by Sara Ramsey
But did he really force the issue because it would save Prudence?
And if he had saved her, what was he saving her from…or for?
She couldn’t ask. She couldn’t bear to hear the answer — sure that it wasn’t what she wanted. Instead, she grinned as though they had been discussing anything but her failure on the marriage mart. The grin may have wobbled, but it was the best effort she could make. “I suppose I should thank you for intervening. But if a duke offers for me, don’t rescue me.”
His laugh sounded startled. “You don’t want a duke. They are universally dreadful. Look at Ferguson.”
He gestured toward the side of the room. Madeleine’s husband stood there, watching them dance as he twirled his quizzing glass between his fingers. He gave a little wave when he saw them looking at him, but he didn’t bother to hide the scheming look on his face.
She shook her head. “I’ll grant you that dukes are mostly dreadful. But Madeleine could have found a worse duke. At least he isn’t eighty and gouty.”
“Of course. But can you imagine living with him?”
She shuddered, just as he had done earlier. “Heaven forbid. But earls aren’t any better. The whole lot of you are too arrogant for words.”
“Perhaps because we are so vastly superior to the rest of you,” he said, tilting his chin up and looking down his nose at her.
She laughed. “God save us all. I should run off and marry a missionary after all.”
“Would you really do that?” Alex asked.
The concern was back in his voice. She didn’t want to hear it — didn’t want anything serious between them, when laughter made it easier to pretend that nothing was wrong. “Of course not, my lord. Remember, I require a house, not a tent.”
He grinned. “Stay mercenary, Prudence.”
He’d used her Christian name. She couldn’t help but stiffen in his arms. He pressed his lips shut again, then inclined his head. “My apologies, Miss Etchingham. Sometimes I forget myself.”
She shrugged. The dance was ending. It was inevitable that they would crash back to earth, that reality would invade. “No apology necessary, my lord. I am living by grace of your charity, after all. I suppose you may call me whatever you wish.”
“I wish you didn’t see this as charity,” he said.
She looked away from him. “There’s little point in wishes.”
Her words matched her mother’s, but that was a fact that would bother her later — now, she was too consumed by Alex. His thumb grazed her spine again. She felt his gaze on her, but she refused to look at him. She had already ruined their banter — she didn’t want to extend the conversation.
But he didn’t take the hint. “I know. Wishes are dangerous things. But you…”
He trailed off. Her mind immediately started to fill in the rest of his thought. But she was too poor. Too old. Too far on the shelf.
The music stopped. The chatter around them crescendoed. She had to look at him as he bowed to her, and it was as she came up from her curtsey that he drove the dagger home.
“You deserve to be happy, Prudence. Miss Etchingham. And I vow I will find a way to make it so.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
She wasn’t sure how she had washed up on the side of the ballroom like a bit of flotsam tossed from the crowd. Alex must have escorted her out of the dancers, but she was too stunned by his final statement to remember it.
He wanted her to be happy. But what did that mean? Was he on the verge of offering for her? Or did he plan for something else?
She took a breath and prayed for calm. She couldn’t let her face betray her now, not after all these years of never putting a single foot astray in public. She lived in Alex’s house, after all; if anyone suspected he had taken advantage of her, she would be ruined before anyone thought to ask her the truth of it.
But breathing didn’t help. The music, the people, the jeweled colors of their gowns and waistcoats, the overly sweet odor of flowers and perfumes trying to disguise sweat and coal smoke — it all pressed against her, a mad profusion of sensory detail battering against her as though she was an intruder at the gate. She thought she might be sick.
Her rebellious stomach must not have shown on her face. Ellie strolled up a few moments later. If she noticed anything amiss, she didn’t say it. “Will you take a turn about the ballroom with me?” she asked.
“Of course,” Prudence said, mostly because she couldn’t think of a reason not to. “I must say I am surprised that you haven’t found another man to force to dance with me.”
Ellie shook her head as they began to walk the perimeter between the chairs and the dancers. “That was mostly Madeleine’s doing. But no one had to be forced. You are a lovely woman, Prudence.”
Prudence shrugged. “Was there something you wished to discuss?”
Ellie looked around, then lowered her voice. “Your find is already attracting significant interest. If you had the funds for it, your eye could likely rival Alex’s when it comes to collecting.”
“I thank you, but I don’t care to build my own hoard of dust-covered objects.”
If she wanted a hoard, she had the skills to create one for herself. She didn’t know if Ellie would laugh or berate her if she saw the pottery shards in various states of completion in one of Lady Salford’s disused attics. But she didn’t mention any of it.
And she might never need to sell them, if Ellie was correct. “You shall have the money to do whatever you wish in a week,” Ellie said cheerfully. “Within reason, of course. But I predict it will bring more than enough for your immediate needs.”
“I’m sure it’s too soon to know that,” Prudence said, trying to stay neutral in the midst of the sudden war between her greed and her conscience.
Ellie very nearly looked offended. “Don’t doubt that I know how to sell this. A few messages to the proper individuals last night and the entire world knew of it. Alex is currently the top bidder, as expected, but there are others who have come to me with offers.”
“I thought you wouldn’t auction it until next week at the earliest.”
“I won’t. But there is no harm in escalating the opening offer in advance. I want you to win an outrageous sum.”
She was gratified to hear that, of course — more than gratified. But if the auction attracted so much interest, the chances that she would be caught increased. “Surely it isn’t worth an outrageous sum. I would be happy to settle for something reasonable.”
“Nonsense. Settling for something reasonable is always the worst course of action.”
Prudence eyed Ellie’s profile. Was her friend still talking of auctions? Or did she have something else in mind?
A man stepped into their path, neatly stopping their forward progress. “Lady Folkestone,” he said, bowing to Ellie. “Would you do me the honor of introducing me to your friend?”
Ellie arched a brow. “I never thought to see you here, your grace. I had heard that you and our esteemed host are no longer close.”
The man — a duke, based on Ellie’s address to him — smiled. “Lord Salford does not love me, it’s true. But his brother-in-law was good enough to invite me last night. I could hardly turn down the invitation.”
Malcolm had invited someone Alex didn’t like to attend a ball at Salford House? Prudence would have laughed if she didn’t suspect, suddenly, who he must be.
Ellie’s next words confirmed it. “Miss Etchingham, may I present to you his grace the Duke of Thorington? Thorington, this is my dear friend, Miss Etchingham. Be kind to her,” Ellie added — a reminder that wasn’t usually necessary in the ton.
But then, Thorington was not usually presented to unmarried ladies. Prudence was level-headed enough to curtsey to him, even as she wondered what he wanted.
He bowed. “Miss Etchingham. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“I appreciate the nicety,” Prudence said.
Thorington was perhaps the wrong man to be insouciant wit
h. But after being silenced by her mother, then stunned by Alex, her tongue was in open rebellion. And something about his grim eyes made her want to spike his guns.
The duke smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile, though. There was something too hard in the set of his mouth for genuine humor — as though his politeness was a thin veneer over something much darker.
“I hope you shall appreciate another nicety and give me the pleasure of this dance.”
It wasn’t a question. He already held his hand out to her. She looked at Ellie, who shrugged delicately. “The duke won’t bite. At least, I don’t believe I’ve heard any rumors of him biting anyone.”
“There is always a first time,” Thorington said. “But it shan’t be tonight.”
Prudence was utterly out of her depth. She had never been much of a flirt. But Thorington raised a brow and wiggled his hand in her direction.
She placed her hand in his. It felt like being captured by the enemy. He swept her onto the floor and into another waltz — really, Lady Salford’s musicians were too fond of the blasted waltz.
Why would the duke want to dance with her? Why was he even there? He hadn’t been seen at an event with unwed ladies present in over a decade — not since he had been found in a compromising situation with one of the richest heiresses of the day.
He’d married the girl, but by all accounts the marriage hadn’t been happy. And she’d died less than six months earlier. It was early for him to be looking for another wife, especially if his advert for a secretary had been accurate about his plans to travel to Egypt.
He didn’t leave her guessing about his intentions. “I regret to inform you, Miss Etchingham, that I cannot hire you.”
He said it with complete nonchalance, as though he was informing her about the weather. He caught her off guard, enough so that she was sure her face gave her away. She tried to recover. “I beg your pardon, your grace?”
“My secretary must be a man, of course,” he said. “But your letter intrigued me.”
“I do not know what you are talking about,” she said.
He tsked. “It’s poor form to lie. Or so I’ve been told. But if you insist on my proof, I’ll give it. I discovered that my dear correspondent Chandlord’s letters were routed through a pub in Soho Square and retrieved there by one of Salford’s footmen. You can understand why I might investigate further.”
“Who is Chandlord?” she asked, brazening it out. “I am appalled that you would think a gently bred lady capable of writing to you.”
“Gently bred ladies have surprised me before,” he said. “But that’s neither here nor there. It wasn’t Salford; he knows all the men Chandlord corresponds with and wouldn’t need a pseudonym. At the time the letters started, I assumed it was either the Duchess of Rothwell or the Countess of Carnach, since they were still unmarried and living with Salford. But then I learned of your friendship with them. I realize you likely thought that I had never noticed you — a fair assumption, given your humble antecedents in comparison to my own. But you are the obvious solution to my puzzle.”
He had very nearly insulted her. Her father had been a baron, after all, not a chimney sweep. But if what he said was true, how had he known who she was?
He didn’t give her a chance to ask. He continued as though it hadn’t occurred to him to let her talk. “Again, this is all neither here nor there. I do wish I could hire you. Your letters were quite impressive, even before I guessed you were a woman. Possibly the only highlight of my days.”
She was probably supposed to take that as a compliment, but it just reminded her of all the other times she’d heard that women weren’t qualified for her chosen area of study. “I should apologize for drawing your interest, then,” she said, letting the chill in her heart seep into her voice. “My letter about your secretarial position was a lark. I’ve no need of your patronage.”
“A shame. I was prepared to offer you another position, if it would suit you.”
She waited a few turns of the waltz before responding…sure he was baiting her, but too curious to let that remark pass unanswered. “What position would you offer, your grace?”
Thorington smiled — that cold, calculating smile again, the one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Would you care to be a duchess?”
* * *
Alex had escaped the ballroom as soon as he left Prudence. His mother would notice his absence and be disappointed. She had three children, but with Amelia indisposed and Sebastian not in town, Alex was the only one she could demand attendance from.
Still, he would rather face her disappointment in the morning than Prudence’s disappointment tonight.
He shouldn’t have said what he had said about her failed engagement to Carnach. He knew it as soon as the words had slipped from his mouth. It was all true, though — when he had gone with her and Amelia to Scotland the previous year and seen that Prudence really would marry another man purely for the sake of a comfortable life, his temper had overruled his sense.
He had told himself that stopping her marriage was the right choice. Prudence deserved someone who would love her, not just the most convenient option. As it turned out, though, he had lied to himself when he thought he could accept the possibility of her finding love elsewhere.
But for the first time, he had a real chance to win her. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out the paper Ellie had sent him. He’d already verified that the symbols were identical, wasting another bottle of whisky to open the dagger’s box the night before. It was impossible that this was a coincidence.
The Aramaic below it had taken him twenty minutes to translate. The words were tantalizing, but incomplete. The only line Ellie had included said, in ancient block letters, “Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt.”
What did Cleopatra have to do with the dagger? He had thought it was older than that. But then, perhaps the dagger was made first and the inscription came later.
It didn’t matter. Once he had the stone, he would have the answer. And if he broke the curse, he could have Prudence.
Which meant he had to win the auction, no matter the cost.
He flipped open his estate ledger. He had ten thousand pounds that he could make available at once. He might be able to release another five thousand without much effort. Surely fifteen thousand pounds was more than enough — Elgin had spent seventy thousand acquiring the marbles from the Parthenon, all of which were more impressive and well documented than a single Egyptian stone. One would have to be mad to spend fifteen thousand pounds on a single rock.
But was it mad to spend fifteen thousand pounds on a new life?
He was tallying up what he might be able to sell when the door opened. Amelia stopped in the center of the doorframe, a book in one hand and a surprised expression on her face. “I thought you would be at the ball,” she said.
He returned the paper and the ledger to his desk drawer. “I was. But I wanted a bit of quiet.”
“And a brandy, I’d wager,” she said, entering and shutting the door without waiting for him to invite her. “Do you mind if I join you? I cannot sleep with the music coming up through my floorboards and the babe kicking in time to it.”
He offered her a chair. “It would serve you and Malcolm right if you gave birth to a child who loves to dance. I can think of no better punishment for parents who like books and politics.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “For what do I deserve such punishment?”
He abandoned his desk and sat on the settee across from her. “Perhaps you don’t. But I would be amused regardless.”
“Evil brother,” she complained. Then her smile turned sly, something that she attempted to disguise as innocent concern. “Have you given thought to your own offspring? I think you deserve a son who is mad for hunting and boxing.”
His heart jerked. His voice stayed firmly casual. “No sons for me yet. I’ve plenty to do trying to earn enough to keep you from eating me out of an estate.”
Amelia threw a cushion at him
. Then she demanded it back so that she could prop herself up with it. “Teasing aside, Alex, you should give a thought to it. I’m sure Mother has told you often enough, but someone needs to carry on the line. And we can both guess that Sebastian isn’t likely the one to do it.”
Alex shrugged. “All in good time, Mellie.”
It was past time for him to marry, though. He should have married years ago. This should have been his ball, hosted by his wife, with his children trying to evade their nursemaid so that they could peek down at the dancers through the slats in the main staircase. At twenty-two, he had never imagined that he might want that life, the life his father had seemed so trapped in…
But now all he wanted was the life his father had had. The same life Alex’s wish had cut short. The guilt over his father’s death no longer consumed him as it once had; either the curse had numbed it to keep it from distracting him, as seemed likely, or time truly did heal all wounds. But he could still remember how his father had been satisfied with his family, his estate, and his evenings at his club — a life Alex would wish for now, if it meant he could have Prudence at his side.
Amelia didn’t know any of that. She just saw what everyone else assumed — that he was a confirmed bachelor evading his responsibilities. She frowned, her hand stroking her belly as though her annoyance had irritated her child. “I never thought I would say this, since I never wanted to marry. And I don’t know why you seem to feel the same way. But I think it’s time for you to reconsider. I would be so glad if you found the same happiness that Madeleine and I have found.”
“I doubt I could be so lucky as to find someone as special as Ferguson or Malcolm,” Alex said drily.
Amelia wasn’t deflected by Alex’s jest. “You know you could. And you know that she’s sitting right under your nose.”
Any remaining humor Alex felt toward the situation immediately died. He feigned ignorance. “I will consider your advice.”
Alex knew how to cut someone off at the knees when a conversation was no longer to his liking. But Amelia couldn’t be dissuaded that easily. “Honestly, Alex, I don’t understand. You are titled, wealthy, young, and better-looking than most earls of our acquaintance. You could have any lady in the ton if you made just the slightest bit of effort. And if you want someone with whom you could have an intelligent conversation, you could do much worse than Pru…”