her, for she’s a lady.”

  “An English lady,” Davy said.

  “Aye.”

  Davy and Eachann passed a look between them that made Robbie narrow his eyes. Gregor caught the look as well, and smiled at it. Robbie knew that Alex would never live down taking an English wife. He could see Ian’s men taking silent bets on how long it would take him to follow in Alex’s footsteps. Clearly they had forgotten that he was not the marrying kind.

  “I need you to look into a Reverend Whittaker as well.”

  “That’s a job for your uncle Richard,” Gregor said. “Write him a note, and we’ll see it gets to him.”

  Robbie had little to do with his mother’s illustrious English relations, and they had little to do with him. But his uncle, the Bishop of London, would do what he could to help him, since they were family.

  “We’ll send you word, Bantam, as soon as we hear anything.”

  Robbie thanked them and shook each of their hands in turn. They did not speak again, save for Gregor, who winked. “That fluffy dog is worth a bit of trouble,” he said. “The best women are.”

  There was no reply to that, so Robbie made none.

  Robbie dashed off quick notes, one to Uncle Richard and a second to Ian, in case he might happen into port, and handed both to Gregor. The giant pocketed the missives carefully, and Robbie wished he might see the look on the face of the English butler who would open the Bishop of London’s door to the likes of Gregor. He then sat down to write to Alex in Devon to enlist his help in finding whatever might be left of Prudence’s family, while Pemberton, not batting an eye, showed the hulking seamen the door.

  * * *

  “Why have we come to the ballroom again, Mary?” Prudence asked. “More fencing?”

  “No indeed,” Mary Elizabeth said, smiling as she opened a heavy walnut box that shone under the light from the windows. “Today, I will teach you to throw a knife.”

  Pru was suddenly grateful for the repast they had taken in the kitchen, filching a bit of bread and cheese from Cook before they headed back upstairs. It had been a hard morning, and had become an even harder afternoon, and she had needed the sustenance. As for her charge, Mary Elizabeth ate at every provocation and sometimes at none.

  Now they stood in the ballroom, talking of knives. Pru laughed, and her laughter echoed back at her off the wainscoting of the walls. The cherubs and putti that graced the painted ceiling in celestial splendor glared down at her for her outburst, but she could not help it. She laughed anyway.

  “You scoff now,” Mary Elizabeth said. “But the next time you run into ruffians, you will deal with them without a blink, and without my brother’s interference.”

  Pru stopped laughing at last. “How do you know about that?”

  “I was listening to servants’ gossip. The best way to discover anything is to eavesdrop,” Mary Elizabeth said.

  “Miss Waters—” Pru began, but Mary Elizabeth held up one hand.

  “Don’t get prim on me now, Prudence. You know I am right. And it is not really spying to listen to the English. A woman must keep her wits about her in the south. As no doubt you have come to find.”

  Pru did not know if she had her wits about her anymore. Before, it never would have occurred to her to go alone to the docks to search for her brother. It amazed her how she could forget for days at a time that he was gone, then feel the pain of Albert’s death anew all over again. She thought of him, as often as she could, as if he were just away on a long sea voyage, off to the fabled land of Chin’, where silks and spices abounded. Perhaps his Heaven was like that. Pru was not sure she believed in Heaven, but she hoped for it fervently. As she once had hoped that he was not dead, and that he would one day come back.

  She had seen that day at the docks that he was gone, and forever.

  Mary Elizabeth patted her hand. “You did the right thing, going down there, though Robbie will never admit it. You simply weren’t prepared. Though I understand you have a fair hand with a scimitar.”

  Pru smiled ruefully. “It was a cutlass. But I did not handle it well. I did not get my man.”

  “Of course not,” Mary Elizabeth answered. “You are no murderer. But you stuck him well enough that he fell away and left Robbie in peace.”

  “Well.” Pru began to feel embarrassed. She was tempted to sniff.

  “You’re a woman of courage. I am simply going to give you the means to defend yourself. It’s not often a woman can carry a long blade.” Mary Elizabeth lifted a short, rounded knife from the box and held it to the light as if it were a jewel. “But this, a woman can carry anywhere.”

  “A lady,” Pru corrected her automatically. Mary Elizabeth did not speak, but simply looked at her until Pru felt a bit churlish. She had the growing suspicion that while she had been hired to help Mary Elizabeth get on, it was truly Mary Elizabeth who was helping her.

  Of course, here sh
e was, seated on the mahogany floor of a ballroom built and decorated in the last century, looking at knives. Her judgment might be a bit impaired.

  Mary Elizabeth’s hazel eyes did not move from hers. “There is no doubt, no matter where you are or who you pretend to be, that you are a lady.”

  Pru felt as if her disguise and all that went with it had been stripped away. She knelt on the fluffy crinolines of her black gown, feeling as if she had come ashore after a long time at sea. Her friend patted her hand once more, then spoke briskly to cover the moment for both of them.

  “Just aim for Cumberland over there,” Mary Elizabeth said, gesturing to the wooden board in the far corner on which a tall man in a jaunty top hat had been drawn in charcoal. “If you come within an inch of him, you’re doing the world a service.”

  Pru wondered for a moment if the character had been named for anyone in particular, but then Mary Elizabeth pressed a blade into her hand and drew her to her feet. She had no more time for speculation after that, for her lesson began in earnest.

  Seventeen

  Robbie made himself scarce after Gregor and his boys left. He would have loved to watch the antics of his sister and Pru above stairs, but he kept himself in the music room, beating out rhythms on the top of the pianoforte. He made a new song, one he knew his mother would like. He liked it rather well himself, so he felt he had earned a reward. Instead of going to the kitchen to steal a tart, or taking a draft of Islay whisky, he went upstairs to the ballroom.

  He stopped in the doorway, half-afraid that if he made a noise, Pru might slip and cut herself. But he found as he watched that she seemed to know what she was doing, which made him hot for her all over again. He was suddenly worried that he might take hold of her, his sister standing by and all. Mary Elizabeth would have to get out of his way and out of the room, and quickly, too.

  Pru held one of Mary Elizabeth’s tiny throwing knives by the tip. After listening to some instruction from his sister, something he could not hear, she let it fly. Whatever Mary Elizabeth had told her must have been useful, for she struck Cumberland right in his black heart.