Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2)

by Michelle McMaster

  But the most vivid memory of all was the day her carriage drove away in the swirling snow. The tears had frozen on his face in the bitter cold.

  And now, here she was, sitting only a few feet away from him after all these years.

  Why had she come back?

  And why had she ever left in the first place?

  She looked up at him then, and he saw questions in her eyes as well. He hardened his gaze and she looked away.

  One thing was certain.

  Before his mother left London he vowed to find the answers to his questions.

  * * *

  Mr. Cage puffed on the cigar, drawing the fragrant smoke slowly into his lungs. It tasted good.

  Dark.

  Hot.

  Just the way he liked most everything.

  Behind him a young girl stood, clad in a sheer chemise of finest lawn, massaging his shoulders. Another one sat at his feet, doing the same.

  “So,” he said, puffing the cigar. “She got away.”

  “Yes, sir.” Grimes stood before him, cap-in-hand. “Won’t happen again, sir.”

  “I know, Grimes. I know.” Cage smiled, pointing his cigar at him. “You’re a smart man. I know you won’t disappoint me again.”

  “’Twas just bad luck this time, sir. We’ll get ’er next time.”

  “Yes, about that. I’ve been thinking we should become a bit more aggressive in our plan.” Cage stood up, brushing away the girls’ hands, and stepping over the one at his feet as if she were no more important than a foot stool.

  He walked to his liquor cabinet and poured himself another brandy. He didn’t offer any to Grimes.

  “It is obvious to me that Miss Atwater is a tenacious young woman,” he said. “And while I admire that in her, I will not tolerate her interfering with my business. She must learn to understand that. So, we must look at the problem a different way. Since Miss Atwater will not be dissuaded from her cause, we must remove part of the equation.”

  “’Ow do we do that, sir?” Grimes asked.

  Cage watched the end of his cigar glow orangey-red. “You know what they say. It’s best to fight fire with fire.”

  * * *

  Alfred looked out the carriage window and watched the darkened city roll by. Restlessness churned in him like the waters of a stormy sea.

  Thoughts swirled in his head—of his mother, of Great-Aunt Withypoll, and of Miss Prudence Atwater.

  He had been unable to see her today due to his mother’s unannounced arrival. And after the previous night’s episode with the thwarted abduction, he’d meant to check in on Prudence today.

  Now, as his carriage headed toward the Theater District, he felt an uncomfortable surge in his heart. And though he was reluctant to admit it, he realized the true nature of his mission.

  He needed to see her.

  For some reason, when the pain of seeing his mother had bitten at his heart, he’d wanted to go to Prudence—as if perhaps she would have the answers he sought.

  The carriage turned onto Drury Lane, and Alfred immediately noticed the shadowy forms of the girls as they walked along the lamp-lit street. He sat up and peered out, looking for Prudence’s unmistakable red hair.

  He didn’t see her.

  Instead, he met the eyes of the girls she hadn’t yet reached. They regarded him with wariness. He could feel their desperation like a physical thing.

  He knocked on the roof with his walking stick, and the carriage rolled to a stop. Without waiting for the driver, he opened the door and hopped down onto the cobblestone street.

  “Just be a moment, Tomkins,” he called up to the driver.

  Two young girls stood huddled under the leafy branches of an oak tree. When they saw him approaching, they ventured forward, letting their tattered shawls fall away from their bare shoulders to better display their wares.

  “Good evenin’, sir,” one of them said. “D’ye fancy some company?”

  “Actually, no.” Alfred brought out his pocket-book and took out a few pound notes.

  “Then what’s the money for?” the other one asked, eyeing Alfred skeptically.

  “It’s for you—for both of you,” he said, holding out the notes to each of them. “I don’t want anything in return, just your assurance that you’ll use it to get yourselves some supper.”

  “Supper? But it’s so much, milord!” the first one exclaimed.

  “Yes, well, you should be able to eat on that for awhile then, won’t you?” he answered.

  “What’s your game, then?” the other one said. “What d’ye want from us? No man gives away money if ’e don’t expect somethin’ back.”

  “Well,” he began, “perhaps as a way of offering your thanks, you can provide me with some information. I’m looking for a girl with curly red hair, quite beautiful and well-put together. Wears a purple silk cloak.”

  “Oh yeah, her,” the first one said. “A real fancy one. We seen ’er. Down the end o’ the street, there.”

  Alfred made his bows and headed back to the waiting carriage. “I thank you, ladies. To you both, I bid a good evening.” He hopped back inside and watched the girls stare at him with open mouths, still holding the pound notes in their grimy hands.

  Soon, the carriage pulled to a stop again at the end of the street. Alfred scanned the darkened shadows for any sign of Prudence.

  He looked to the other side of the street, and his heart clenched uncomfortably as he took in the scene across the street.

  Prudence stood near a lamppost, her wild red hair spilling over creamy bare shoulders. Her red skirts were hiked up, showing off a generous length of thigh, which had certainly caught his attention the first night they’d met. And he was convinced that the neckline of her scarlet gown was even lower than she usually wore it.

  But her appearance was not what made his throat constrict.

  It was the sight of her talking to a man—one who obviously wanted to give her a night’s employment, among other things.

  Hadn’t he himself tried to enlist her services the very same way this blackguard was now doing?

  Of course, he had.

  He was a rake and a rogue, and an unapologetic one at that.

  But it was one thing for him to proposition Prudence. It was quite another for someone else to do it.

  Especially now that he—

  He refused to finish that thought, and instead leapt from the cab and stormed toward Prudence and the unidentified man.

  She smiled and batted her eyes coquettishly at the cad in front of her. Then her expression changed as she caught sight of Alfred stalking towards them.

  Alfred stopped short and gripped the man’s shoulder. “Pardon me, my good man, but the lady is engaged.” He jerked the man away from Prudence.

  Lord Rigglesford squinted his beady eyes up at Alfred and squeaked, “Weston? What the devil are you about?”

  Alfred glared at him, saying, “What I am about is resuming my conversation with this beautiful lady, whom I made an appointment with earlier this evening.”

  “What previous engagement?” Rigglesford said, turning to Prudence. “She didn’t say anything about a previous engagement.”

  Prudence gave a wide-eyed look of innocence. “Well, I didn’t mention it before, milord, as ’e was a bit late, ye see? Didn’t know if ’is lordship was comin’ at all. But now he’s ’ere.”

  “Yes, now he’s here,” Alfred repeated, pulling Prudence toward the waiting carriage. “Good evening, Rigglesford. Next time I see you at Jackson’s, I’ll try not to knock the stuffing out of you, alright?”

  Alfred helped Prudence into the cab and tried to contain himself. “Where is Mungo? And why wasn’t he doing his job?”

  “Mungo is where he usually is,” Prudence answered, crossly, “out of sight of the street. And he was doing his job.”

  “Well, I didn’t see him come to your defense when that little rat of a man was harassing you,” Alfred countered. “Why, Rigglesford was practically undressing
you where you stood. Which wouldn’t be difficult, considering how little you are wearing.”

  “And who are you to act in such a manner?” she demanded, hotly. “Who are you to say anything at all about what I do or how I do it?”

  “Who am I? Who am I, you say? Well, I’ll tell you. I seem to be the only person in this carriage who has a brain, that’s who!”

  “Of all the nerve!” Prudence said, eyes blazing.

  “Me—I have a nerve?” Alfred retorted. “Don’t you know that it tears me apart to even think of another man putting his hands on you, let alone being forced to watch it?”

  Before she could reply he leaned forward and pulled her into his arms.

  “You’re wondering why I came to you tonight,” he said. “Why I sought you out. The reason is simple. I needed to see you, Prudence. I needed you. Like this, in my arms—beautiful and wild and infuriating, just as you are. And most of all, I needed to kiss you…like this.”

  He buried his hands in her hair and brought her mouth up to be captured by his. She gasped as he parted her lips with his tongue.

  The challenge of such a kiss—of such a woman—thrilled him. Holding her was like holding a thunderstorm in his arms. He could feel her passion, her wild unpredictability warming every inch of his skin.

  The taste of her, like sweet honey, made his body hum with desire.

  She moaned, and he felt her soften in his arms.

  He trailed kisses down her face, the soft skin at the hollow of her neck. Her fingers twined in his hair, and her breathing quickened as his mouth moved lower.

  He couldn’t stop his hands from reaching out to touch the exquisite curve of her breast. Softly, his lips brushed the soft skin exposed by the plunging neckline of her dress. He wanted so much to see all of her, to touch all of her, it was driving him mad.

  His mouth dipped lower, to the hollow between her breasts.

  He tasted her there, and felt his pulse quicken to a thrilling pace. He reached up to slide her dress down off her shoulder. Yes, this was exactly what he needed….

  “Alfred?”

  “Yes, my sweet?”

  He supposed he should have seen the slap coming. But he didn’t.

  Before he knew what he was about, his head was snapping sharply to the side, and his cheek was on fire.

  He wanted to be angry, but couldn’t seem to muster anything at all to that effect. Because he knew he deserved it. Reluctantly, he met Prudence’s fiery gaze.

  “Don’t even begin to think that I’m through with you yet, Lord Weston,” Prudence said, haughtily. “I’ve only just begun!”

  Chapter 13

  Prudence stared at Alfred, indignation shining bright and hot in her eyes.

  “Just what did you think you were doing? And just who did you think you were doing it with?” she demanded.

  “I—” he sputtered.

  “You, ox-brained, meaty-handed oaf!” Prudence proclaimed. “You think that just because I wear these clothes, and pretend at being a light-skirt, that I am a light-skirt. That you may have your way with me whenever and wherever you choose. Or perhaps you think that I am so weak-minded and spindly-spined, that you can ply me with kisses until I leap into your arms, wearing nothing but the ribbon in my hair, and beg you to take me then and there.”

  “That is not how I think of you, Prudence,” he said.

  “Is it not?” she replied. “Well, you most certainly do not think of me as a lady who demands the respect of a peer of the realm. Perhaps it is simply my lower station in life that makes you try to seduce me with kisses, then.”

  “That is not why,” Alfred said, angrily. “I think you are a passionate woman, Prudence. Far more passionate than you know.”

  “And because of that, you may take liberties with me which are far more serious than kissing?” she retorted. “I suppose you know more about my own nature than I do.”

  “Perhaps I do,” Alfred answered. “I know that you enjoyed my lips on yours. The least you can do is admit that.”

  Prudence’s eyes flashed with fire as she sat forward and jabbed a finger in his face. “Perhaps I did, but I did not ask you to undress me, my lord. You went too far.”

  He couldn’t argue with that. “You’re right, Prudence. Tonight I was an unthinking oaf with the sense of a randy bull. I came to you seeking comfort. And like a man, I sought it in your arms—the arms of a woman who has been driving me mad with desire since the first time we met. Though you may not believe me, I meant no disrespect. I wanted, no needed to see the beauty of your face, to touch the perfection of your skin. To somehow be washed clean by your innocent passion.”

  He continued, “There’s a bit of a beast in every man, Prudence. I’m no different. But do you know how fearful I am for you, when I know firsthand what’s in the hearts of the men who proposition you out here? Perhaps I was brutish just now—blinded by my own desire—but it was just that. Above everything else, I want you to know that you are safe with me, and that I would never, ever hurt you.”

  Finally, she said, “I know that you would not hurt me, Alfred. Not in the way you fear another man might. But I have Mungo to protect me—”

  Alfred waved a hand in dismissal. “The attack on you the other night has established that one man’s protection is not enough. You are in danger, Prudence. Every night that you go out walking the streets, searching for girls to help, you put yourself in grave danger. A danger so insidious, so dark that you cannot possibly imagine it. Have you not thought what might happen if you are abducted by whoever it is that is harassing you? Well, I have thought of it. I cannot sleep for thinking of it.”

  Her chin rose in stubborn refusal. “I will not give up my work with the girls.”

  “I know,” he answered, taking her hands in his. “Your bravery is both admirable and infuriating. And it might well land you in a great deal of trouble… Trouble that Mungo and I might not be there to help you out of. If I were your husband—”

  “My husband!”

  He smiled. “Yes, thank God that I am not, but if I were your husband I’ve a mind it would be quite easy to keep you home at night, and not roaming the streets.”

  She lifted a brow. “Oh? And pray, however would you do that?”

  He let his smile widen slowly, all the while watching her mind work.

  “Oh…”

  He imagined her saying that over and over again, riding waves of pleasure as she straddled him—hair wild, eyes glazed.

  “You shouldn’t have said that, Prudence. It’s giving me ideas.”

  “Well, then I should be glad that you are not my husband,” she answered.

  But you see, there will be no chance of that, Lord Weston, as I intend never to marry.” She sat back on the seat with a satisfied smile.

  “What? Never marry?” he asked, shocked. “You mean, you intend to become a spinster—never have children or a family of your own? Well, I must say, that’s dreadfully unsociable of you.”

  “It is not unsociable,” she said, “it is my choice, you infuriating blockhead!”

  “Well, I find it unsociable,” he replied. “Keeping everything you have to offer a man—your intelligence, your beauty, your extremely kissable lips—hidden away forever? Not to mention what you will be losing; an opportunity to study the intricacies of a daily relationship with another human being, in this case, a man. Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d wager to guess that the real reason you have decided not to marry is that you are, quite simply, afraid.”

  She sat ram-rod straight. “Afraid? You are quite mistaken, my lord. It is not with fear that I regard the institution of marriage, but with disdain. Why, I would sooner throw myself from London Bridge than marry any man.”

  “A drastic, if effective measure,” Alfred answered, amused. “But why, my dear?”

  “Because the institution of marriage is much like another institution I am sure you have heard of,” she explained. “Prison.”

  “So, you view marriage as a prison
, do you?” He was intrigued.

  “For me it would be.”

  Alfred chuckled. “Funny, it is usually the man who sees it as a life sentence, and the woman who sees it as a necessity.”

  “For many women it is a necessity,” Prudence agreed. “They need a man to support them, provide a home, and give them children. But in exchange, the woman gives away her freedom, such as it is. But I do not want or need any of that. All I want is the freedom to help others, as I do now with the Atwater School.”

  “Perhaps you are right to give up the idea of marriage,” he said. “In that regard, you have more freedom than I do. I have a duty to carry on the Weston name and ensure that the family fortune is passed on. Just as a woman becomes a breeding mare in matrimony, so too a man is put to stud.”

  He shifted in his seat. “Time is running out for me, Prudence. Great-Aunt Withypoll is ill, and she won’t live forever. She wants to see me settled with a wife, to start filling up our nursery. And yet, I fight against the very thought of it. I have seen the most unhappy marriages…aside from Beckett and Isobel, of course, but they are an exception. It was never like that for my parents. Their marriage was—and still is—a complete disaster.”

  Just the thought of it made his head hurt—his parents’ failed marriage, his mother’s unexpected return, the old wounds it opened and left raw and exposed.

  “What will you do?” Prudence asked quietly, as if she could read his very thoughts.

  “About what?”

  “Marriage.”

  He shrugged. “I will do my duty, I suppose. I will marry a quiet, biddable girl of good breeding who will be content to attend assemblies and balls, do needlepoint and bear my children. The sooner the better.”

  “Sounds completely awful.”

  “I know.” He looked across at Prudence and noticed her gaze transfixed at something out the window.

  Before Alfred had time to stop her, Prudence was out the door and running toward the Atwater School.

  Alfred felt his own gut harden in fear as he raced after her.

  The Atwater School was on fire.