by Lynsay Sands
“Emetic?” He grimaced with distaste at the realization of what had forced him to hang out his office window. “I take it the emetic was meant for your father?”
“Aye. Ellie suggested that perhaps getting him to refrain from imbibing would put an end to his gambling as well. It seemed plausible, so . . .” She shrugged.
“Ellie? Eleanore Kindersley?”
“Aye.” She brightened slightly. “Do you know her?”
“She is the daughter of our host,” he pointed out gently. “And I do know that she is your friend.”
“Oh.” Prudence accepted the information, then, recalling a suggestion Eleanore had made earlier that day, managed a pleasant smile and raised her hand. “Well, I vow here and now, my lord, that you need no longer fear my disrupting the workings of Ballard’s. I will not attempt to gain entrance again.”
“Hmmm.” He considered her doubtfully. “Never again, eh?”
“Never ever,” Prudence teased lightly, mimicking Plunkett’s deep voice, and felt optimism rise within her when a reluctant smile began to pull at the corners of his mouth. Then he forced it away, a scowl coming in its place.
“You do realize that you have caused me a good deal of trouble?”
“I am sorry for that.”
“That may be, but my clientele has taken a dip.”
She peered repentantly down at her feet and waited, relieved when at last he sighed.
“Well, I am sure business will pick up again soon enough. And I realize that you did not mean the harm you caused. At least not on the scale you managed. Besides, I tried a similar trick or two on my own father when he was gambling us to ruin. But I feel I should tell you that such tricks will not work. Your energy would be better spent picketing to get the laws changed and all gambling establishments closed dow—”
“Your father?” Prudence interrupted him.
His mouth turned down in displeasure and he moved away. Realizing that it was likely a sensitive issue, Prudence gave him a moment to compose his thoughts and glanced around the darkened room. The remains of a dying fire smoldered in the fireplace. That was the only light. Obviously guests were not intended to be here, and she felt slightly guilty. She knew Lord Kindersley was so jealous of his privacy that he did not even allow servants in here to clean. Had Ellie not told her that, the layer of dust and many cobwebs would have. Thinking of spiders and shuddering, she followed Stephen to a large statue in the corner of the room. It was in the Greek style, a seven-foot woman in a toga reaching toward the sky, her arms turning into the branches of a tree over their heads. Deciding that Lord Kindersley had atrocious taste, Prudence turned her attention to Stephen as he brushed at a spiderweb spun between two of the marble branches and finally spoke.
“My father did the same thing your father is now doing. He drove us to the edge of ruin with his gambling. He did not drink, however. Just gambled. And he did not start suddenly, as a tonic to distract himself from the death of his son and heir; he was always a gambler—but the longer he did it, the worse it got. I used to—” He paused abruptly, and Prudence moved a step closer, laying her hand gently over his now fisted one in a silent effort to soothe him. He glanced down with surprise; then his expression softened and his hand opened under hers, moving to gently clasp it.
“How did you convince him to stop?” Prudence asked after a moment of silence.
A harsh laugh burst from his lips, and his fingers tightened around hers. She didn’t think he realized that he was crushing her hand, but she hesitated to draw his attention to the fact, because she desperately wanted to hear the answer to her question. If he had managed to make his father stop, perhaps she could save her father the same way.
Those hopes were shattered when he said, “He stopped himself. He gambled everything away but the Stockton estate. He could not touch that. So he came home that night, after gambling the last of everything else away, and shot himself.”
Prudence flinched at his cold admission, horrified. She had a sudden vision of her father taking one of her grandfather’s old dueling pistols and—
“Do not look like that. I should not have told you. I am sorry.”
Prudence focused on his troubled expression, only then becoming aware of his hand on her cheek. “I—”
He smothered whatever she would have said by covering her mouth with his lips. Prudence stayed still for a moment under the assault—a variety of unexpected responses rushing through her—then kissed him back. She told herself that she was doing so just because she was eager to erase the image of his father’s death from her mind, but she knew she was lying to herself. She had wanted him to kiss her again ever since that first time in his office. Perhaps she had wanted him to kiss her even before that. She had fantasized about him sweeping her up at some ball and rescuing her from her troubled life since that first time he had saved her from being a complete wallflower. Since the first time she had seen him, really. He was terribly handsome, and his basic kindness showed through his dissolute air. That, she was sure, was only a defense against the cold cuts society directed his way. She had always seen him as some sort of martyr, for she had never seen anything truly wrong with the fact that he chose to run a gambling establishment . . . well, until she had seen how the vice affected her family.
“Oh, Pru,” he breathed against her cheek.
Surprised by his familiarity, but warmed by it, Prudence moaned as his lips trailed down her throat, leaving a blistering trail. She leaned in to him, her hands sliding over his shoulders, then into his hair. It felt so good to be held like this. To let go of the constant tension of her worries and let passion carry her away. For a few moments, to just feel. His hands clasped her breasts through her gown, squeezing gently, and for a moment it felt as if all the air had left her lungs. She was left gasping and arching, little sounds of excitement slipping through her lips, until he muffled them again with his mouth. He kissed her almost violently, and slid a knee between her legs, drawing the material of her borrowed gown with it.
Borrowed gown. Eleanore’s gown. Eleanore’s advice. As quickly as that, Prudence’s troubles crashed back down around her, abruptly dampening her ardor. Recalling what she had intended to do, she clenched her fingers in his hair and tugged urgently at it, trying to pull him away. “Wait. Wait, my lord, I—”
His soft chuckle made her hesitate and peer at him uncertainly as he eased their embrace enough for her to slip her arms between them.
“I think you can call me Stephen now, my lady.” His voice was husky with passion as he peered down at her through the dim light. “I believe we are beyond formality.”
Prudence offered him a strained smile. “Aye. Well.” Reluctant to escape his embrace, she began to play with the front of his shirt, keeping him near, yet far enough away that he couldn’t kiss her again and muddle her thinking. “I . . .”
His eyebrows rose at her hesitation. “Aye?”
“I wished to ask you . . .” She got further that time before faltering, then forced herself to continue. “To ask if you would please refuse him admission?”
She said the last with her eyes shut, horrified at how the request sounded. It had not seemed a bad suggestion when Eleanore had made it. If you cannot keep him from going to Ballard’s, the owner can. Mayhap if you ask nicely, Lord Stockton would do that for you, she had said. Of course, Prudence supposed her friend hadn’t imagined Prudence being in his arms when she made the request. Stephen certainly didn’t appear as if he was reacting well. His arms tightened around her, his face becoming expressionless. She could feel his emotional withdrawal from her like a physical tearing.
“I see. Well, I imagine it could be arranged. It depends.”
Prudence swallowed at the unpleasant undertone to his voice. “Depends on what?”
“How much more of this might I get should I do so?”
Her first reaction was a backward jerk of her head, as if he had slapped her. It couldn’t have hurt her more had he actually done so. But her se
cond reaction was chagrin. What could she expect him to think? She had certainly done everything else she could to save her family, much of it likely illegal. Unquestionably it was all improper behavior for a well-bred young lady of the ton. And she had also never made any attempt to hide her desperation. She shouldn’t be surprised that he had jumped to such a conclusion.
“My allowing you to kiss me has nothing to do with this,” she said with quiet dignity. “As a point of fact, I brought a halt to the kiss because I was becoming rather . . . er . . . distracted and feared forgetting to make the request at all.” She could feel her face burning with embarrassment as she made the admission, and was grateful for the concealing darkness.
Stephen considered her through the gloom, then said, “So you like my kisses? This is not some new scheme? This is not some way to pay me back because your father loses money in my establishment?”
Prudence frowned, trying to find an argument in her mind to prove that she enjoyed Lord Stockton’s kisses, then brightened. “Surely you can tell if a woman is enjoying your kiss? Does it not show?”
“Aye. Unfortunately I was rather distracted with my own enjoyment and did not—” His words broke off on a surprised gasp when Prudence suddenly stepped closer, reached up on tiptoe, and pressed her lips against his.
He did nothing at first to make the kiss easier for her, but as she felt the tension in his arms ease, his hands began to move over her back and his lips moved with true passion. Prudence let a little sigh slip out as her mouth opened under his, her toes curling in her slippers as she arched into him, putting all she had into the kiss. Following his lead, she ran her own hands over his back, enjoying the solid feel of him beneath her fingers. She gasped and lifted further up on her toes when his hands slid up over her rib cage to cup her breasts; then he broke away and trailed his lips over her cheek.
“I believe you,” he said softly after several heated moments.
“Aye.” Prudence kissed his ear eagerly when it came within reach.
“We should stop, else I cannot promise—”
“Nay.” Prudence moaned, biting his chin at the very suggestion.
“Nay?”
“Aye.”
A chuckle rumbled from his mouth, reverberating against her throat and making her squeeze her legs together in excitement. “Aye or nay?” he asked, sounding both amused and concerned.
“Oh.” She opened her eyes reluctantly, then stilled as a shadow moved into the periphery of her vision. It wasn’t a very large shadow, really, a darker blotch in the darkness that surrounded them, but it was moving. Dropping, actually, straight for Stephen’s unsuspecting head. A spider! Lowering itself on its silken thread! Knowing she was overreacting, but helpless to do otherwise, she jerked in his arms and opened her mouth to warn him, but suddenly the arachnid dropped the last of the way at lightning speed. Prudence instinctively lifted the fan that had been dangling from her wrist all evening and brought it down atop the spider . . . and on top of Stephen’s head.
“What the—” Releasing her at once, Lord Stockton covered the crown of his head and stepped back.
“A spider,” Prudence blurted, trailing after him as he moved warily away. “Really, my lord. It dropped out of the marble tree and landed on your head. I was just—” She gestured with her fan, her expression brightening as she spotted the dark blob that had been the spider on the light-colored fan Ellie had given her.
“See! I got it.” She thrust the fan out toward him and Stephen stumbled and fell onto a couch to avoid it. “Really, there was a spider on your head.”
“Pru?”
Prudence let the fan drop and swung around at that concerned call. Ellie was walking along the balcony, rubbing her arms and peering uncertainly out into the darkness of the snow-covered gardens.
“Prudence, are you there? Father said he saw you come out here.”
“Damn,” she said softly and turned back to Stephen. Seeing the way the man was eyeing her as he got back to his feet, she threw her hands up in disgust. The fan, again dangling from her wrist, swung out, neatly clipping him between the legs. Prudence gasped in horror and started toward him as he bent over with a gasp. “Are you—”
“I am fine!” He held up a hand in self-defense, shuffling back away from her. “Just go. Go.”
“But—”
“Pru!”
Shaking her head in frustration, she turned and hurried outside to find Ellie.
“YOU’D BETTER GET a look at this, milord.”
Stephen glanced up from the books he was balancing to find Plunkett in the open door of his office. The doorman’s face looked even more bulldoggish than usual, wrinkled up in concern as it was. “What is it?”
“There’s a bunch of women out front.”
Frowning at the vague announcement, Stephen stood and followed the man through the kitchens and out into the gaming room. His expression tightened at the sight of the few patrons seated about the room. Business had dwindled more and more with each of Prudence Prescott’s antics. There had been a slight dip in the number of clients the night after the riot she’d caused, and the numbers had cut in half after her poisoning. Now there was no more than a handful of men in the place. The damned woman had cost him quite a bit of money. If she were here right now, he would probably wring her lovely neck. Or kiss her senseless. Strangely, he rather thought he might enjoy the second option more. As infuriating as her antics had been—and painful, he added as an afterthought—he spent more time imagining licentious pursuits with her than punishments. And the little episode in Kindersley’s office, before he had taken the fan to the groin, had managed only to inflame his imaginings. The young woman truly intrigued him, despite her tendency to cause havoc wherever she went.
Stephen pushed his thoughts aside when Plunkett stopped in front of him. Glancing up, he saw that they had reached the front entrance. His doorman swung the door open and stepped outside, holding it for him to follow. Stephen did and gawked at the scene before him.
“What the hell?” he asked, gaping at a horde of picketing women.
“Hmmm,” Plunkett rumbled. “They’ve been here for the last hour, and it’s affecting business. A lot of the women out there are wives or daughters of regulars. It’s scaring the men off. Carriages pull up, then pull away just as quickly when the women move toward them.”
Stephen didn’t really need an explanation. As he watched, a carriage with the Justerly crest on it drew to a halt before the building. He saw the duke peer out the window at the picketing women; then the protesters started toward the carriage shouting, “Save your soul! No more gambling!” Justerly pulled abruptly back and let the carriage curtains drop closed; then Stephen heard his shout to his driver to get them out of there. The coach lurched away and the women cheered at their success in saving one more soul.
“Damn!” Leaving Plunkett at the door, Stephen stormed out into the mob.
“YOU TRULY ARE out to ruin me, aren’t you?”
Prudence turned slowly at those words, not at all surprised by Stephen’s appearance. She had actually expected him earlier, and thought it very forbearing of him to wait so long to kick up a fuss. “Good evening, my lord. How are you this evening?”
“How am I?” He glared. “I am suffering a financial setback in the person of one Lady Prudence Prescott. No one dares come near this place. I have a total of ten guests in the club right now—all of them patrons who were inside before you and your league of sour-faced dowagers arrived. And they are all terrified to leave lest one of their wives or mothers is out here picketing.”
“Is my father one of the men inside?” Prudence asked with a frown.
“Nay.”
She smiled in relief at his snapped response. “Then I suppose I can say that your plan is working. Thank you.”
“My plan?”
Prudence nodded with a smile. “The other night at Ellie’s ball you said that if I had such strong feelings about gambling, I should picket and get the gambling
establishments closed down.”
“I meant that you should picket the House of Commons and get the laws changed and—” He regained control of himself with some effort, then said very calmly, “All you have accomplished, my lady, is another step toward ruining my business. Which will not aid your cause. Your father is gambling tonight, I guarantee it. Just not in Ballard’s.”
Prudence startled at that suggestion. “Faugh! Of course he isn’t. He had to give up his membership to the clubs. He favors your establishment.”
“You do not have to belong to the private clubs to get in; you merely need a friend to take you with him as a guest. Your father spends the first part of most nights at White’s. He—”
“You are lying. I followed him here that first night, and both times I have been inside Ballard’s since, he was—”
“Both times you were inside Ballard’s it was late evening,” he pointed out firmly.
Prudence frowned. What Stephen was saying was true enough. She had gone late deliberately. When she had first gone disguised as a man it had taken her a good portion of the night to tuck and pin the back of her father’s breeches. Even with Ellie’s help it had been quite late when she had finally set out. Then, the night she had gone disguised as a serving wench, she had gone late to avoid the kitchen staff, thinking it might be less risky. If what he said was true, and her father did not only gamble here, then she was wasting her time. Wasn’t she?
“Ah, well, that is of no consequence. The important thing here is that my father, like the rest of your patrons, will not show up here tonight. My picketing is still a success.”
Stephen glared at her in frustration, then snatched her hand and began dragging her along the sidewalk toward his carriage.
