Bhrodi's Angel

by Meara Platt

  Then he’d seen her safely back to her own home.

  While his heart had been beating slow and steady, hers hadn’t stopped pounding all the while. Her bones had long ago turned soft as pudding. His every glance – even the glowering ones – now thrilled and delighted her.

  This was a tragedy of epic proportions.

  She was almost one and twenty, and had begun to despair of ever falling in love. But the oddest thing had happened to her while in his arms today.

  She had fallen in love.

  With him.

  Sometimes life played cruel jests.

  Chapter Three

  BHRODI’S BUTLER KNOCKED lightly at his open library door. Bhrodi looked up from his ledgers. “What is it, Bigbury?” He motioned for the man to step in and approach his large, ebony desk.

  “A letter for you, Your Grace.” He held out the crisp, ivory parchment.

  Since Bigbury had earlier brought in the day’s mail on a silver salver, Bhrodi knew that this note must have come by special messenger. He took it at once, certain it was important. Perhaps the results of the investigation on the first attempt on his life. But there was no seal on it. “Bollocks, it’s another letter from her.”

  His butler’s lips twitched as he tried to stave off a grin. “Yes, she delivered this one herself, but refused to stay. Her foot seems to have healed nicely. It’s only been a week. I was certain it would take at least a fortnight for that nasty sprain to heal. But she’s young and in good health. I suppose she’ll be on those cliffs again tomorrow.”

  “Not if I have a say in the matter, which I do. Damn it, I’m the duke. She’s supposed to obey me.” But he knew that his title mattered not a whit to Prudence, the impertinent girl. “I ought to have built that dungeon,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Did you say dungeon, Your Grace?” Bigbury shook his head, certain he had misunderstood the mumbled words.

  “Yes, I’m building one just for Miss Pertwee. Then I’m going to toss her in it if she dares defy me again.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed because they both knew it was nonsense. “What am I to do with her, Bigbury? We’re so close to finding out the identity of the Mongoose. She’s going to walk right into the trap we’ve laid for him and ruin everything.”

  “Since she seems unable to follow your simple orders, why not let her into your confidence and tell her about your plan? She could help. She’s trustworthy and knows the terrain better than anyone in these parts. She’s like an agile mountain goat, climbing up and down those cliffs without fear.”

  Bhrodi pushed out his chair and rose from behind his desk. “How do you know she’s trustworthy? For all I know, she could be working for the Mongoose.”

  “Your Grace!”

  “Don’t turn apoplectic, Bigbury. I know she isn’t. She may be impertinent, but she’s honest. Brutally honest, as I’ve had the misfortune to learn. She shows me no deference whatsoever.” He found her frank opinions quite refreshing, but she was still a nuisance. “How long ago did she drop off that note?”

  “Not long. I brought it straight in to you the moment she left.”

  He unfolded the parchment and read it aloud to Bigbury. The man was more than a butler. Both he and Colliers were former agents of the Crown, too old to remain in active service, but just the right age to provide wisdom and serve as background support for him.

  Your Grace,

  As I’ve dutifully sat with my foot upraised, slowly going insane with boredom, I am more certain than ever that something odd is going on with you. Not that you are odd. You’re not. At least, not that I’m aware. You are merely surly. Is this why you have ignored my urgent letters regarding my birds?

  Bigbury burst out laughing. “Forgive me, Your Grace.”

  “You are most certainly not forgiven. Nor is she.” However, Bhrodi could not help but laugh as well. “Blast, but she has a way of cutting me down to size. I’d never get too full of myself if she were… never mind. Perish the thought.” He was going to say if she were my wife. That he would ever consider the possibility proved he had lost his sanity.

  He resumed reading her letter.

  My point is, something is going on in those cliffs that you do not want me or the Pembroke chapter of the Ladies Birdwatching Society to investigate. Smuggling, I assume. There are lots of caves within those cliffs that are suited to illegal activity. I know which ones are presently being used. There is one in particular that concerns me greatly. Would you care to know which one?

  With impatient regards,

  Prudence Pertwee

  Since Bhrodi had been working in his shirt sleeves, he hastily donned his jacket and strode out after Prudence.

  At least this note of hers made more sense than the other two she’d previously sent him. The first had merely said:

  Romeo and Juliet are dead. This is most alarming. You must do something about it at once.

  Respectfully,

  Prudence Pertwee

  The next note had been just as nonsensical:

  I am bereft. Marc Anthony and Cleopatra are dead, too. When are you going to do something about it?

  A little less respectfully,

  Prudence Pertwee

  It didn’t take long for him to catch up to her. “Miss Pertwee, what are you going on about with these letters?”

  She tipped her head in greeting, but she appeared more irritated with him than welcoming. Her chin shot up in defiance and her lips were pursed to convey her marked frustration. To his consternation, she simply looked irresistibly kissable to him. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. It’s about time you paid attention to my plea for help.”

  A soft autumn breeze rustled her fiery hair causing a few wispy curls to blow onto her cheek. The sun shone down upon those glorious, silken strands, turning them to magnificent flame, and as she wrinkled her nose at him, he noticed several freckles on the bridge of her impudent nose. He frowned, something he always seemed to do around her. She had been right about that. But his frown was one of irritation with himself for suddenly wanting to kiss her with every ounce of his heart and soul.

  Why was she affecting him this way? He didn’t like this girl.

  He’d gone after her merely because he was concerned for her. That was all. Nothing more.

  She was injured, and yet she intended to climb those cliffs to find out what was happening to her birds. He couldn’t allow her to put her life in danger. He’d have to take charge of the matter and deal quickly with their deaths. “Did you walk all the way to Pembroke Hall on an injured foot? And don’t give me that nonsense about being fine. It’s obvious you are now in discomfort.”

  “Perhaps it hurts a little… maybe a lot.” She sighed.

  He resisted the urge to take her into his arms. The girl was strong willed. She’d manage on her own. She only needed to lean on the walking stick she had brought with her.

  “Yes, I overdid it. But my birds are important to me and someone is killing them. Lucinda has been checking on them for me. You remember my friend, she’s the one who handed me my spyglass the day I twisted my ankle. The point is, Romeo and Juliet are dead. So are Marc Anthony and Cleopatra. You must do something about it right away.”

  “Do you name all your birds as star-crossed lovers?” The girl was obviously a romantic. When receiving her first letter, he’d thought she was asking him to rewrite William Shakespeare’s plays. Romeo and Juliet are dead. This is most alarming. You must do something about it at once.

  He glanced back at his manor house. “Come back to Pembroke Hall with me. Let’s talk. I’ll have Colliers bring my carriage around to drive you home afterward.”

  However, he still made no move to take her arm or to take her in his arms. Nor did he offer his arm to her in escort. He didn’t trust himself to behave with this girl. Touching her was not a good idea.

  Indeed, it was a very bad and dangerous idea.

  He forced himself to keep his distance, reminding himself not to allow his attraction to thi
s little nuisance to affect his judgement.

  He led her into his library and rang for Bigbury to bring refreshments. Prudence’s eyes were shadowed with pain as she took her seat, but a little discomfort did not stop her from soaking in her surroundings. “Your Grace, your home is beautiful, the little of it I’ve seen.”

  He nodded and settled behind his desk. “I’ll give you a tour of the entire house if you’re up to it after we speak.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “You don’t know women very well if you believe any of us would ever pass up a chance to tour your palatial home. I’m no exception. I look forward to it.”

  He waited for Bigbury to set down a tea tray and some ginger cakes on his desk. Bigbury then poured a cup of tea for Prudence. “That will be all,” Bhrodi intoned, casting the man an impatient look. “Stop grinning and close the door behind you.”

  He then turned to Prudence, knowing he had to get to the business at hand. “Tell me, Miss Pertwee,” he said, rising from his seat to come around to the front of his desk while she placed a slice of ginger cake on her plate. “Which cave has caught your notice?”

  “It’s the one where Romeo and Juliet nested.” She nibbled her lip in obvious distress. “Marc Anthony and Cleopatra took it over the following day and they died next. Those villains even killed their hatchlings. Why would anyone do something so cruel? Our local smugglers would never harm those birds. This is the work of contemptible outsiders.”

  “So that’s why you think these are not local smugglers? No local man would be cruel to your birds?” He folded his arms over his chest and rested his hip against the front of his desk, eager to stay close to Prudence and listen to what she had to say. Perhaps Bigbury had been right. He ought to have confided in her sooner, but he couldn’t risk that she would report all he’d told her in confidence to the ladies in her birdwatching society. He wanted more information out of her before he revealed his concerns about the Mongoose. “Which cave particularly concerns you?”

  “The one where these birds were nesting, of course.”

  “I realize that. I was hoping you’d give me an indication of where it is located.” Prudence was wrong about this man being an outsider. This villain was a local man and dangerous. He might have foreigners working for him, but the Mongoose himself was born and bred in Wales. Indeed, right here in Pembroke or nearby.

  She took a sip of her tea, then set down her cup and cast him a generous smile. “It’s best if I lead you to the cave myself.”

  “With your injured foot? No. You’ll draw me a sketch of it. Or point it out to me on one of my maps.” He was frowning again. He couldn’t help it. The girl was wreaking havoc on his composure. One look at her and his body became a hot, frenzied mess. It didn’t help that her scent was that of lavender and sea foam, clean and intoxicating.

  She ought to have smelled of ruffled feathers and bird droppings. But no, she was as tempting as that ginger cake she was ignoring on her plate.

  She returned his frown. “You’ll never recognize the right cave on your own.”

  “I don’t want you climbing those cliffs. While you are on my property, you are my responsibility.”

  She was about to take a bite of her ginger cake, but set it back down. “Give me a paper to sign absolving you of all responsibility. That ought to take care of your unfounded concerns.”

  “They are not unfounded. These men are dangerous, Miss Pertwee.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I knew there was something dodgy going on. What are you hiding from me? Are you the mastermind behind this smuggling operation?”

  “Of course not.”

  She struggled to her feet. “Then why won’t you let me help you?”

  Although she barely came to his shoulder, she was not at all dissuaded by her lesser height. She cleared her throat and spoke to break their stony silence. “Lucinda and I have notebooks filled with drawings of our bird pairs. We draw them on the cliffs. On the beach. We draw whatever we see around them, including whoever happens to be on the beach or the walking trails or in the nearby waters at that time. Would you care to see our sketches?”

  He groaned lightly. “Hell, yes.”

  The girl might have just solved the mystery for him. Bigbury would give him an earful for not taking Prudence into his confidence sooner.

  She cast him a victorious smile. “I thought you might be interested.”

  He gazed down at this girl with the sparkling jade green eyes. “I owe you an apology, Prudence.”

  She inhaled lightly. “You called me Prudence. Does this mean we are friends?”

  It was safer not to like this girl, but he’d lost that battle long ago. He’d just been too stubborn to admit it to himself until now. “Yes, I think we might be. You may call me Bhrodi when we are alone, but you must never refer to me thus when we are in company. Is that understood?”

  “Yes. Quite well understood… Bhrodi.” She cast him the softest smile, sweet and openhearted, that only made him feel worse for being so hard on her when her purpose was innocent and she only meant to do good. But those villains had already made two attempts on his life and quickly escaped, each time seeming to disappear into thin air. They had probably run into one of those caves along the cliffs, knowing he did not have enough men necessary to conduct a thorough search.

  There were hundreds of caves carved out among the rocks and so much smuggling activity going on under cover of night that no one had any idea who belonged and who were the assassins craftily blending in with the crowd.

  However, Prudence knew.

  He needed to get whatever information he could out of her, and then put distance between them in order to keep her out of harm’s way.

  So why had he allowed her to call him Bhrodi?

  “I’m not devoid of manners,” she continued. “Or common sense, for that matter. I’d be ruined if anyone ever heard me address you with such familiarity. They would immediately assume that you’d seduced me. It is commonly believed that you have only to look at a girl with that seductive gaze of yours to put her under your serpent spell.” She gave a little snort and rolled her eyes. “It’s a good thing you’d never look at me that way.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I talk too much, for starters. I constantly vex you. Men like you prefer women who are obedient and never speak up unless they are asked for their opinion. Something you would never do because you obviously don’t trust women.”

  “That is not true, Prudence. I…” He racked his brain trying to think of the last time he’d turned to a female for answers. His mother. His sisters. But who had he trusted outside of the women in his family?

  Prudence cast him a smug grin. “See. You like your conquests to be empty-brained and as bland as boiled leeks.”

  “Now who is the one giving women a bad name? Being obedient does not mean one’s brains are made of boiled leeks. I like to think of an obedient woman as someone helpful, considerate. Someone who is as sweet as honey.”

  “And what am I then? Brine and vinegar?”

  “That you are.” He laughed and crossed his arms over his chest. “But so are my mother and my sisters, so you are in good company. I often turn to them for counsel. I know they will tell me the truth, whether or not I like what I hear. For that reason, I very much respect their opinions.”

  Prudence groaned lightly. “I often club you over the head with the truth.”

  “Indeed, you do. But you can’t help yourself. You don’t know how to be anything other than passionate in your opinions.” He leaned forward and regarded her quite seriously. “I respect that about you, although you think I don’t.”

  “So you would never seduce me because you respect me?”

  He grinned. “Not to mention, your father is the local magistrate.”

  She nodded. “That too. Why, he might lock you in his prison and throw away the key.”

  “Or demand that I marry you.” Why had he just said that? In all his years of
training to become a proper duke, one thing had been drummed into his head before he was old enough to cut his first teeth. Never mention the word ‘marry’ or any variation thereof to a female unless you intend to make her your wife.

  He knew that rule well.

  He’d lived by it for almost thirty years.

  How had that word slipped out now? In conversation with Prudence Pertwee, no less.

  She nibbled her lip in obvious dismay. That forbidden word must have distressed her as well. “Yes, I suppose he would demand marriage. But you’d refuse him because you’re one of the most powerful dukes in the realm and I’m… a dotty bird lady. Then I’d be left on my own with a ruined reputation.”

  “Indeed, you are dotty about your birds. But that aside, what makes you think I would refuse him?”

  Her laugh was more of a sputtered guffaw that slowly died out when she noticed he wasn’t laughing along with her. “Are you serious? You would agree to marry me?”

  She gazed up at him in wonder.

  She was standing too close.

  Perhaps he was the one who’d moved too close to her. He loved the way her eyes sparkled whenever she looked at him. “I would consider it if I ever seduced you.”

  She eased back and emitted a sigh that sounded very much like one of relief. “That’s a big ‘if’, isn’t it? You scared me for a moment. Can you imagine us together? Well, I suppose it would be lots of fun for me. I’d be your duchess and that would allow me to walk about your property any time I wished. I could study my birds whenever I wanted to. It would be a perfect solution, come to think of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I haven’t been raised to enter Society. I wouldn’t know what to do. You would have to keep me shut away here while you went off and did whatever an important duke does whenever he’s in London. But you’d be married to me, so you wouldn’t have to worry about being trapped into marriage by a scheming fortune hunter. You’d go about your business and I’d do the same. I’d enjoy being left behind to study my birds. We’d both get what we wanted.”