How to Wed a Warrior

by Christy English

  “My shirt smells of you,” he told her. Pru felt her insides heat like molten lava at the look in his eyes, but she held firm and stayed by the door. When he came too close, she opened it, so they could easily hear the clatter of the kitchen downstairs.

  “Let’s get a basket of food to take with us,” she said, dodging his hand as he reached for her.

  He followed her out, smiling all the while. Perhaps Mary Elizabeth was right. If she wanted to make Robbie want her more, all she had to do was say no. Pru laughed at herself and walked ahead of him down the staircase. When they were at the turning of the landing, he swatted her behind, where no one else could see.

  They rode a good way before they ate their breakfast, for once the fancy ducal carriage was moving, Pru found that she was more tired than she had realized. She leaned her head on Robbie’s shoulder, and he half lay down on the forward-facing seat, turning so that her whole body was cushioned by his. It was tight, but they fit, and with his arms around her, she knew she would not fall. Pru slept hard, her ear next to Robbie’s heart, her head nestled beneath his chin.

  Thirty-six

  Robbie knew he was being an ass, but all he wanted to do was touch his wife.

  He was on serious business for the family—for her benighted brother was family now, and the damn fool needed saving. While Robbie had sent word to Ian’s men in London, he had no way of knowing if anyone but the hired help was in port to receive it. He might need to go down to the docks on his own, with only hired men at his back. It was a dangerous prospect anywhere, but even more so among the damned English.

  How to keep his Prudence home where she belonged without Mary Elizabeth along to distract her was another problem he would have to solve. For no wife of his was putting herself in danger by traipsing around a dockyard. Not this year, and not in a thousand years.

  All these matters and more called out for his attention. But all Robert Waters wanted to think of was the rounded backside of his delectable Pru as she slept with it pressed hard against his groin.

  He enjoyed her front side as well—the soft contours of her breasts that gave sweetly beneath his hands when he touched them, her rounded belly that he liked to pillow his head on when he moved down to pleasure her. He loved the sweet, hidden place between her thighs that was enough of a kingdom that a man might lose himself there forever.

  All this kept his mind off his planning. He decided to wait until the day they came to Town to worry. How hard could it be to find one fool of an Englishman after all? Still, he found himself hoping that Ian’s men, at least one shipload of them, were still in port.

  * * *

  Pru had forgotten how conspicuous it was in the south to travel with a coat of arms on the side of a coach. Other horses got out of the way, even other carriages, as they rode to London.

  They came to Town as the sun was setting. The duchess’s town house was ablaze with lights, and the butler, Pemberton, was standing in the open door when they arrived.

  Robbie would not let a footman touch her, but helped her down from the coach himself. After five days on the road, she felt as stiff as a woman three times her age, but moving a bit would sort that out well enough. Robbie might help her with that later in the night.

  Pru chastised herself for her wicked thoughts. She should be concerned only with her brother, and how to help him. But Robbie took advantage of the shadows cast by the light from the front door to caress her behind before she climbed the stairs into the house. If the butler saw, he did not deign to show it, but bowed to her as he might have to his own mistress.

  “Mrs. Waters,” he said. “Welcome back to Northumberland House.”

  She smiled at him. “Thank you, Pemberton.”

  “Ma’am. There is a very large Scotsman waiting for you in the front sitting room. Shall I bring tea?”

  “Please do. And whatever sandwiches and cakes Cook can spare.”

  He bowed again, ignoring her husband. Robbie laughed under his breath. “That one will be glad to see the last of us. We’ve been in his house too long already.”

  “But it’s the duchess’s house, and you are her guests,” Pru said.

  “We are,” he answered with his crooked smile. “But try telling him.”

  Pru was laughing again when a massive man stepped out of the parlor door and took her husband in a bear hug.

  “Bantam!” The giant squeezed him hard, then let him go. “What are you still doing down among the English? Have you not gotten Mary wedded and bedded yet?”

  Robbie laughed. “Not yet.”

  “You’re giving the girl too many choices. Select three you like and make her pick from among them. Or better yet, have them fight for her. Mary needs a strong hand at the reins.”

  Pru found herself laughing at these outrageous, if offensive, sentiments. The giant turned his gaze on her then, his dark brown eyes taking her in from the top of her bonnet to the tips of her boots. His auburn hair caught the light of the lamps in the hall, showing a bit of gold buried in the red.

  “And this must be your Mrs. Prudence. Will you introduce us, Robbie, or are you ashamed of your brother?”

  “For the love of God, Ian, you’ve been chattering like a magpie. I can’t get a word in edgewise.”

  At that disrespect, Ian took Pru’s husband under his arm and wrestled him to the parquet floor. For a moment, Prudence considered calling three footmen to pull him off. But then Robbie shifted his weight and did something with his fist, and his brother let him go, drawing back and rubbing his chin. “Damn me, Bantam, but your right hook is still strong. I may have to ice this.”

  Robbie was on his feet already, none the worse for wear, a smile on his face, and the light of battle in his eyes. That flash and shine gave Prudence a little shiver, and made her wish they were alone.

  “Love, this brute is my oldest brother, Ian Waters of Glenderrin.”

  “That’s Commodore Waters to you, boy.”

  “He’s in charge of our shipping fleet.”

  “Among other things.”

  Ian turned his dark eyes on her, and Pru felt as if she were a butterfly trapped under glass. But in the next moment, he smiled, shifting the intensity of his gaze into something calmer, and more respectful. Though the respect seemed real, Pru suspected that the calm was a facade.

  “Forgive my poor manners, Mrs. Prudence. My brother has written of you, and in glowing terms. Welcome to the family.”

  Prudence extended her hand, thinking he might kiss it, but instead he drew her to him and offered her a shorter and less intense version of his hug. Still, Pru was breathless when he let her go. Being trapped by Ian was less like being held by a man and more like being mauled by a bear with sheathed claws.

  “It’s my pleasure, Ian. I am always happy to meet another of Robbie’s family. I—”

  “And we’re your family, too, now. Don’t forget it. We will not.”

  Pru felt a lump rise in her throat at his simple, easy acceptance. He must have known nothing of her past, and of the shame her brother had brought upon their family. She had been alone, with nothing only the day before, and now she had an entire Highland clan to surround her. The prospect was gratifying, but more than a little daunting.

  Robbie smiled. “I know what you’re thinking, Pru, but Ian is the wildest of the bunch. David is the bookish sort, though God alone knows where he gets that from. You’ve met Alex, and you’ve married me, so you’ve seen all of us but David. If you can stand up to Mary Elizabeth on a daily basis, you can handle any of us.”

  Pru tried to hide her smile but found she could not, so instead she preceded the butler and the tea tray into the sitting room. When in doubt or confusion, take a cup of tea—it had been her mother’s maxim, and she fell back on it now.

  Ian and Robbie both seemed quieter with the butler about, and they waited in silence while she poured their tea
and added sugar as Ian required. Robbie did not sweeten his, but as soon as the butler was gone, he added his whisky to it. Ian saw that and asked for a fresh cup with nothing but whisky in it.

  “Go easy on that, Ian,” Robbie said. “We only brought one barrel of Islay south with us, and we’ve got only half of that left.”

  “I’ve more for you in the hold, you whiner. Drink your girlie tea and tell me what has befallen my sister’s long lost brother.”

  For a moment, Pru was confused, wondering which one of Mary Elizabeth’s brothers had gone astray. But then she realized that Ian was referring to Albert, and to her. Tears came into her eyes a second time in as many minutes, and this time, she had trouble blinking them away.

  Ian took her hand. “Don’t fret, Mrs. Prudence. Me and mine are here now. Robbie and I will not let your brother fail. He may have been friendless yesterday, but he has the Waterses in his corner today. We will save him, whatever else comes.”

  Pru swallowed hard, and Robbie took her hand from his brother, and cradled it in the crook of his elbow. She wiped her eyes with her free hand, and watched as her husband drank his tea and whisky down. He handed her a cup and tipped a tot of whisky into it, though she did not ask. She sipped at it and found that the whisky ruined the tea. Still, she was comforted by the company, Robbie and his brother both.

  “We’ll sleep tonight and go after him tomorrow early, once the sun is up,” Ian was saying. “I have enough men and enough gold for bribes to cover the whole of the East India docks. We’ll find him.”

  Prudence felt even more reassured at the confidence in Ian’s voice. She felt her weariness then as she had not on the road, when she was distracted by the discomfort of travel and the newness of her union with Robbie. Now that they were back in the duchess’s home, the familiarity of the place acted almost as a tranquilizer on her, so that she found she could barely keep her eyes open.

  She set her teacup down, and her husband helped her stand. “We’ll sleep now, Ian. I’ll be up in the morning to scour the docks with you.”

  “Scourge them, you might say,” Ian quipped.

  Robbie didn’t laugh at his brother’s feeble joke, but he did smile. Pru found she was too tired to do either. It was clear Robbie didn’t intend on taking her with him. Well, she couldn’t have that discussion now. Her eyes were too heavy, and she knew he would fight her. She would sleep in her old, borrowed bed and save that for the morning.

  Ian bade her good night at the bottom of the stairs, and Robbie took her up to her old room, where a bath had been brought up from the kitchen. He watched her bathe, but she was too tired to hope he would touch her. He did help her dry off, and gently dressed her in a faded nightgown, one she had left behind when they had answered the duchess’s summons to Northumberland. Pru heard Robbie splash as he climbed into the tub after her, but she slept soon after that and heard nothing else until morning.

  When she woke up, Robbie was gone.

  Thirty-seven

  “I do not know, madam,” Pemberton said when she asked. “I really could not say.”

  More likely he would not say where her husband and his brother had gone, and she knew it. Servants, especially Pemberton, knew everything. Instead of questioning him further, she took a bun up to the ballroom with her. The charcoal version of the Duke of Cumberland ruled, his jaunty top hat still perched on his head.

  Pru had no knives to throw so she mimed the motion, trying to remember how to hold her hand just so, when to release from the wrist, and when from the elbow. She was engrossed in this project, distracting herself from dark thoughts of her husband and where he might be at that very moment, when Pemberton appeared in the doorway.

  “Madam, there is a gentleman to see you. He claims that he served on your brother’s ship.”

  Pru froze when she heard that, letting go of the imaginary knife she held.

  “He brought this missive as an introduction, on the strong chance that you would not wish to receive him alone.”

  Pru crossed the room and took the paper from the silver tray Pemberton offered her. She broke her brother’s seal and read the short note, introducing the gentleman as his navigator and first lieutenant, Charles Bolton. The writing did not closely resemble her brother’s, though he might have been under stress when he had written it. Or someone else might have written it, in an effort to draw her out. In either case, Prudence knew that she was going to receive the man who had brought it.

  Dressed in a new, blue-flowered muslin gown, Prudence Waters checked her hair in the ballroom mirror before descending the staircase to meet her brother’s friend. Pemberton followed behind, his disapproval palpable. She ignored him and his scruples, and stepped into the front sitting room. The morning sunlight had already begun to bring out the deep gold of the Aubusson carpet.

  Lieutenant Bolton stood when she entered the room and he bowed to her, his smile solemn. She liked the look of him at once, with his dark-blond hair and his neat, pressed coat and breeches. His linen was well tied, if not ostentatious, and his manner was polite.

  “Miss Farthington, thank you for seeing me. You do me a kindness, which I will not soon forget.”

  “It is my duty, sir, to see anyone who might be able to give me clear word of my brother.” Feigning ignorance seemed like the best way to discover what this man might tell her, unprompted. “And I am Mrs. Robert Waters now.”

  “My felicitations to your bridegroom. Is Mr. Waters here? Perhaps I might speak with him.”

  “My husband has business in the City this morning,” Prudence lied. “If you have word of my brother, I will be grateful to hear it. Perhaps you know how he died?”

  “Ma’am, that is why I am here. Your brother is alive.”

  Prudence did not have to feign the light-headedness she suddenly felt as she slipped into a chair. She rubbed her temples and accepted the glass of water Lieutenant Bolton immediately brought her from the sideboard. She had not offered him refreshment, and some part of her trained by her mother long ago recoiled in horror at her lack of manners.

  “I had believed he was dead, sir, these five years past.”

  “Then it is my pleasure as well as my duty to inform you that he lives. But Captain Farthington is ill. I think he would be comforted to see your face.”

  “I would be more than comforted to see his. But I must wait here, until my husband returns. Perhaps you might bring Albert here to me.”

  Bolton’s face lost its calm facade. It was like watching an egg crack, it fell away so cleanly. He drew a gun from the deep coat of his pocket and raised it so that he had a clear shot at her head.

  “Mrs. Waters, I am sorry to ruin your morning, but I’m afraid I must insist.”

  Pemberton cleared his throat in the doorway, and Prudence thought for a hideous moment that the butler might get shot also, for the pistol Bolton held had two barrels.

  “Sir,” Pemberton said, “if you would be so good as to put your firearm away, I am certain we might come to an accommodation.”

  Bolton sneered then, and Pru was chilled to the bone by the cold glint in his eye. He did not care if he shot Pemberton, or her, or the duchess’s entire household. But if her guess was right, he needed her alive.

  “Bertie won’t come out to meet you, will he?” she asked.

  Bolton blinked and trained the gun once more on her. “You are more clever than I would have given you credit for. Indeed, your brother is still in hiding. But if I bring you to him, he may come out.”

  “And if he still does not?” she asked.

  “I will most likely kill you in either case.”

  “But not yet.”

  “Not yet.” Bolton smiled, and it was worse than his sneer. Despite her desire not to show weakness in front of him, Prudence shuddered.

  “I will need my gloves and bonnet,” she said.

  Bolton did not waver fro
m where he stood, save to train the gun on Pemberton once more. “You have five minutes.”

  Without warning, Pemberton lunged for the gun. The men grappled for the weapon as Prudence instinctively ran for the door, intent on using the distraction to get help. She heard a shot, and even as she turned back Pemberton cried, “Be gone, Mrs. Waters! I will deal with this ruffian.”

  Prudence ran, taking the stairs two at a time. Kate, the downstairs maid, had come running when she heard the first shot, and met Prudence on the staircase.

  “Have all the duchess’s people clear out,” Prudence gasped. “We’ve a madman in the house. Send for the Bow Street Runners.” Kate looked frightened but ran off to warn the rest of the household. Prudence took the stairs to her bedroom two at a time and quickly drew on her new bonnet and pelisse. She checked her boot for the throwing knife Mary Elizabeth had given her.

  She hesitated, listening for the sound of another shot. When one did not come, she prayed that the duchess’s people had gotten out. She knew that if she surrendered to Bolton, he would take her to Bertie and kill him, too. She was just the bait the madman needed to bring her brother out of hiding. She was the only bait that would induce Bertie to give in, she was sure of it. She need only bide her time, escape to a neighbor’s house, and wait for Robbie to come back.

  She peered out into the hallway, and saw the shadow of a man coming up the staircase. It might have been one of the footmen, or it might have been Bolton. Pru could not take the chance of returning the way she had come.

  She took the hemp rope ladder that Mary Elizabeth had insisted on leaving under her bed, secured it to the wainscoting, and tossed it out the window. She could hear the sound of footsteps in the corridor beyond, coming for her. She did not hesitate again, but swung out of the window and shimmied as quick as she might down the rope ladder.

  Her feet had barely touched solid ground when she heard Bolton’s voice in her ear, and the heat of his pistol barrel burning a circle onto the delicate skin beneath her ear.