by Maya Rodale
He wanted it to last forever.
There was nothing else, just her, how she felt around him, the scent of her skin, the soft tendrils of hair brushing against his chest, her luscious body in his embrace. Nothing else mattered. He claimed her mouth for one more deep, passionate kiss before he cried out her name and pulled away.
Later that night, Prue drifted off to sleep, a smile on her lips and John by her side. Tonight, she had set aside her fear to let love and desire take over. She didn’t know what the morning would bring, but tonight, in this moment, everything felt perfect.
John lay awake beside her, listening to her soft breath as she slept. He knew that everything could change in an instant. But this feeling . . . with this woman . . . it was worth everything he would have to give up.
Chapter 19
The following day
The day of Lady Penelope’s Ball
The day before the Great Exhibition
THERE IT WAS: London. After miles and miles of empty country roads and small village inns, they had finally reached the city. After days and nights risking everything, John had finally arrived in the greatest city in the world and the scene of his last great gamble. Was this arrival the beginning of the end . . . or just the beginning?
John reached for Prue’s hand, interlacing their fingers.
He exhaled slowly, forcing the tension to dissipate from his limbs.
Tonight, they would masquerade as man and wife. It was madness, that. If his wits hadn’t been so addled with love, he would never have agreed to it. But how could he say no to the woman he loved? How could he ever explain why this was so damned dangerous?
Tomorrow he would meet with the duke and the baron about the engine. He only needed enough time to make that deal. If he could just secure his fortune, then he could have a chance to secure his future.
He hoped, with every damned heartbeat, that his future included Prudence. But he didn’t see how it could.
THERE IT WAS: London. The city where she had been born and raised. Now she felt like she saw it as if for the first time. The city seemed alive—pulsing with activity in the streets, glowing under the morning sunlight, a dull roar of noise from the thousands of people and beasts within, going about their business.
She and Castleton rode in silence. She had questions, but she didn’t want to ask them for fear of the answers. But it was there, on the tip of her tongue, waiting for her to screw up the courage. What happens now?
Prudence was glad when Castleton transferred the reins to one hand and clasped her hand in his. With a squeeze of his hand she felt more confident. He loved her. She loved him. What could stand in their way?
Prudence straightened her spine, sitting tall in the carriage beside this handsome man as they rode into London. For the first time in her life, she hoped people saw her in this moment of triumph.
After successfully navigating the bustling city streets, the carriage rolled to a stop before the town house she shared with Lady Dare at Number 12, Berkeley Square.
“Until tonight,” Castleton murmured, pressing his lips to her inner wrist. His smoldering gaze promised so much.
“Tonight,” she whispered.
They confirmed their plans—he would come for her at eight o’clock that evening, and together they would journey to Lady Penelope’s Ball.
Tonight she would show them all—and herself—that she was not a failure. Not at all. She, Miss Prudence Merryweather Payton, had survived the worst thing that could happen, and she’d found true love anyway.
After an extended tour of the Continent and other foreign lands, Viscount Castleton has returned to London at last! He brings with him a lovely American bride, who is eager to take the ton by storm.
—“Fashionable Intelligence By A Lady of Distinction”
The London Weekly
Dudley had been right. God, it felt good to be right! He’d had a hunch that “Lord Castleton” was not, in fact, who he claimed to be. It was that scrap in the newspaper. It was the simple truth that one man could not be in two places at once, especially if the two places were Wiltshire and a ship crossing the Atlantic.
It was a simple matter of suffering through a tedious conversation with his sister on the gossip: “Oh yes, Lord and Lady Castleton have returned just days ago,” Megan said, chattering on as she was wont to do. “Aunt Marleton and I went to visit, and whilst there we learned that Lady Bessborough will be having a ball to officially welcome them. Did you know, Dudley, that Lady Castleton is American?”
“Fascinating,” he said. Indeed, it was.
“Whilst we called upon Lady Castleton, I saw the Duchess of Ashbrooke and Lady Radcliffe. We all chatted about Lady Penelope’s Ball—it’s tonight. Remember, you promised Father that you would accompany me. I can’t believe those wallflowers have landed such husbands and I am stuck with you. But I hope to be married soon and . . .”
Dudley stopped listening. It was a fair bet that Prude Prudence would be in attendance. He also thought it was a fair bet that “Lord Castleton” would accompany her.
Did Dudley mention that he was right about “Lord Castleton”? The man had broken his nose, made a hideous mess of his face, cast him out into a torrential storm, and failed to respect his betters. And now revenge was Dudley’s with just one visit, peer to peer.
“Lord Castleton is not at home to visitors,” the butler intoned when Dudley came calling. The old man had taken one look at his face—his cut, broken, and bruised face—and made the declaration without even looking at his card.
“I am Lord Dudley, heir to the Marquis of Scarbrough, and I have information that Lord Castleton wishes to know.”
A moment later he was shown into the real Castleton’s library. Castleton took a seat by the fire, and Dudley sat opposite.
He could see immediately how the fake Lord Castleton had done it. The two men bore a striking resemblance to each other.
“Welcome back, Lord Castleton. Or should I say, it is good to see you again?”
“I don’t take your meaning, Lord Dudley.” Castleton clearly wished to be engaged with something else.
“Fortunately, I am here to enlighten you,” Dudley said with a grin. But Castleton grimaced, reminding Dudley how gruesome he looked, and why. It only renewed his determination.
“If you don’t mind getting on with it, I would be much obliged, what with having just returned from spending years abroad. My wife is eager for me to introduce her into society, my secretary has a mountain of correspondence requiring my attention, and my estate manager is keen to review years of account books with me.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Lord Castleton, but I must inform you that in your absence, a man has assumed your identity.” Dudley paused for dramatic affect. Castleton’s brow lifted. Then he settled into his seat. Suddenly, he had time for this interview. Dudley continued, “He has been roaming the countryside, claiming to be you as he fleeces gentlemen at card games at bachelor house parties, wagers on horse races, stays at various inns. He has also resorted to violence. Against peers of the realm.”
“I suppose I can look to you for evidence.”
“And Lord Fitz-Herbert as well,” Dudley said gravely, nodding. He fought hard to keep a malevolent grin from spreading across his face as he continued digging the fake Lord Castleton’s grave. “Fitz and I had come across him availing himself of a woman—against her will. She was a gently born woman, so we intervened on her behalf. There was an . . . altercation.”
Lord Castleton paled.
“And the woman?” He was concerned for her. How touching.
“I wouldn’t wish to compromise her further by revealing her identity,” Dudley said. “I hope you do not mind that I have come to relate this to you. As a fellow peer, it pains me to see the Castleton name dragged through the mud by this desperate pretender.”
“Yes . . . Yes . . .” Castleton was lost in thought. The viscount stood, walked over to the sideboard, and poured them each a glass of
brandy.
“I had thought you might wish to be aware of this,” Dudley said, accepting the drink.
“Indeed. I am greatly indebted to you for bringing this matter to my attention. Something must done before this man inflicts more damage upon my family name. And before this affects Lady Castleton’s entrance into society.”
“I know where to find him,” Dudley said with more certainty than the truth merited.
“Do you?” Castleton looked up. God, the hope in the man’s eyes!
“I do,” Dudley said solemnly.
Castleton was forever indebted to him now, and the fake Castleton would see the inside of Newgate by nightfall. Again Dudley struggled to keep his countenance grave, as befitting the situation.
Revenge . . . being right . . . made him downright gleeful.
Castleton’s voice was steely when he said, “Find him. And bring him to me.”
Mother,
By the time you read this missive I will be married. Miss Prudence Payton has consented to be the future Lady Nanson. We will marry by special license at Mowbry Hall and will journey to London shortly thereafter. . . .
—A letter written and sent prematurely by Cecil, Lord Nanson, the contents of which quickly became widely discussed amongst the ton.
Near Berkeley Square
Fuck. Not tonight. Not now. He knew it: the second a man starts to believe that his good fortune will go on forever is the second the winning streak comes to an end. This, then, was his moment when everything crashed and burned.
The minute John let his guard down was the minute the men on horseback surrounded his phaeton. A few other men climbed up onto the seat next to him—where she had been, just hours before, holding his hand.
They requested he hand over the reins. The request was punctuated with the cold barrel of a pistol pressing against his temple.
His winning streak was, officially, over. So very over.
But what if he had something greater on his side than fortune or mere luck? What if love really did conquer all?
John kept these thoughts to himself as his carriage was hijacked and he was driven to a posh house in Mayfair that he ought to have recognized.
As he was shoved out of the carriage, the devil himself was there, sneering down at John from atop a horse. He gripped the reins and a whip.
“Thank you, fellows,” Dudley said. “The real Lord Castleton will handle matters from here. If you’ll excuse me, I have a ball to attend. Lady P something or other.”
My dear Lady Penelope,
Have you heard the news? Miss Payton has, at the very last possible moment, obtained a husband for herself. I do know you were so very worried about the reputation of your school—every graduate in one hundred years, married by her fourth season is quite the achievement. We had prayed for this, and the Lord has answered.
I do hate to trouble you whilst you are in the midst of last-minute preparations for the big anniversary ball tonight, but there is news I believe you must be made aware of. I’m so vexed to relay this additional gossip regarding your student, but I must.
Miss Payton—though I suppose she is Lady Nanson now—was spotted today, alighting from a carriage before her home in Berkeley Square. She was unchaperoned, accompanied by a gentleman who was certainly not the foppish Lord Nanson and who quite brazenly kissed her hand most intimately.
Yours,
Lady M
Number 4, Mount Street
Scarbrough House
Dudley leaned against the mantel in the drawing room, sipping a brandy and smirking at his reflection in the mirror. To be sure, he was not looking his best. He looked like a beast, thanks to that bastard “Castleton.” The bruises would fade. “Castleton” would be locked up. Then Dudley would be the one laughing last.
Pulling out his timepiece, he noted that Megan was taking far too long in her preparations for this evening. Not that he was in a rush to escort his sister to her little school party, but there would certainly be more entertainments there than looking at one’s ghastly face in the mirror. He’d rather be playing cards at his club. Or paying a visit to Madame X’s—for play of another sort. He was in the mood.
But perhaps there would be diversions at this silly soiree.
Miss Payton would be there. And he had ensured that she would be there alone.
Dudley turned when he heard his sister sashaying into the room wearing a frothy explosion of ruffles and lace. She was accompanied by their father, who was a large man with a perpetually serious expression and prematurely gray hair. Megan shrieked when she saw him, clasping her gloved hands over her mouth.
“What the devil happened to your face?”
“Good to see you, too, sister,” Dudley remarked. “Is that the thanks I get for leaving my boxing match to rush back to London for your silly little party?”
“Did you rush into a wooden beam repeatedly on your way?” Megan retorted. She huffed and turned to their father, who was regarding Dudley with his usual dismayed expression. “Papa, he cannot go with me with his face in such a state. I’ll be too embarrassed.”
“I would hate to embarrass her,” Dudley concurred.
“After you’ve come all this way?” the marquis queried, his voice laced with sarcasm.
“Indeed, I would have preferred to remain in the country,” Dudley replied.
“But you are here and your sister cannot go alone. It’s just not done,” his father said firmly. “One never knows the devils lurking out there.”
“Aye.” Dudley just sipped his brandy. One never knew.
Megan pouted. “Papa, can you attend with me?”
“Sorry, Daughter, but I have estate matters to tend to.”
“I could help you with those,” Dudley offered. The hopefulness in his voice caused him some embarrassment, which he washed away with a strong sip of brandy and a scowl.
“You can help me by taking your sister to the ball,” the marquis said, dismissively as always. “And if you can find a lady who’ll have you, I beg of you to consider it. You have to marry eventually. Might as well get it done.”
“How romantic,” Dudley replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
“Just don’t scare off my beaux,” Megan sighed.
“I’ll be in the card room the whole time anyway,” he muttered. Although he did want to be present when Miss Payton arrived. Alone. Without “Castleton.”
Emma, Olivia,
Have returned to London. So excited to see you this evening at Lady P’s. Dear friends—I have news! And someone I’d like for you both to meet.
Yours,
Prue
Chapter 20
Lady Penelope’s Ball
LADY EMMA, FORMALLY known as the Duchess of Ashbrooke and previously known as London’s Least Likely to Misbehave, turned to her friend, Lady Olivia, with a furrowed brow and a frown and asked, “Where is Prudence? Have you found her yet?”
Olivia, now Lady Radcliffe and previously known as London’s Least Likely to Cause a Scandal, had just returned from a turn about the ballroom. She was gasping for breath.
“Young ladies do not pant like dogs,” Emma admonished. Olivia managed a scowl even though young ladies did not scowl either.
“Oh, pfft. Emma. I. Have. News,” Olivia said breathlessly.
“What is it?”
“I know what Prue’s news is—and who she wishes us to meet!”
“Is she married?” Emma asked, eyes wide. “She must be married. And who is the lucky man?”
“Lord Nanson,” Olivia said triumphantly. Prue had sent them each a rather cryptic missive this afternoon. Olivia and Emma had been wracking their brains trying to guess at what Prue had to tell them.
“Lord Nanson!” Emma exclaimed. And then, in a lower voice, she asked, “Who is Lord Nanson? Do we know him?”
“We are not acquainted. I understand that he prefers Bath. But they are, of course, in town now.”
“How do you know this?”
“Whilst
in the ladies’ retiring room, I overheard Lady Montague telling Lady Falmouth that a letter arrived at his mother’s saying, and I quote, ‘By the time you read this missive I will be married. Miss Prudence Payton has consented to be the future Lady Nanson. We will marry by special license at Mowbry Hall and will journey to London shortly thereafter. . . .’ ”
“It sounds so whirlwind! Doesn’t it? They must have fallen madly in love,” Emma said with a big smile and sigh of contentedness. “I knew it. I knew we would all be happy and married by tonight.”
“I cannot wait to see her. I cannot believe she has not yet arrived.”
“Perhaps she and Lord Nanson were distracted,” Emma said with a giggle.
Olivia adopted her loftiest expression and said, “Young ladies do not speculate on the marital activities of others.”
“Thank you, Prissy Missy,” Emma retorted. And then, impatiently she asked, “Where is Prudence?”
Number 12, Berkeley Square
Prudence anxiously awaited Castleton’s arrival and wondered if there was any other way to wait other than anxiously. Perhaps impatiently, or eagerly. Tonight, as the minutes ticked by and Castleton had not yet arrived, she thought anxious wasn’t quite a strong enough word.
Castleton had promised. He would be here.
She had no doubt. Right? She pushed aside thoughts of the other instances when men had failed to come through for her.
Not wanting to wrinkle her new gown, Prudence stood and took a turn about the drawing room. By some miracle, her favorite modiste had had a gown that another customer had returned. With a few quick alterations, it fit her to perfection.
Just wait until Castleton saw her!
Prudence couldn’t resist another glance at herself in the reflection of the tall windows overlooking the square. The dress consisted of frothy layers of deep violet silk and chiffon, adorned with glittery amethyst stones. Underneath she wore a newly purchased pale pink silk corset and other delicate underthings. For the very first time, she felt radiantly beautiful.
