The earl gnashed his teeth like a fabled dragon prepared to breathe fire upon its foe. Yet for the volatile energy simmering under the surface, the other man maintained a remarkable calm. He passed his gaze over Christian, as though searching for the hidden truths only known by the men who’d served alongside him. “Are you in need of a fortune?”
He stilled. There it was. The question the other man had every right to ask and answers he most certainly deserved as Prudence’s brother. Never before had Christian more despised his financial circumstances than he did in this moment. “I am,” he said quietly, hating that he was still the same bloody failure he’d always been.
Antipathy emanated from Lord Sinclair. “And do you wish to marry Prudence for her dowry?”
Christian curled his hands over the arms of his chair, his fingertips digging into the immaculate, Italian leather. He was, wasn’t he? Yet, this inability to utter those reprehensible words did not stem from shame, but rather an appreciation for the woman whose hand he now asked for.
“By your silence, I think I have my answer.” Lord Sinclair raked a condescending stare over him.
“Your sister and I come to this marriage with a realistic, clear expectation of what is joining us.”
The other man froze and then a humorless laugh burst from him. “By God, the arrogance of you, St. Cyr. You speak as though I’d permit you to wed Prudence.” He shook his head. “I would never allow my sister to tie herself to a debt-ridden rogue who’d have her for nothing more than the fat purse attached to her name.”
Christian opened and closed his mouth several times. Since he’d resolved to come to the earl’s home and put a formal offer to him for Prudence, he’d anticipated this icy rage, but not once had he considered the prospect that he’d outright reject Christian’s suit. Then why would he support the match when he brought nothing to her? He leaned forward and pressed his palms to the smooth, cold surface of the earl’s desk. “As an older brother, I understand how it is to see one’s sister as a forever child.” The earl’s eyebrows dipped. “Prudence is no girl. She has come to her mind and her decision is one I respect.”
Lord Sinclair snorted. “Of course you respect her decision; it would see you richer by sixty thousand pounds.”
He choked. Sixty thousand pounds?
“Did you underestimate the lady’s true worth?”
The coolly mocking words penetrated Christian’s momentary shock and his patience with the overprotective earl snapped. “The lady is worth more than her dowry.”
Lord Sinclair inclined his head. “Indeed, she is. But she will find herself wed to a man who sees her worth beyond her dowry and doesn’t require it to maintain his roguish lifestyle.”
A white-hot rage descended over his vision, momentarily blinding him. That is how the other man saw him. Likely as a young lord who took his pleasures where he would, when he would and indulged in an extravagant lifestyle, beyond his means. After all, wasn’t that what most members of the ton did? He didn’t know of his staff, composed of Christian’s brothers-in-arms, and their dependency upon him. Nor did this self-righteous bastard deserve those truths. “Are you rejecting my offer for Prudence’s hand?”
At the use of her Christian name, the other man’s narrowed eyes swallowed the blacks of his pupils. “I do not like you, St. Cyr. My sister deserves respectability. She deserves a man with wealth and honor to his name, a man who is not a rogue.” There was none of the venom one would expect of those words, just a plain matter-of-factness that he could well-understand. He didn’t much like himself. “And I will not see one such as you wed her.”
From the other side of her brother’s office door, Prudence’s heart thumped wildly.
…I will not see one such as you wed her… Those words penetrated the wood panel, muffled by the thick oak and by her churning thoughts. Since Patrina’s failed elopement and Sin’s own scandal with the governess-turned-wife, her family had sought to impose their will on not just Prudence, but all of the Tidemore ladies. Through them, they would serve to restore respectability to the name by following that blasted infuriating mantra ingrained into them by their mother.
No scandals. No elopements or rushed marriages. You are to be all things proper at all times…
Yet, they’d relegated her, and Poppy, and Penelope to a stiff, artificial person they’d have as their daughter or sister. They did not want a woman of free thought who carved a life for herself or made decisions that might put the Tidemore name further at risk. She squared her shoulders as those two gentlemen on the opposite side of the door discussed her fate, her future, and her happiness as though she was nothing more than Sin’s daughter being ushered about by a much-needed nursemaid. Prudence firmed her jaw. Well, she’d had enough. She would, as Lady Drake had urged, control her own happiness.
She pressed the handle and stepped into the room.
Her brother and Christian swung their gazes to her and then, for all the vitriol between the two men in their tense discussion, they quickly schooled their expressions and climbed to their feet.
“Prudence,” her brother greeted, frowning at her. “I am speaking with Lord St. Cyr.”
Not taking her gaze from Christian, she closed the door behind her. The chocolate warmth of his eyes enveloped her in a comforting heat, strengthening her resolve. “I gathered that,” she said, infusing the drollness used by her brother all these years.
His frown deepened as she stepped deeper into the room. From the corner of her eye, a splash of white captured her notice, momentarily halting her in her tracks.
The flowers. She returned her eyes to Christian, but his chiseled features may as well have been carved of stone. Smoothing her palms along the front of her skirts, she walked the remainder of the distance and came to a stop beside the empty leather winged back chair at the foot of her brother’s desk. When both gentlemen remained stoically silent, she winged an eyebrow upward and looked between them. “Well? I gather a lady has the right to take part in a discussion involving her own future.” Then, before their wide, unblinking eyes, she sank into the seat. And waited. And continued waiting.
“Prudence,” the marquess began quietly.
“Do not call my sister by her Christian name,” Sin cut into the other man’s words with a sharp command. Then he switched his attention to her. “Nor do you have any part in the discussion between St. Cyr and me. Not at this moment. I will speak to you later.”
Oh all the saints in heaven, she loved her brother. He was loyal and loving and devoted, but goodness if he wasn’t a great, big dunderhead most times. “I am not a child, Sin. I would stay.”
Admiration flared in Christian’s eyes. Had he thought she’d be cowed by her of-late surly brother? Alas, he’d failed to realize she would be cowed by no one.
“Very well,” her brother said stiffly, motioning to Christian’s chair.
Both gentlemen reclaimed their seats. Her brother sat forward in his chair and tapped his fingertips upon the only ledger atop his desk in a grating rhythm until she wanted to shout at him to stop or clamp her hands over her ears. He’d always known just how to grate on her very last nerve.
“The marquess,” he paused to gesture at Christian as though there might be another marquess they now spoke of. “Has asked for your hand in marriage.”
Even suspecting as much as she had when his carriage had rolled up, to the words she’d overheard through the wood paneled door, an odd fluttering danced in her belly.
“And I said no.” A happy fluttering her brother’s words instantly quashed.
Oh, the madness of it all. These men who sat in their seats of power and commanded the lives of all. “You said no,” she said when she trusted herself to speak. She looked to Christian but found his expression curiously flat. “And you said?”
“I didn’t have a chance to respond because of your sudden entrance.” He followed his words with a wink that rang a laugh from her lips.
Her brother glowered at the man who wou
ld be his brother-in-law. “I hardly think this is a time for jests.” Hardly a good start to a familial relationship.
She and Christian continued to stare at one another. His expression may as well have been carved from stone. “And what would you have said if I hadn’t made my sudden entrance?”
Some of the brevity left his eyes, revealing the somber, solemn figure who occasionally showed himself—the man hidden beneath the charming rogue he presented to Society. Did anyone see the true person he was underneath? “I would have said it mattered not. I would have said you made your decision and I made mine, and I would wed you, regardless of whether he approves or not.” He continued speaking over Sin’s angry growl. “I would acknowledge that I require your dowry, but it does not mean I do not care for you and respect you.”
He cared for her. And respected her. A ball of emotion wadded in her throat. As much as that unexpected admission filled her, there was also a sharp pang of selfish regret that those words were not somehow more. Why could they not be more? Perhaps in time they would come to be…
But what if they did not?
Her brother, astute as the day was long, pounced on that. “And since we are speaking in terms of a hypothetical conversation,” he began dryly, “I might add that I would have followed St. Cyr’s touching words with my insistence that my sister marry for love and not to a man who merely cares for her.”
A muscle ticked in the corner of Christian’s mouth and with the tension in his broad, powerful shoulders, he tamped down whatever words he truly wished to hurl at her brother’s highhanded head. His lips tilted in the corner, in what she’d come to recognize as his feigned, roguish smile. “And I would add that I intend to wed her anyway. If she will have me,” he added, those quietly spoken words directed to Prudence.
That was his offer to free her from the request she’d put to him. Even with her longing for more from him than a caring, respectful union, she wanted him anyway, and trusted that in time, he could, nay would come to love her. “I will have you.”
He held his hand out and she slid her fingers into his. Home. This was the feeling of coming home. That steady warmth continued spreading through her. She looked at their interconnected hands and then back to a frowning Sin. As much as she intended to take control of her future, regardless of his approval, she wanted him to support her. For she loved her brother and hated hurting him. “You think I’m making a rash decision in marrying Christian,” she said softly. “But I am not. I am being logical, Sin.” Except she lied. For now, she was only thinking with her heart. “No one wants to wed a Tidemore. Christian might not love me…” For a fraction of a heartbeat, she longed for Christian’s denial. Ached to hear the protestation and a promise of love. When he gave no outward reaction, when no denial was forthcoming, pain scissored through her. “But he will wed me,” she said, in deadened tones.
A black curse escaped her brother. “All my life I’ve wanted you to be logical, so now that I want you to think with your heart, you should choose not to?” He fixed an icy glare on Christian. At her answering quiet, he made a sound of disgust. “Will you still wed her if I withhold her dowry?”
His pledge startled a gasp from her. “You would not.” She prided herself on the steady deliverance of those shocked words. Her confounded thoughts raced and Prudence tried to put order to the implications of that threat.
Sin remained silent.
She swung her gaze to Christian. He clenched his hand almost reflexively about hers and she winced at the unexpected pressure. He loosened his grip, but did not relinquish his hold.
“Will you wed her still if she brings you nothing, St. Cyr?” his brother taunted.
She took in the drawn corners of Christian’s mouth, the ashen hue of his skin and knew the answer from the bitterness and regret flitting through his eyes. He would not. And she should know that. Aware as she was of his dire financial straits, there had never been the illusion of more between them. She’d sought him out and offered her dowry in exchange for control of her fate and her happiness, only to now find her happiness was inextricably wrapped into this man’s heart.
Christian cleared his throat, his gaze trained on their interlocked fingers. “I wish I could give you more, Prudence.” His voice, roughened with shame and regret, pierced her. But I cannot…
“It is fine,” she said, her voice hollow to her own ears. Except it wasn’t fine. For if there was no marriage with the convenience of her dowry, there was no future between them, and the prospect filled her with an empty bleakness. “You do not have to say anything more.” Her voice broke and she damned that telling weakness.
He winced. “Prudence,” he began. To say what? That he’d wed her even if Sin withheld her fortune? He could not, not given his current circumstances. And the way in which he passed his frustrated, brown-eyed stare over her hinted at a helplessness she detested witnessing from him. He was a man of strength and courage who should not be so broken.
She slipped her hand from his and he stared blankly at his empty palm. His face contorted in a spasm, as though he were agonized by the loss of her touch. But why would that be? Why, if he desired nothing more of her than her wealth?
“I think there is nothing left for you to say, St. Cyr. I would never see my sister destitute.” Hope sprang to life in her breast. Sin clenched and unclenched his hands. “But I know my sisters and Prudence is determined to wed you.”
And given Patrina’s rash decision in the past, he suspected Prudence capable of the same poor judgment. Stealing a sideways glance at his unmoving figure, frozen at her side, she confronted the painful truth that, God help her, she was capable of the same folly made by her eldest sister.
“What are you saying?” Christian asked gruffly.
She loved Christian. Loved him for being a man capable of his own opinions; for being a man who spoke with her and not to her. She wanted him. And she’d merely deceived herself into believing she desired nothing more than controlling her own fate and happiness. That had merely been the lie she’d fed herself. She wanted him in all the ways a woman could know a man.
Her brother’s words pulled her to the moment. “I am saying I’d grant you leave to marry her because I suspect she’ll have it no other way.” Sin swiped a tired hand over his face. Regret lit his eyes. Then, he dropped his hand quickly to the desk.
He jerked his chin in Christian’s direction. “There you have him, Pru. That is the man you’d wed—a man who wants nothing more than your fortune.”
A chill stole through her. “You merely threatened that to see what Christian’s reaction would be were you to withhold my dowry.” Shock forced her words out as a breathless whisper. A fleeting trace of guilt reflected in her brother’s blue eyes, but then was swiftly gone. Of its own volition, her hand fluttered to her chest. How could her brother be capable of this cruelty?
Christian reached for her fingers and she took the comfort of his strong, powerful caress. “You would wound her in this manner?” Disgust coated his words. Her brother had the good grace to at least appear sheepish.
“And for what?” she demanded, her tone sharply rising. “Is this a game to you?”
Her brother sat back in his chair. He and Christian locked stares in a silent, unspoken battle. “This is no game, Pru. This is your life.”
“I will care for her.” A gravelly harshness underscored Christian’s pledge. “I will see her happy.”
“Can you?” Sin shot back, winging a brow upward. “Do you even know her interests? Do you know what brings her joy? Do you know her favorite color? I would have that man for her husband.”
He stiffly withdrew his hand and came slowly to his feet. For one agonizing moment, she believed he intended to withdraw his offer and in that moment, her heart slipped to her belly and sank hard like a stone, but he merely stood, towering above her still seated brother. When he spoke, he directed his words to her. “I know she loves to dance.” Her throat worked. “I know she tilts her head and taps her feet
while she watches those other dancers. I know she should never miss a set and will see that she does not.”
Oh, God. A single tear squeezed from her lid and slid down her cheek. He brushed his knuckle, wiping away that drop. Through the years, in the secret of her own thoughts, she’d secretly longed for the love her siblings had found in their respective matches. She’d even, with a girlish innocence, sought to craft a fate and future similar to those very much in love couples. This, her reality with Christian, was far grander, far more beautiful than any replication of some other couple. This was her future with him and all the more beautiful for it.
“I know her eyes sparkle with merriment when she is devising a scheme.” A slow smile turned his lips into a grin that was both seductive and warming. “And I know she is often conceiving some scheme or another.” A laugh bubbled past her lips, and either uncaring or unfazed by her brother’s presence, Christian ran the pad of his thumb over that trembling flesh. “I know she loves to sketch and I know I will enjoy spending the remainder of my life trying to sort through just what image she’s put to paper.”
All the reservations in wedding a man who did not love her lifted. For surely a man who knew all that about her, knew those pieces of who she was, would, in time, come to love her. Hope blossomed in her chest.
Christian’s words were met with silence, matched by the tick-tock of the ormolu clock atop the fireplace mantel. After a long while, she forced her gaze away from him and looked to her brother. Shock etched the planes of his face. “Three weeks,” he said when he finally spoke.
A denial sprung to her lips.
“Three days,” Christian countered. Steel underscored those words which were more command than request.
Her brother ground his teeth together. “Will you excuse us while we discuss the details of your arrangement?” He spoke as though that admission cost him all his estates and holdings.
Lords of Honor-The Collection Page 40