Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2)

by Michelle McMaster

  * * *

  Alfred leaned back against the wall.

  He was coming close to breaking her resolve—he could feel it. Prudence had all but melted in his arms earlier, and all but said yes to his marriage proposal.

  But if he was so close to success, why did he feel so empty inside? He was sure that he could woo her, could break down her defenses and make her surrender to him completely. He’d seen it in her eyes, seen her valiantly struggling against her own heart. All he had to do was keep charming her into his arms, keep describing the happiness she could experience if she but agreed to be his wife.

  Then he would be victorious. He would win the battle of wills that raged between them.

  And that was what he wanted, wasn’t it?

  To win?

  Yet, the thought of winning Prudence like that made him feel like a cad. Just as she’d said, he wasn’t fighting fair. He was using her own responses, her own passion as a weapon against her. But was it not warranted to secure the future of his unborn child?

  If there was a child. He found himself hoping more and more that there was.

  “What are you brooding about, m’boy?” Great-Aunt Withypoll said from beside him. Somehow, the diminutive woman had managed to sneak up on him. Which hadn’t been an easy feat, considering Alfred had left her in Mungo’s charge.

  He kissed her hand and then placed it in the crook of his arm. “What did you do with Mungo, Auntie? Or shall I say, what did you do to him? I left you in his care.”

  Lady Weston waved a gnarled hand dismissively. “Oh, it wasn’t hard to escape him, my dear. The big burly man was too busy mooning over Miss Simms to notice my departure. And I didn’t have the heart to break up their tete-a-tete.”

  “Really?” Alfred led her into the next room. “I didn’t know that Mungo had a penchant for Dolly.”

  Lady Weston whacked his arm.

  “Ow!” he said. “What in God’s name is it about my arm that invites whacking from females? Good Lord, between you and Prudence, I should wonder that I have an arm left at all.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject,” Great-Aunt Withypoll said. “Speaking of penchants, I am glad to be proven right, yet again, as you have developed one for Miss Atwater and she for you.”

  Alfred opened his mouth to speak but Lady Weston cut him off.

  “Oh, don’t bother trying to fool me, m’boy,” she said. “I have eyes.

  And contrary to what you might think, they still work quite well.”

  Alfred huffed. “That was why your maid found you wandering about the kitchen looking for your bed, then?”

  “Hmph. I told all of you, I wanted a cup of tea. But let us return to the subject of you and Miss Atwater. Even a blind man would be able to see the way you look at each other. Like two lovesick puppies. But this is a very serious business, Alfred. Now, as you have observed on more than one occasion, I am not getting any younger. I long to see you settled with a wife. I long to hold your children in my arms and dote upon them in my final years.”

  “Auntie, please,” Alfred said, “you’ll upset yourself.”

  Lady Weston reached up to touch his face. “I have always loved you like a son, my dear. Bertram and I—” her eyes filled with tears then, and Alfred thought his jaded heart would break. “You know that I was unable to give him children as he so dearly wished. But when your mother went away to Italy, we were blessed with looking after you and your brother. And you were my favorite. I should have tried to hide it better, I know. But I couldn’t, I suppose. After I lost Bertram, you were such a consolation to me.”

  Lady Weston wiped at her eyes with a delicate lace handkerchief. “Now that you have shown an interest in Miss Atwater, I suppose I fear I might lose you.”

  Alfred rained kisses on her hand, and noticed that the papery skin was as cold as ice. He pressed his hands around hers to warm them. “No, Auntie. You could never lose me. I’m your Alfred, always.”

  She gave him a weak smile, and patted his hand. “That’s what I admire about you, Alfred—your devotion. And perhaps I have been stingy in my old age, refusing to share you with anyone else. Now Miss Atwater has come along, and stolen your heart—just as I wanted her to do. Yet, I am afraid of life without you. I’ve had you by my side for years now, and I must say, you’re a hard habit to break.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Auntie,” he said, trying to reassure her, “no matter what happens with me and Miss Atwater. I haven’t said anything to you, because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. At the moment, Miss Atwater is resistant to the idea of marriage—with me or anyone else. I am trying to convince her otherwise, but as you know, she has an independent mind. She is afraid of losing her freedom, and I can’t argue against that. She’s right—if she marries, she will lose some of the freedoms she has come to know. But she would be gaining a new life—one full of love, devotion and happiness. In my mind it is a worthy trade, but in hers, the price is much too dear.”

  Great-Aunt Withypoll smiled sadly. “Miss Atwater has a point, of course. But so do you, Alfred. You must fight for what you want in life, for whom you want. I fought for what I wanted, and I have no regrets. You have fulfilled the role of a favorite son for many years. But now it is time for me to let go, I think. Of many things….”

  Her eyes fluttered and she crumpled in Alfred’s arms.

  “Auntie?” He patted her face, trying vainly to revive her as he held her limp body in one arm. He shouted over his shoulder to some other patrons. “Get a doctor!”

  A shocked couple hurried off to fetch help as Alfred sank to the floor, cradling his aunt in his arms.

  Chapter 19

  “Where is that bloody, damned doctor?” Alfred said, checking his great-aunt’s pulse.

  She wasn’t dying.

  She couldn’t be dying. Not yet. Not when he had so much left to say to her.

  Great-Aunt Withypoll had been a mother to him for over twenty years. She had been the one to kiss the scraped knee, to soothe the cuts and bruises of childhood. And she had been the one to comfort him when he cried for his mother in the night. He owed so much to this woman.

  She had asked for a grandchild to hold; even though it would actually be a third cousin once removed, or something of the sort. But it didn’t matter. His child would be her grandchild. If only she could live long enough to see such a child with her own eyes. He vowed to see it come true.

  Her eyes fluttered open weakly. Her voice was barely audible. “Alfred….”

  A thrill of hope arose in his veins. He stroked her cool cheek and replied, “I’m here. You fainted, that’s all. You’ll be right as rain again, soon. You just need to catch your breath.”

  Her eyelids fluttered as she once again lost consciousness.

  Dammit! Where was the bloody doctor?

  Hearing voices above him, Alfred looked up the staircase as a large group of people passed by in the upper gallery. He thought he glimpsed Prudence’s distinctive red hair.

  “Prudence!” he shouted. “Prudence, are you up there?”

  He heard a muffled reply. “Alfred?”

  “Down here!”

  The crowd quickly moved to see what all the fuss was about. They all jostled each other in order to get close to the marble balustrade.

  Then some idiot screamed, “She’s dead!”

  The crowd erupted in panic.

  “For God’s sake,” Alfred shouted above the din, “she’s not dead, I tell you. She’s fainted!”

  But no one listened to him. Blasted idiots. They were all running about in circles, some coming downstairs to get a closer look, some hanging over the marble balustrade with mouths agape, and all of them blocking the stairway and hall.

  Alfred looked up to see where Prudence had gone to, and he saw her valiantly trying to make her way toward the staircase. She pushed through the crowd, slowly making progress.

  A man followed closely behind her, obviously taking advantage of the path she was clearing. He was tall, an
d wore a cap that obscured his face.

  Why a man of his height would need a young woman like Prudence to clear a path for him, Alfred couldn’t fathom. For some reason, Alfred couldn’t take his eyes off him.

  The man shadowed her every move. He seemed to be staring after Prudence with an unsettling intensity. Yet, something about the man, about his movements, seemed vaguely familiar. Was Alfred imagining things?

  Prudence neared the top of the staircase.

  The man came close to her, and Alfred got a better look at his face.

  Alfred felt his heart slam into his ribs like a fist.

  It was the man who had tried to abduct Prudence into the carriage that night in Drury Lane. The one who had gotten away from he and Mungo, along with the other villain who’d been helping him.

  Dammit—he thought, he had to warn Prudence, had to get her away from there!

  But everything had changed somehow, time twisted and tangled itself into a slow, agonizing torture.

  The man raised his arms and reached for the back of Prudence’s shoulders, as the staircase loomed below her like the jaws of a great gaping beast.

  Though it was fruitless, Alfred thrust out a hand toward her. He yelled the only thing he could think of that would make her run forward, without looking back.

  “Prudence, help me!”

  He saw the look of shock pass over her face as she lifted her skirts in a most unladylike fashion, and made a brilliant dash forward, just out of the man’s reach. She didn’t see the man behind her grab at the air as he lost his balance.

  The crowd watched in horror as the man tumbled down the stairs to the bottom.

  He landed with a thud and lay inert on the cold floor, his neck obviously snapped. One leg was twisted grotesquely and blood stained his mouth as his eyes stared up sightlessly at the vaulted ceiling.

  Alfred, still holding Great-Aunt Withypoll in one arm, saw the terror in Prudence’s eyes as she flew toward him. In a moment she was in his arms, her face buried against his neck. Alfred squeezed her tightly as she trembled, and he felt the dampness of hot tears against his skin.

  Around them, utter chaos had broken out. The crowd spilled down the staircase, and people shouted in alarm. A whistle sounded.

  Thankfully, some level-headed person had called the constables.

  Prudence pulled away from his hold and looked down at Lady Weston. Tears moistened her ocean-blue eyes. “Oh Alfred, will she be alright? She must be alright—she simply must be!”

  “She will,” he replied. “But are you alright, Prudence?”

  Glancing at the dead man, she nodded silently.

  “We’ll find out who was behind this, I promise you.” Alfred felt the anger rising in his gut. He ground the words out. “We will put an end to it. I will put an end to it.”

  In moments, Alfred’s mother was beside them, tears dampening her eyes, as well. The girls huddled behind her, having been rounded up by Dolly and Mungo.

  Mungo looked on with a sober expression as Dolly tried to console the girls.

  Alfred watched the newest girl, Minnie, slowly make her way over to the corpse. She stared down at the body, even though Dolly and Mungo were calling at her to come away. Finally Mungo went to remove her, but she shook him off, then met Alfred’s gaze.

  “I know him,” she said, finally. “The man who fell. I know his face!”

  Alfred gave a nod. “So do I. Who is he, Minnie—what’s his name?”

  “Grimes,” she answered. “He works for Mr. Cage. I used to see him at The Silver Rose. He was Mr. Cage’s righthand man.”

  Alfred’s jaw set as he fought against the rage that boiled in his gut.

  So, Cage had set his dog on Prudence yet again. He’d tried to have her killed—very conveniently, too. A fall in a public place, on a crowded afternoon at the National Gallery would be easily explained away. Except the henchman had fallen into his own trap.

  Alfred had obviously hit a nerve with his recent investigations. Now Prudence’s life was in even greater danger than it was before. Until Alfred could expose Cage, the mysterious villain was still a threat to her.

  The constables had arrived, and were quickly followed by not one but three doctors. One was Lady Weston’s personal physician.

  The Gallery closed early as the constables conducted their investigation. Alfred gave them his card, and told them to come by the house if they had more questions.

  They were now ready to move Great-Aunt Withypoll to the waiting carriage. She was still in and out of consciousness. The doctor couldn’t say yet what was wrong with the aged lady. He prescribed bedrest, quiet, and a tonic that would improve her strength.

  Alfred thanked him for his assistance.

  After Mungo assisted with Lady Weston, he assured Alfred that he’d get Lady Harrington, the girls and Prudence home safely. There were other carriages waiting for the party. Dr. Trask would accompany Alfred and Lady Weston back to the townhouse.

  As Alfred’s carriage pulled away from the curb, his mind spun. Great-Aunt Withypoll was gravely ill, and possibly would die. A madman was on the loose in London, with his sights set on killing Prudence. And not only Prudence—but possibly Alfred’s unborn child, as well.

  Just the thought made him want to put his fist through the glass of the carriage window.

  But little good that would do.

  It was time to take account.

  It was time to acknowledge debts.

  Some to be paid…. and some to be collected.

  * * *

  Mr. Cage poured himself a brandy, though he knew it would do nothing to quell his foul mood.

  Only a moment ago, Mr. Higgins had informed him that Grimes was dead. The idiot had failed once again in his mission. And what made Cage even more angry was that now he wouldn’t be able to kill Grimes himself.

  It wasn’t the first time one of his lieutenants had died in service to Cage. And it wouldn’t be the last. But precautions were always taken to protect Cage if one of his men were killed on the job. No one would be able to link Grimes to Cage’s shady business dealings.

  Hell—Grimes wasn’t even his real name. There was no record of him ever having received money from Cage or any of Cage’s establishments. Which was as it should be.

  Still, there remained the problem of Miss Atwater. She would have to be taken care of. Sometimes, he thought as he downed the last of the brandy, one had to deal with stubborn problems of this nature oneself. Perhaps there was a better way to do this….

  A thought struck him, then.

  Perhaps he had been approaching this the wrong way. Perhaps it was time to use Miss Atwater’s weaknesses against her.

  Instead of being on the offensive, which had so far gotten him nowhere, he would sit back and wait. Then he would set a trap for the little do-gooder.

  It was so simple, he wanted to laugh.

  Chapter 20

  “Are ye sure we should be doin’ this, Miss?” Mungo’s voice whispered from somewhere behind the tree. His face was barely visible in the shadows as Prudence stepped closer, straining to see him in the dark. “Lord Weston will skin me alive, so ’e will.”

  “Considering that you outweigh Lord Weston by at least three stone, I find that difficult to imagine,” Prudence replied.

  He peeked out from behind the massive tree trunk. “Well, ’e could do it if I sat there and let ’im clobber me, which I plan to do out o’ guilt, anyway. Ye know, my problem is, I just can’t refuse ye anything, Miss Atwater. I’ve got to learn to start sayin’ ‘no’. There. ‘Miss Atwater, no, we are not going out prowling about the streets o’ London lookin’ fer Mr. Cage.’ There, ’ow did that sound?”

  Prudence rolled her eyes. “Mungo, we’re here already. Saying ‘no’ now is beside the point.”

  “It doesn’t hurt to practice fer next time,” he said.

  Prudence gingerly made her way behind the tree trunk, and stood next to Mungo. “I’m glad to know you’re thinking ahead.”

&
nbsp; “We should’ve told Lord Weston, Miss,” Mungo grumbled. “Imagine ’ow vexed ’e’ll be if ’e finds you’ve gone off galivantin’ again. Like ’e doesn’t ’ave enough to worry about these days, with Lady Weston takin’ ill, an’ you almost gettin’ killed.”

  Prudence looked up at him. “Whose side are you on? That is precisely why I didn’t inform Lord Weston about my plans for this evening. He has been at Lady Weston’s side constantly, and has barely slept for two days. We are helping him by taking over the investigation, trust me. Now, give me a leg up, so I can look in the window.”

  Prudence pointed up at the golden-lit windows of the fashionable townhouse.

  Mungo bent down and made a stirrup with his hands. Prudence placed her foot in his strong grip. She held onto Mungo’s head for balance as he effortlessly lifted her up. The burly man didn’t even grunt as he supported her full weight in his hands.

  “What are we lookin’ fer, Miss?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, exactly,” she said. “But we may be able to glean some important information that will lead us to Mr. Cage’s identity.”

  “Oh, ye mean, like a man walkin’ about sayin’, ‘Hello, world! I am Mr. Cage. Please arrest me and take me to the magistrate’?”

  Prudence huffed. “Are you patronizing me, Mungo?”

  “Patronizing?” he said. “No, Miss, not me. I’m just tryin’ to bring yer attention to the gaping holes in yer plan. Basically, that ye ’aven’t got one.”

  Prudence squirmed to pull herself up higher, hooking her fingers around the upper ledge. She could see into the room, now. Through the ivory shears, she saw an ornate parlor, filled with men dressed in their evening finery, and women wearing next to nothing at all.

  One thing was for certain—they were at the right address. This was indeed ‘The Silver Rose’, just as Minnie had described.

  Prudence watched and waited, while sounds filtered through the window—the rumble of male laughter, the soft giggling of the young prostitutes who strove to entertain them, the clinking of glasses as two men toasted each other nearby.