Willing Love

by Mary Jean Adams

  “I assure you Mrs. Hatcher, it’s nothing but a thank you for coming to my rescue. It’s what my grandmother would do, were she still here.”

  At the mention of Grandma Rachel, Mrs. Hatcher’s defenses crumbled.

  “Very well.” She gave her new mistress a long look with skeptical eyes. “I’ll see that he gets it.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Hatcher.”

  She left the study before her stubborn housekeeper could change her mind.

  Her plan set in motion, Prudence’s heart lifted. Although not an intellect of the highest order, surely Mr. Evan had shown himself to be a practical man. Grandma Rachel must have seen some potential in him when she hired him to be the stable master at Ashcroft.

  Not that she would have considered him a suitable match for her granddaughter.

  Prudence paused, one hand on the banister. Or would she?

  Her great grandfather and her grandfather had both been men of common means. While her grandmother had done her share of high-society entertaining, her true friends, those she invited to the manor for small private parties, came from all walks of life. She was as likely to have tea with the miller’s wife as dinner at the governor’s mansion.

  Prudence climbed the stairs, deep in thought.

  But the stable master?

  Why not? Her grandmother would have wanted her to marry a man with whom she could be friends. Her admonition against marrying Richard, a man who was already her dearest friend in the world, indicated she wanted her granddaughter to have more. Still, it had been Grandma Rachel herself who removed that possibility when she demanded Prudence marry within three months.

  Besides, what man could possibly refuse such a generous proposal?

  Chapter Nine

  Prudence’s smile froze. “Mr. Evan.”

  Mr. Evan’s eyebrows rose, suggesting he had noted the surprise in her voice. Prudence had been expecting her solicitor, not her stable master and soon-to-be fiancé.

  She recovered herself. Or so she hoped. “Thank you, Gil, that will be all.”

  The butler left the parlor, and Prudence found herself alone with the one man she least wanted to be alone with at that moment.

  She would have need of him soon enough, of course. But not yet.

  First, she had to define her terms. Only then could she present them in the way that offered the greatest chance for a successful negotiation. To be less than prepared could spell disaster.

  One look at Mr. Evan’s dark eyes told her that negotiations might be futile. A vein pulsed in his forehead, and he opened his mouth to speak.

  Mr. Whitley’s squeaky shoes announced his arrival, saving Prudence from whatever vitriol Mr. Evan had been about to unleash. She had never been so glad to see the stuffy solicitor in her life.

  Mr. Whitley gave Mr. Evan a cautious once over, then turned anxious eyes on Prudence.

  “Thank you both for coming.” She fought the nervous giggle welling in her throat.

  “I did not know we would have an audience for this discussion.” Mr. Evan tossed his cocked hat onto the Queen Anne chair in the corner of the study.

  Prudence’s mind raced. What should she do now that they were both here?

  “I needed to speak to Mr. Whitley about several matters.” Should she bring up her proposal? “I planned to invite you to tea later.” She might as well. The terms were fairly simple. “However, since you are here, perhaps we can address the matter between us.” Now was as good a time as any to lay them out.

  “There is no matter between us.” Mr. Evan drew out the last word into a sound akin to a hiss.

  “Then why did you come?” Prudence readjusted a flounce of lace over her forearm.

  Did he mean to turn her down?

  “Because I have the good grace to discuss these matters in person instead of by post.”

  “I didn’t send my offer by post. I had Mrs. Hatcher ask one of the stable boys to deliver it.”

  Mr. Evan’s eyes grew darker. Evidently, he didn’t draw a distinction between postal rider and stable boy.

  Prudence tried a new approach. “I am sorry about that. I don’t have much experience in these matters. I thought putting it in a letter might allow me to get the words right. If it is the manner of my proposition that you object to, perhaps I can explain the details to you now, in person.”

  Mr. Whitley, whose gaze had been darting between them as if he were watching children playing a game of shuttlecock, held up his hands. “Perhaps someone can enlighten me as to the subject of our discussion and the need for my involvement?”

  Prudence filled her lungs with air and prepared to launch into a well-rehearsed explanation. One she hadn’t intended to give in front of a hostile audience.

  “Mr. Whitley, as you know, I must be married within the next three months or I lose my inheritance.”

  “Yes, I am well aware of that.” Mr. Whitley glanced at Mr. Evan. “But what does he have to do with that?”

  “I have decided Mr. Evan and I will suit, and I want to work out the particulars as soon as possible. I’d like you to record our agreement so you can draw up a legal contract later.”

  “With whom?” Mr. Whitley’s bushy brows came together until they formed a gray hedgerow above his eyes.

  Good heavens! Hadn’t he been listening?

  “Mr. Evan, of course.”

  “Who is Mr. Evan?”

  Prudence tamped down her impatience. “Mr. Evan.” She waved her hand at the only other man in attendance. “The man who runs my grandmother’s, or rather my, stables.”

  “She means me,” Mr. Evan said.

  “Ah.” The understanding on Mr. Whitley’s face lasted only a moment before his brows drew together again. “Miss Ashcroft, are you certain about this?”

  “Mr. Whitley, I assure you, I know what I’m doing.”

  “I’m not sure that you do,” he mumbled but took a seat behind the desk and pulled out a piece of parchment. He dipped a quill into the inkpot and meticulously wiped off the excess before saying, “Very well. Proceed with these…negotiations.”

  Prudence had only a moment to ponder Mr. Whitley’s evident skepticism, before Mr. Evan took a step closer.

  “Don’t you think you should ask a man before you decide you’re going to marry him?” his voice rumbled, low and dangerous.

  Prudence fought the urge to back away.

  Perhaps choosing Mr. Evan before she had gotten to know the man had been a mistake. She had never seen this side of him. Something about the way he looked at her now, dark storm clouds brewing in his gray eyes, made her light-headed.

  “But I did ask you.” She winced at the tight pitch of her voice. She took a deep breath and began again. “You received the note I wrote yesterday, didn’t you?”

  If Mr. Evan thought he could intimidate her, he did not understand Ashcroft women.

  “I did, but usually a marriage proposal is done in person.” He moved closer yet.

  “Fine. Would it make you happy if I proposed in person?” Anything to get this over so they could move on to working out the details of their arrangement. “Mr. Evan, would you be so kind as to marry me?” Prudence said in a voice that would have made the most sanctimonious society matron proud.

  “Why?” He drew so close Prudence could detect minute flecks of charcoal in his gray eyes, smell the slight hint of mint on his breath, feel the heat from his body.

  With Mr. Evan this close, the intensity of his gaze pinning her to the spot, Prudence had a hard time even understanding the meaning of the one word question. Why? Why what? Why did she want to marry him? Why should he marry her?

  Evan stepped even closer as she searched for an answer.

  The soft click of Mr. Whitley sticking the quill back in its holder made them both jump.

  “I don’t believe you are in need of a solicitor at this moment. However”—he opened the desk drawer and returned the unused piece of parchment—“should this discussion end in violence, I’d be happy to repres
ent the survivor.” He clapped his hat on his balding head. “Until then, I bid you a good day.”

  Prudence locked eyes with Mr. Evan, but she waited for the soft squeaking of Mr. Whitley’s shoes to subside before speaking again.

  “Why? You know why. I have to marry,” she said in hushed tones even though they were alone in the room.

  Mr. Evan advanced, and this time, she did back up. Her knees met the edge of the Queen Anne, and her legs buckled beneath her. She landed in the chair with a thump.

  Rolling her hips to one side, she pulled Mr. Evan’s flattened hat from beneath her and handed it to him. He tossed it across the room without glancing at it.

  “But why me?” Mr. Evan said, clarifying his question.

  He put his hands on both sides of her, grasping the arms of the chair and closing off any avenue of escape. Obviously, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had his answer.

  Perhaps she should have insisted Mr. Whitley remain. He might have been able to talk some sense into Mr. Evan. Then again, the sooner she explained the details, the sooner Mr. Evan would calm down—and she could calm the riot of butterflies in her stomach.

  Prudence straightened her spine, at least as much as she could with her intended hovering over her.

  “Everyone accuses me of being rash, but I have thought this through.”

  Mr. Evan’s eyebrow lifted.

  “I have! I explained why I chose you in my letter. I think we’d suit each other well. Plus, I thought I’d be doing you a favor.”

  “And just what kind of favor would you being doing for me?” His gaze drifted to her neckline.

  Prudence covered herself with her hand. Did he think her interest in him was physical? Beneath her muslin day gown, her body responded. So what if she was drawn to him? She could control her impulses. He need never know. It would be better for both of them if he thought this a purely business arrangement.

  She folded her hands in her lap.

  “I know the job of stable master is well-paid, but I would ensure you received a handsome annual allowance, one that meant you would never need work again. You could spend your days—”

  “You’re buying me?” Mr. Evan shoved off from the chair.

  “No, of course not.” Prudence shot to her feet. “It’s not like that at all. As my husband, you have every right to the Ashcroft fortune. However, I need to make certain it is protected should you turn out to be a spendthrift.”

  The look of disbelief on his face told Prudence she had made a muddle of this.

  “What of my husbandly rights?”

  “Your what?” A flush crept to her cheeks as understanding dawned.

  As a man he had certain needs, and perhaps he thought she expected him to... Even if she did, how long before a man as handsome as Mr. Evan tired of his plain wife? She’d rather not have him at all than lose him to another woman later.

  She steeled herself to address such a delicate topic.

  “That need not be part of our bargain.” Her gaze dropped to the pattern of fruits and flowers running diagonally across the carpet. “The will does not stipulate that the union produce children. With your allowance, you will be able to attract female companionship of whatever sort your tastes run to.”

  Did his tastes ever run to thin, athletic redheads? Probably not.

  Prudence raised her gaze. “As long as the arrangements are made discreetly, I will not intervene.”

  Mr. Evan said nothing, just stood in the middle of the room looking at her with those hard gray eyes.

  “Why don’t you sleep on it?” Her voice shook. “You’ll get used to the idea and see that the match is advantageous for both of us.”

  “I don’t need to sleep on it,” Mr. Evan said, his voice dangerously low. “I will marry you—”

  Relief flooded her and Prudence clapped her hands together. “Oh, that is excellent!”

  “—on one condition.”

  “Condition?” The butterflies started their riot anew.

  “Yes.” He took a step toward her, and Prudence resisted the urge to back up again, lest she find herself pinned in the chair once more. “I will marry you, but no written contracts.”

  “No contracts?”

  “Yes, the only contract between us will be our marriage vows. You will honor your vows, and I will honor mine.”

  “But are you sure—” Prudence hastily tried to recall the details of the marriage vows from the last wedding she had been to. It had been some years. What did they include?

  “And our marriage will be legal.” Mr. Evan added, his eyes as dark as storm clouds and nearly as dangerous looking. “In every way.”

  Somehow he had found the one for which she had been searching. Maybe it wasn’t a vow exactly, but more of an expectation. Prudence thought she might not be able to breathe.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It will be consummated, or I will have the marriage annulled on the grounds of frigidity.”

  The hated word brought back a flood of memories. The taunts of her classmates were as vivid as if they had been spoken right next to her. Her head swam, and hot tears stung the backs of her lids. She fought them, just as she had always done.

  Prudence gasped when Mr. Evan strode forward and wrapped an arm around her waist. Like a steel band tightening, he pulled her to him. He slanted his lips over hers in a kiss that left her gasping for air when he finally released her.

  “Don’t look so crestfallen.” His chest rumbled as he spoke, the vibration reaching to her core. “You’ve won, and winning won’t seem so bad once you get used to the idea.”

  Chapter Ten

  Moonlight illuminated the rocky path that led along the bluff. Far below, the small, narrow inlet the locals called Smuggler’s Bay glittered as though strewn with diamond dust.

  The pounding of Demon’s hooves matched the pounding of the blood in Evan’s ears. Despite Demon’s sure-footedness and the moon-bright night, he was driving his horse too hard. Or perhaps the stallion was simply responding to his master’s needs.

  Being proposed to had certainly been a new experience. Countless women, on several continents, had propositioned him once he distinguished himself as a successful captain, but none had marriage in mind. A proposal of marriage took a certain audacity he admired. But then the daft woman told him he would be compensated for his troubles.

  Compensated! Evan’s pulse throbbed in his temple. She might as well have said purchased, like a ripe tomato at the market.

  He should have seen that coming after their outrageous discussion on the bluff. Prudence Ashcroft had as much as confessed her plans to buy a husband. Evan had never stopped to consider he would be the one on the block. Not that he was opposed to the idea. The idea of having her lithe body writhing in passion in his bed had a definite appeal.

  She, however, seemed to have something entirely different in mind when she proposed a union.

  What did she mean she wouldn’t hold him to his vows? She made it clear enough that she didn’t expect him to be faithful. She also made it clear she didn’t expect their marriage to be consummated. For some reason, she didn’t seem to think he’d want to.

  Did she not realize how beautiful she was? Perhaps not classically so, but she had a spark that called to him. Like most women, she kept her hair covered by a silly cap, but she could never quite seem to keep a few defiant auburn tendrils from spiraling against her long neck. He would free them from their prison the first chance he had. He couldn’t wait to splay them across his palm, or better yet, against his bare chest.

  Was her porcelain skin with its slight smattering of freckles even more pale and delicate beneath that atrociously high-necked bodice? Would the nipples that topped her creamy breasts be tight little peaks, like those of a virgin goddess? Would the curls at the juncture of her thighs be the same auburn color as her hair, or would they run to a darker brown?

  Evan’s body hardened, and he slowed Demon to a more reasonable pace. If she thought to
hide herself from him, she would discover soon enough that the effort was futile.

  He took a recuperating breath and looked out over the moonlight-dappled bay. Sheltered beneath the cliffs, a small ship bobbed on the waves. She wore no sails and no lights upon her masts.

  Smugglers.

  Were they Ashcroft ships? Evan scoffed and raised his face to the nearly full moon hanging low in the sky. It lit the inlet and its occupants almost as effectively as a cloudy day.

  He looked back at the small, dark figures pushing barrels about the deck like ants storing food for the winter. Whomever they were, they had chosen a poor night to bring in their cargo. While the cliffs offered adequate shelter, a darker night would have allowed them to slip into the inlet unseen.

  Plus, there were rumors of a new customs agent. Regardless of whom the crown appointed, new agents all had one thing in common. They started their careers eager to be the first to collect the taxes due the crown from her rebellious subjects. Some had designs on a higher seat, perhaps even becoming the colonial governor. Others were simply loyal to the king and eager to punish those who objected to England’s right to govern their affairs.

  Whichever sort this new man turned out to be, he could pose a problem for Ashcroft & Sons. Perhaps even for Prudence herself.

  A flash of cream caught his eye.

  “Whoa, boy.” Evan reined Demon to a stop so he could take a closer look.

  A woman. There could be no doubt. Skirts billowed out behind her like a cloud drifting across the sand. She wore no cap and her hair floated free, flashes of red catching the moonlight. He recalled a painting he had once seen. It had been of Venus riding on a seashell, her own red curls covering her most intimate parts.

  A spark of recognition sent a lump straight to the bottom of Evan’s gut. This was definitely not Venus.