As they planned their next move, Alfred discovered that he hadn’t been totally honest with Mungo about his motives.
It wasn’t just that he cared about Miss Atwater’s welfare. It was, he realized reluctantly, that he cared about her.
* * *
“Lizzie, isn’t it?” Prudence asked the thin, pale girl who stood nearby on the dark street corner.
The girl eyed her warily. “Yeah. So what?”
“You remember me, don’t you?” Prudence gingerly approached her, sensing that if she moved too quickly, the girl would spook like a frightened horse. “I spoke to you a few nights ago.”
“Yeah. I remember now. The lady from the school, or something.” Lizzie wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“But where is your sister? Wasn’t she with you last time?”
“Meg,” the girl replied, “oh she got promoted to a fancy ’ouse on Bricknell Street.”
“Really?” Prudence asked, unhappy to hear such news. “Well, why didn’t you go there too?”
Lizzie shifted her feet and looked at the ground. “They didn’t want me. Said I was too old for that place.”
“Too old? But you can’t be more than seventeen.”
She looked up at Prudence, and then laughed. “Truth is, I don’t know ’ow old I am. I thinks I’m about that age. But me sister, Meg, she’s younger by a few years. Looks about fifteen, the man at the fancy house said. She’s gonna ’elp me out with ’er extra earnings. I’m allowed to visit ’er once a week, the man said. Every Sunday. That’s only a few more days!” The girl’s face beamed.
“But surely, this is not good news for you, Lizzie,” Prudence said. “Won’t it be difficult coming out here every night by yourself?”
Lizzie’s chin rose with defiance. “Yeah. But I’ll manage.”
“Will you, Lizzie?” Prudence asked. “Have you had any customers tonight?”
The girl remained silent, scowling slightly.
“And when did you eat last?” she inquired. “Yesterday? The day before?”
Prudence saw tears well up in the girl’s eyes—angry tears which trickled down her dirty face. Lizzie wiped them away and stared at Prudence with a grim frown.
“It don’t matter—’cuz I ain’t hungry!”
Prudence felt her heart near to breaking at Lizzie’s misfortune.
“My poor dear,” she whispered, reaching out her hand. “Let me help you. Please, Lizzie. I can help you, if you’ll let me.”
“Why should you?” Lizzie demanded. “Why should you ’elp the likes o’ me?”
Prudence put her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Because, my dear, it’s what I do.”
At that, Lizzie choked back a sob and buried her face against Prudence’s shoulder.
“It’s alright, Lizzie,” Prudence said gently. “I’m going to take you home now. To the Atwater School. There, you’ll meet many other girls who were just like you. You’ll be fed and cared for. You’ll acquire an education. And one day, you’ll take your place in society. I think you’ll be very happy there. We’ll try to get your sister to attend the school, too. You’ll be together again, as you should be.”
“Thank you, Miss—?” Lizzie said, snuffling.
“Miss Atwater.”
Lizzie managed a smile. “Thank you, Miss Atwater.”
“Let’s get you home, now,” Prudence said. “I just have to call Mungo to bring the coach—oh, here he is now.”
Prudence saw a black coach hurtling toward them. That was strange—it looked like a different driver on top. The door swung open, and Prudence stepped toward the coach.
“Mungo, I’d like you to meet—”
But it wasn’t Mungo stepping out of the cab.
It was the thin-faced man who had chased Prudence down the alley.
Before the thought had fully registered in her brain, the man grabbed her arm.
“Come on now,” the thin man growled. “Settle down—Ow! Little she-cat!” He wiped his hand across where Prudence had scratched his rat-like face.
“Unhand me, ruffian!” Prudence yelled. “Mungo! Help!”
The man pinned Prudence’s arms to her sides and lifted her off the ground. She flailed and kicked her feet as hard as she could, hearing him groan in pain as the heel of her boot struck his shin.
If only she could reach her dagger.
“You’ll pay for that later!” he spat.
“The only person who’ll be paying tonight is you,” a deep voice said from behind them.
Prudence turned, recognizing the voice, but still astonished to see Alfred lunging for the man who held her, as Mungo went after the giant who held Lizzie.
Prudence stumbled as she was abruptly released, then regained her balance and turned to see Alfred duck a punch. Swift as a cat, he bounced back up and landed a fist in his opponent’s gut.
The thin man doubled over, but managed to recover, and swung again at Alfred. But Alfred’s training at Mr. Jackson’s boxing salon gave him the advantage. He seemed to effortlessly avoid the man’s fists, while landing a few well-placed punches of his own.
Mungo seemed to have a more equal opponent in the giant, and the two of them bellowed and lunged at each other like mad bulls.
Lizzie stood off to the side, immobilized with fright. Prudence quickly pulled her away from the brawling men and retreated to a safe distance.
Just then, Mungo’s opponent landed a crushing blow to his jaw that sent her trusted bodyguard reeling.
“Mungo!” Prudence cried.
He tried to get up, but was flattened by another blow.
Prudence screamed, and at that, Alfred looked toward her. The thin man pressed his advantage and landed a hard jab in Alfred’s gut, which knocked him backward.
“Let’s get out of ’ere!” The thin man jumped in the door of the coach. “Come on, Piggott!”
The giant looked up and dropped Mungo back on the ground.
Prudence bent down and grabbed a nearby stone, hurling it at the giant as he climbed aboard the carriage. The rock hit the back of his head, and he fell onto his partner, pushing them both into the cab.
Alfred gave chase, but it was no use. The coach turned the corner and disappeared into the dark night.
Prudence ran toward Mungo who lay on the cold cobblestone street. “Mungo, are you alright?” She lifted his head and wiped the blood from his face. “Mungo!”
Then Alfred was beside her, examining the unconscious bodyguard. “He’s suffered a blow to the head. We must get him home at once and send for a doctor. You stay here, and I’ll get the coach.”
His footsteps echoed down the lonely street as he disappeared around the corner.
Prudence tried to keep the tears from filling her eyes, but it was no use. Mungo, her bodyguard and friend, was hurt because of her.
“Is ’e going to die, Miss?” Lizzie asked, her eyes like saucers. “Who is ’e?”
“He is my bodyguard,” she replied. “His name is Mungo Church, and he is also a dear friend. Oh, poor Mungo!”
Prudence cradled his head in her lap, offering a silent prayer for his recovery.
Then, a muffled voice said, “I can’t breathe.”
Prudence sat back. “Mungo?”
“Ugh…,” he croaked, opening his eyes. “That brute packed a mean punch. But why are ye upside down, Miss?”
She laughed, replying, “I’m not upside down, you great oaf!” She helped him sit up. “Oh, Mungo-—are you alright? Truly?”
He slowly got to his feet, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’m afraid ’ol Mungo ain’t as young as ’e used to be. That young fella was a real scrapper. ’Ow long was I out, anyways?”
“Oh, not long. Just a few minutes, I think,” she replied.
“Good,” he said. “Any idea who those two were, Miss?”
“Yes. The thin one, the one who fought with Lord Weston, he was the one who chased me the other day. The one who warned me to stop helping the girls off
the streets.”
“Seems they were miffed that ye didn’t obey their wishes, doesn’t it?”
Prudence nodded.
“Now who’s this, then?” Mungo pointed to Lizzie, who was hiding behind Prudence.
Prudence brought Lizzie round beside her, keeping her arm about the frightened girl’s shoulders. “Mungo Church, may I present to you Miss Lizzie… What is your last name, dear?”
“Jones, miss,” the girl whispered.
Mungo made a bow. “Pleased to meet ye, Miss Jones.”
“This can be your first lesson, then, Lizzie,” Prudence said. “It is customary for a young lady to curtsey when being introduced. And to reply in kind to the gentleman or lady you have been introduced to. Now, you try.”
Lizzie looked from one to the other, and then made an awkward curtsey to Mungo. “Er, pleased to meet ye, sir.”
Prudence smiled at her newest student. “You shall do very well at the Atwater School, Lizzie. Very well indeed.”
The coach came rumbling down the street, and pulled to a stop beside them.
Alfred hopped out, and the sight of him made Prudence’s knees go to mush. He looked like a knight just returned from battle. His shirt and neck cloth were in disarray, and his jacket was dusty. His hair was ruffled, and his eyes glowed with dangerous heat.
He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.
In an instant, he was beside her, encircling her in his strong arms. “Are you alright, Prudence? Did that villain hurt you?” He touched her face, her hair, as if she were a delicate china doll.
“I am quite alright, my lord,” she said.
He closed his eyes in relief. “Thank God we heard your call for help.”
“Which reminds me,” Prudence began, “whatever were you doing out here with Mungo?”
Alfred looked at the older man and said, “Good to see you’re back on your feet, Mungo. In answer to your question, Prudence, when I was unable to dissuade you from coming out here at night, Mr. Church and I decided to join forces in looking after your welfare. As you can see from tonight’s events, it was a good thing that we did.”
Prudence made to reply, but Alfred cut her off.
“But now is not the time to be chattering,” he pronounced. “We would do well to get you home, Miss Atwater, and off the street from which you and this young girl were almost abducted.”
Mungo helped Lizzie into the coach, and Prudence waited for Alfred to hand her in.
But before he did, Alfred pulled her tight against him, holding her prisoner with the power of his gaze. He covered her mouth in a heated kiss, plundering her, branding her there with his lips and tongue. It was wicked and passionate and possessive all at once.
He broke the kiss and held her in front of him, his eyes blazing.
“What was that for?” Prudence asked, breathless.
“I just wanted to remind myself why I came out here tonight, Miss Atwater.” He touched her chin, tipping her face up to look at him. “And to remind you, as well.”
As they rode home together in the carriage, Prudence knew she wouldn’t soon forget.
Chapter 12
A knock sounded on the bedroom door, waking Alfred from his slumber. No matter, he thought as he rolled onto his back, rubbing his face. It hadn’t been a very satisfying slumber anyway, as he had spent most of it in fitful dreams about the infuriatingly beautiful Miss Prudence Atwater.
It seemed that he was destined to be tormented every waking moment—and every sleeping moment too—by the memories of Prudence’s soft lips and sensuously curved body. The fact that she was stubborn, headstrong, and outspoken did nothing to quell his desire for her. If anything, it only added fuel to the fire. And if the flame got much hotter, it might very well consume him.
“Milord?” the valet asked, knocking louder.
“Yes, Downing, I am awake,” he said. “Come in, man.”
Downing entered the room quietly—just as he did everything else—and addressed his employer. “Milord, you have a guest waiting to see you downstairs. I have shown her to the library.”
Alfred instantly sat up. “Is it Miss Atwater? Is she alright?”
He threw back the covers and reached for his trousers, now fully awake.
“It is Lady Harrington.”
Alfred froze.
“Your mother, milord.”
His blood turned to ice-water in his veins, snaking through his body like cold lightning, and finally pooling in his heart.
“My mother, did you say, Downing?”
The valet nodded. “I did, sir.”
Alfred shook his head, saying, “This is unusual. Tell Lady Harrington that I will attend her shortly. Has Lady Weston risen?”
“She has, milord,” Downing answered. “I was told that she will be down soon, and that in the meantime, she would like you to receive Lady Harrington on her behalf.”
“I’m sure she did,” Alfred growled. “Well, don’t just stand there gathering dust, man. Help me get ready.”
He and his valet rushed through his usual preparations, then he descended the staircase, to greet his guest. As he neared the library, Alfred felt an uncomfortable sensation stab his chest, and he recognized it as something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Fear.
Inside, he was an eight-year-old boy again, chasing after his mother’s carriage in the snow as she left them forever. How he had hated her for that—for choosing a carefree life on the Continent over a life with her own children. But he and his brother had managed without her.
He would show her just how well they had managed without her in their lives.
The silver-haired butler, Crawford, opened the door to the library and announced him.
Alfred stepped into the room. A flurry of butterflies danced in his stomach as he saw her turn.
She was beautiful, still—her appearance not much changed from that of the miniature he had gazed at and secretly cherished while growing up.
He saw something flash in her eyes, the same dark walnut-brown as his. But then it was gone.
He steeled his features and approached her, unwilling to give anything away to this woman who had broken his heart so long ago. Stopping in front of her, he made the customary bow, and raised her gloved hand to his lips.
“Mother.” He straightened and met her gaze. “You look well. The Italian climate obviously agrees with you. And what, pray tell, brings you to London? Why, it must be twenty years or so. Am I right?”
Lady Harrington regarded him for a moment, then answered. “Yes, Alfred, you are right. I have not been in England for many years. Since you were—”
“Eight years old,” he replied. “I’m surprised you remember how old I was when you left us. In fact, madam, I’m surprised you even remember my name.
He saw pain in her eyes, and it unnerved him.
“I remember everything, Alfred. Everything.”
“Do you?” He fought to keep the anger out of his voice, but it would not be held back. “Do you remember when I called out to you? When I begged you not to go—”
Crawford opened the door just then and stepped inside. “Lady Weston.”
Alfred and his mother turned to see Great-Aunt Withypoll enter the library, leaning heavily on her cane. Alfred quickly went to her side. Her hand felt so frail upon his arm as he guided her toward the sofa.
“Thank you, Alfred,” she said, settling herself. Then she reached out to Lady Harrington. “Alicia, my child—come and give your old auntie a kiss.”
In a moment, Lady Harrington was beside the great old lady.
Alfred saw tears in his mother’s eyes.
“Oh, Auntie!” Lady Harrington clutched Great-Aunt Withypoll’s hand and pressed it to her lips. “I came as soon as I could.”
“I know, dear.” Great-Aunt Withypoll smiled. “I thank you for responding to my summons so quickly.”
“Summons?” Alfred said, sharply. “What summons? You sent for her, Auntie?”
&
nbsp; His mother turned to look at him. “Yes, she sent for me. I am surprised that you didn’t do it sooner, knowing that she is ill.”
“Ill? But she isn’t ill,” Alfred said, surprised. His gaze went to the aged lady beside her. “Are you?”
She nodded calmly. “I am afraid so, my dear.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “We shall consult a specialist, then. Whatever it is, you will be cured. I’ll see to it.”
“No, Alfred,” Lady Weston replied. “I’m afraid there is no cure for what I have. For it is a chronic case of old age.”
“But—” Alfred protested.
“But, what? I’m old, m’boy! It’s perfectly natural—for a woman my age. So, now that you know I am not going to live forever, let us have some tea. Alfred, would you ring, please?”
Not knowing what else to do at the moment, Alfred obeyed.
Great-Aunt Withypoll—dying?
She was right, of course. He had refused to think about such a thing, hoping that somehow he could keep her with him forever through sheer force of will. He ought to have learned long ago, that such things were impossible.
What a way to start the day.
First, his mother arriving out of the blue, and now the threat of losing his beloved great-aunt—the only mother he had ever known. He hoped the afternoon would be more promising.
Soon Crawford appeared, wheeling in the silver tea service. Along with the tea was a tray of petit-fours and raspberry scones. Great-Aunt Withypoll helped herself to the petit-fours, as they were her favorite.
Though Alfred’s appetite was negligible, he dutifully took a scone. He noticed his mother nibbling hers as unenthusiastically as he was.
He sat in the wing chair near the end of the sofa and sipped at his tea, barely noticing that he had forgotten to put milk in it. His heart was a swirling mixture of emotions. He had been so sure that he’d blocked his mother’s memory out of his mind forever. And now, here she was, turning his life upside down, bringing back feelings he had sworn to keep buried in the recesses of his heart forever.
He had a sudden a memory of her laughing and holding him close on a warm summer day, twirling around and around in their garden.
Then he remembered doors slamming down the hallway at night. His father’s voice yelling. And his mother crying.
Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2) Page 9