Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2)

by Michelle McMaster

He braced his legs apart and folded his arms across his chest in a stance of victory. “Come, my sweet—it is a generous offer for a girl in your position.”

  Prudence felt her blood boil. It was men like these—pompous, unfeeling, selfish men—who provided the market where wayward girls would sell their bodies to strangers. And to top it off, he had made her lose her quarry. She felt nothing but contempt for this man.

  Pausing for a moment, Prudence smiled sweetly at him. “I do thank ye for the generous offer, sir, but alas, I must decline. Y’see, I’d rather eat broken glass than sell meself to ye this evenin’—or any other evenin’, for that matter.”

  “What’s this?” he asked. “You’re refusing me?”

  “Ah! Ye ’ave a mind as sharp as a rapier,” Prudence replied sarcastically. “Good of ye to catch on.”

  Instead of being offended by her words, the man seemed amused by them—by her. He smiled and said, “You might want to reconsider, my dear. I can assure you that you’ll find me a more congenial partner than most men who will proposition you this evening.”

  Prudence huffed. “I must not ’ave explained meself clearly just a moment ago, so I’ll try again. Y’see, sir, I’d rather slit me own throat with a wee butter knife than spend one more minute in the presence of a windy, rattle-trap rake such as ye’self. Now, ’ave I made meself perfectly clear?”

  He gave a sympathetic grin and replied, “My poor little flower. I see now how frightened you are. Otherwise you would not try so hard to get rid of me. Afraid that you might melt in my arms, are you? Afraid that you’ll enjoy my attentions all too much?”

  “’Course not!” she protested.

  “Prove it, then.”

  Prudence put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “I don’t ’ave ta prove anythin’ to the likes o’ you.”

  “Ah, you see? You are afraid to test yourself,” he pronounced. “And I must say, I can’t blame you. There isn’t a woman alive who can resist my embrace, or my kiss. I wouldn’t trust myself either, if I were you.”

  Oh, the absolute cheek!

  Prudence stared silently at him for some moments.

  How she would like to humiliate this man! But that was not why she had come out to Drury Lane this evening. She was wasting time. Even though she had lost the first girl, there were others she could help tonight, if she could just get rid of this pest of a man.

  Still, if she could embarrass him—obviously a regular customer, perhaps she would be doing some good after all. Perhaps she could eliminate one more patron from buying the favors of the poor girls she was trying to help.

  “Oh, I trust meself completely, sir,” Prudence replied haughtily. “I’ll prove it to ye, then.”

  “Shall you, now?” he said, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Yes, I shall, sir. Ye’ll see that yer embrace’ll not affect me in the least.”

  “And my kiss?” he whispered, as he pulled her back around a tree and into strong, well-muscled arms.

  “N-nor that, neither,” she said, gulping as he brought her full against him.

  Gads, was she really going to let this stranger kiss her?

  As his wicked mouth descended toward hers, it seemed that she was.

  The stranger’s intoxicating kiss created the most alarming sensations all over her body—in parts that were nowhere near where she was being kissed! Tingles danced up her spine, heat flooded slowly through her limbs, and her knees seemed to forget their purpose in helping her to stand.

  But strangest of all was that she didn’t seem to care one whit about any of that.

  All at once she felt the stranger being torn away from her, grunting in pain.

  Opening her eyes, she saw a frightening figure looming in the shadows. Mungo—looking every inch the blood-thirsty pirate—had one hand around the man’s throat and was lifting him practically off the ground.

  “Ye wants I should squeeze ’is neck so ’is eyes pops out of ’is ’ead, miss?” Mungo said, grinning like a madman.

  The dark stranger looked down at her and rasped something incomprehensible.

  “That won’t be necessary, Mungo,” Prudence said, trying to regain her composure.

  “Oh, but it’s been so long!” Mungo pleaded. “’Ow ’bout I slits ’is throat, then? I brought me nice sharp dagger, so I did.” The shiny blade flashed in the lamplight as he raised it to the man’s throat.

  “If you had a dull knife, I might consider it,” Prudence replied, crossly. “You shouldn’t have come over, Mungo. I didn’t call for you, did I?”

  “But ’e was kissin’ ye, miss, and gropin’ ye like there was no tomorrow. Ye didn’t want ’im t’ keep maulin’ ye, now, did ye?”

  She glared up at the stranger who had just made a fool of her and watched him squirm in Mungo’s grasp. “Of course not. But this creates a problem. This man might very well call for the constable—considering that you’re strangling him—and I haven’t even begun my work for the night. We must get rid of him, quickly.”

  “Well, I made me suggestions,” Mungo shrugged. “Ye didn’t seem t’ like any o’ those.”

  Prudence regarded the struggling stranger and tapped her chin as a plan formed in her mind. Reluctantly, she said, “I’m afraid there is only one thing to do.”

  * * *

  Gadzooks, but he was cold.

  Alfred struggled to open his eyes. He blinked several times to try to focus his vision, but saw only the dimness of the lamp-lit night.

  After a few moments, he realized the reason the world looked so strange was because his head was lying on the cold, wet grass, and everything that normally stood vertically now seemed to be horizontal. He must have been royally in his cups tonight to end up like this.

  He tried to get up, but a sharp pain in his head made him groan and stay where he was.

  Which was a good question. Where the devil was he?

  As he lay immobile, he realized that he was shivering, and his teeth were chattering. All in all, he felt quite decidedly terrible.

  He opened his eyes again and willed himself to get up.

  Ughh.

  With all the strength he could muster, he pushed himself up and leaned on one arm. It was then that Alfred realized why he was so bloody cold.

  He was naked.

  Damnation, he was naked!

  Then, it all came back to him—the flame-haired prostitute teasing him on the street, the heated kiss, the huge man who came out of nowhere, holding Alfred aloft and nearly strangling the very breath from his body.

  And then, blackness.

  Alfred reached back and felt the lump on the back of his head. The big oaf had knocked him out with those meaty fists of his. And then the pair had robbed him.

  He slammed his fist against the ground in frustration. At least they had seen fit to deposit him behind some bushes, so that all of London wouldn’t see him in nothing more than his skin.

  He looked around to see if anyone was about. How on earth was he going to get himself home like this? He couldn’t exactly walk down the avenue without a stitch of clothing on.

  Then in the faint lamplight he spied his hat just a few feet away, sitting up-ended on the ground. He grabbed it and looked inside, and found his wallet—still holding all his money. His watch and quizzing glass were also there.

  Standing, Alfred held the hat in front of the most private part of all and hid behind a shrub. With any luck, a coach would drive by and he could hail it without the whole street seeing him. At least he still had money to hire a coach.

  He turned his head at the sound of voices approaching.

  A man and a woman strolled down the street. They would soon pass by.

  God in Heaven, let them keep walking.

  They stopped directly in front of the bushes that hid Alfred from view. He held his breath and tried not to move, willing them to move on. But they paid his thoughts no heed.

  “Oh, Lavinia…my dearest,” the man whispered loudly. “You are surely the most ravishing
creature alive. Let me kiss you.”

  Alfred couldn’t help but watch this uncomfortable display through the lamp-lit branches. He recognized the man as Viscount Seton, a member of Alfred’s club.

  Damnation! He didn’t want to have to explain himself to this dimwit. If Seton got sight of him, the story would be all over London in a matter of hours.

  Alfred held still and watched Seton drool slobbering kisses over the poor creature in his arms. Though she was obviously a member of the ton, the young woman didn’t seem to mind Seton’s attentions.

  Probably counting his money in her head to keep herself occupied, Alfred thought.

  As the sneeze came upon him, Alfred tried vainly to hold it in. But it only made his lips smack together loudly as a resounding “Ahh-CHOO!” echoed in the night.

  At the noise, Lord Seton opened his eyes and stared directly at Alfred. It seemed to take a few moments for Seton to recognize that the thing he saw lurking in the bushes was a man’s face.

  And it was the face of someone he knew.

  “Egads…Weston?” the man asked, incredulous. “Is that you in there? Whatever are you doing lurking about in the bushes, man?”

  “Lurking?” Alfred said, non-chalantly. “Certainly not. Just looking for my wallet. I seem to have lost it.”

  Seton nodded. “Ah, bloody bad luck. Lady Fairfax and I will help you look for it, then.”

  “No!” Alfred exclaimed, then cleared his throat and said more calmly, “I mean—there is no need. I would not want to interrupt your evening, Seton. I’ll find it soon enough, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t be such a bloody hero, Weston,” Lord Seton said, moving about the bushes. “We would not dream of leaving you here to look for it alone, would we, my dear?”

  Alfred ducked into the bushes, wincing as the branches scratched his skin.

  The little red-haired strumpet would pay for this indignity.

  “Weston?” Seton called. “Where on earth have you got to, man?”

  “In here,” Alfred replied from the sanctuary of the foliage. “I think I’ve found it. Yes, there it is. Bloody good luck. I thank you for your help, Seton. You need not detain yourselves further.”

  “At least join us for a late supper, Weston,” Lord Seton pressed, peering into the dark branches that hid Alfred from view. “Come out of there and we’ll make an evening of it, the three of us. Eh, Weston? Weston?”

  In desperation, Alfred pushed himself through the bushes. He felt the sting of more cuts from the dense branches as he forced his way through to the other side.

  “Weston? Where are you?” he heard Seton calling.

  Now Alfred was stuck out on the street, which was, for the moment, blessedly empty. Still holding his hat in front of him, Alfred ran, feeling the cold cobblestones beneath his feet and the chilly night air touching him in places he usually kept clothed.

  “Weston!” he heard Seton shouting from behind him. “Have you gone bloody daft? You’re naked, man!”

  At the commotion on the street, a few doors opened and heads popped out to see what was amiss. The gawking faces passed by in a blur as Alfred rounded the next corner and dashed behind a hedge. Panting, he stopped and caught his breath.

  Now, all he had to do was pray that a coach would come by in the very near future. He folded his arms in front of him and did a little dance to keep warm.

  He wanted to leap for joy when a coach rolled toward him, but decided against drawing any more attention to himself than he already had.

  Alfred waved his hat furiously from around the hedge. The driver saw the movement and stopped, craning his neck to see who hailed him. Alfred sprang out of the dark foliage and dashed into the safety of the cab. Sighing with relief, he leaned out the open window and called his address out to the driver.

  The coach jerked ahead and started down the street. Alfred settled back in the seat, trying to ignore the strange feeling of being completely naked in the cab of a coach. He would be home soon, he told himself, home and in his robe, drinking a nice brandy by the fire.

  And while he drank the brandy and warmed himself up and stared at the orange flames of the fire, he would plan how to find the red-headed strumpet who had robbed him and left him naked in the night.

  And exactly how he would make her pay.

  Chapter 3

  Alfred reached for his cup of coffee and downed a gulp. He looked across the table at his Great-Aunt Withypoll, who was still engrossed with the Times, then back at his plate of poached eggs, braised ham and biscuits with raspberry compote.

  Cook had served up another magnificent breakfast this morning. And it was a good thing, too. Great-Aunt Withypoll had a very discerning palate.

  “I say, what’s this, now? What’s this say?” the ancient lady said, squinting her eyes and bringing the paper right up to her nose.

  “My dear Auntie, you must arrange to get spectacles,” Alfred said, taking a bite of ham. “Dr. Trask has recommended it.”

  Lady Weston lowered the paper and glared at him. “You know I refuse to listen to that imbecile. Spectacles! Do you think my ancestor, the great Saxon Queen Withypoll—for whom I was named—wore spectacles? I think not. And I don’t need spectacles to see that you’ve made the Times, m’boy.” She whacked the paper with a gnarled hand and stared at him with disapproving eyes.

  Alfred reached for the paper, but she grabbed it away. “I’ll read it, young pup,” she said, then cleared her throat and read aloud:

  “WHO IS THE MYSTERY MAN OF DRURY LANE?

  London theater-goers were treated to a unique sight last evening, as a mysterious man wearing nothing but a beaver was seen skulking about the bushes in wait there, to expose himself thus unclothed to innocent passersby.

  Lord S________ and his companion, Lady F________ encountered the strange fellow after taking in a performance of ‘Much Ado About Nothing,’ at the Theater, though there is speculation as to the mystery man’s identity as being that of Lord W________, younger son of the Earl of H________.

  Apparently, after laying in wait and spying on Lord

  S________ and Lady F________ in his naked state, Lord W________, having been caught indulging in any number of lewd solitary amusements, ran down the street wearing nothing so much as his hat (though not upon his head!).

  It is a mystery as to what may have caused Lord W________’s confounding actions last evening in Drury Lane. But tonight’s theater-goers are advised to keep watch for the be-hatted Mystery Man, as they may forgo the price of a ticket and be just as entertained.”

  Alfred remained silent, waiting for the second wave of the onslaught.

  The little woman stared at him with ice-blue eyes, which though clouded with age, still had the power to make a man quake in his boots.

  As Alfred was trying not to do now.

  “Nothing to say, eh?” she asked. “Nothing to say about all of London laughing at your schoolboy shenanigans?” Lady Weston shook her head in disappointment. “My word, a man your age running about naked as the day you were born. Is it true?”

  Alfred sighed. “I’m afraid it is.”

  “Well, I never heard of such a thing,” Lady Weston replied. “No doubt a bad habit you picked up in Italy when you were on your Tour—well, I don’t hold with it! You may be my favorite great-nephew, Alfred, but you try my patience. And it would be unwise to take advantage of an old woman’s affections, even if you no longer need me.”

  “I will always need you, Auntie,” he replied, truthfully.

  She looked unimpressed. “I admit, I favored you while you were growing up, and I fully supported you as my late husband’s heir to the barony, but now I am not so sure. Your brother Richard would never indulge in such scandalous actions.”

  “My brother Richard is no fun,” Alfred replied, rising from his chair. He took her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. “I swear, Auntie, it was all a misunderstanding. You must believe me.”

  “Too much like my Bertram, you are, my boy,” s
he said, reluctantly giving a smile. “Same devilish eyes. Hmph. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were playing me like a violin, as you do with all the women.”

  She laughed then and patted his arm. “Ah, Alfred…you always could make me laugh, even when I was angry with you. And that is why you are my favorite. But I am still quite cross with you. All of London will be tittering with amusement at your unfortunate adventure…and the Weston name should never be tittered at. You will have to find a way to make amends.”

  “Anything, Auntie,” Alfred said, leaning back against the table. “My wish is your command, as always,”

  Lady Weston gave a devilish smile of her own and said, “I have something in mind—though it would not be a difficult task for a man such as you. And it may help to quiet the gossip’s wagging tongues, as well. But tell me more of what happened last night.”

  “It is quite embarrassing, Auntie, and I shall spare you the details,” Alfred replied. “But last night, as I was returning from the Theater, I was set upon by thieves—a man and a woman. As the woman distracted me with conversation and pretty smiles, her man, a big burly oaf, came out of his hiding place and with one hand about my throat, tried to choke the very breath from me. For a moment, I thought they had murder on their minds, but at the woman’s order, her man knocked me out with a blow to the back of my noggin, see?”

  Alfred pointed to the lump on his head, and heard Great-Aunt Withypoll gasp as she felt the hard bump there.

  “My dear, boy, are you alright?”

  Alfred turned back to face her and waved away her concerns. “Oh, yes. Good thing I also inherited Great-Uncle Bertram’s hard head. At any rate, the next thing I knew, I woke up on the ground, hidden below some bushes, without a stitch of clothing on. This woman and her accomplice had made off with my clothes—but curiously left me my hat, watch and wallet—still full of money.”

  Great-Aunt Withypoll nodded, looking suitably impressed. “A strange tale, indeed. What sort of thief would steal only the clothes upon your person and leave your valuables behind?”