by Sara Ramsey
He cut her off. “I shall not discuss Miss Etchingham with you.”
She was startled. He usually humored her. He loved her, after all, and she had idolized him when they were children.
But a man had his limits. And Alex’s limits included discussing the woman he wanted to love with his sister.
She opened her mouth, then shut it again.
“Wise choice,” he said.
He couldn’t resist taunting her just a bit. It was an instinct born of thirty years of sibling squabbles between them, one he couldn’t deny even when it baited her into speaking again. She scowled at him. “Madeleine and I should find a way to force you into marrying someone. You forced both of us. It would be a deserving fate if we returned the favor.”
He felt a flash of unease at that. His sister and cousin were smart enough, and devious enough, to find a way to accomplish it.
But his unease dissolved into irritation when the door opened again. Ferguson entered, uninvited as usual. “I hate to interrupt this charming tête-à-tête between my two least-favorite Stauntons,” he drawled. “But my wife requests Salford’s presence in the ballroom.”
Amelia did not take his words kindly. “Hardly fair to say we’re your least favorite when you barely know Sebastian.”
“When he stays in London more than a few months at a time, I shall revise my opinion,” Ferguson said. “But you can always try harder now to gain my favor.”
She sniffed. “My poor cousin should have held out for someone better than you.”
The enmity between Ferguson and Amelia had been very real a year ago. Now, Alex suspected it was mostly a jest. Ferguson played along with their usual argument. “Madeleine could not have found another better than me. Unless she’d chosen to marry Thorington, I suppose. His duchy is less prestigious, but his wealth is rumored to be greater.”
“If Thorington had offered for her, I would have skewered him,” Alex said. “I am relieved that he was still married while Madeleine and Amelia were out.”
“And Miss Etchingham?” Ferguson asked. “She’s quite undefended in the ballroom. Madeleine thought you might be interested in returning to protect her virtue.”
Alex wouldn’t rise to the bait that all of his relatives seemed determined to throw at him. “She’s safe, I’m sure. And besides, Thorington would never attend such a tame affair, even if I’d invited him.”
Ferguson examined his cuffs and made a minute adjustment to the edge of his shirtsleeves beneath his jacket. “Did you not hear Malcolm invite him last night? The duke is in your ballroom. Dancing a waltz with Miss Etchingham, if my eyes didn’t mistake me.”
Amelia gasped, half horrified, half delighted. But Alex didn’t hear whatever she said to Ferguson — something about Trojan horses infiltrating the gates. All the sounds around him disappeared, blocked out by the image of Prudence in Thorington’s arms…of Thorington ruining her to hurt Alex.
He stood abruptly. “I shall attend to Madeleine. Feel free to stay here as long as you like. In fact, I insist upon it.”
Ferguson shook his head. “Allow me to escort you back — wouldn’t want to miss whatever you do. I shall enjoy your temper more when I see it directed at someone other than me.”
Alex ignored him. Ferguson could trail behind him if he wished. Or he could stay and tease Amelia over the fact that she would miss the fun. Or he could go to the devil.
All that mattered was whether Prudence was safe. And if Thorington tried to harm her, he would kill the man.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I beg your pardon?” Prudence asked.
Thorington sighed. “Shall I rephrase? I thought you were intelligent enough to grasp my meaning, but I shall make allowances for your sex. Will you do me the extraordinary honor of becoming my wife?”
She was too stunned to respond, either to the dripping sarcasm he’d paired with “extraordinary” or to the question he had asked. Thorington sighed again, more dramatically. “If questions are too much for you, I shall try again. Marry me, Miss Etchingham.”
Her brain, normally imperturbable, couldn’t think of a single reason why he would request such a thing. “Why on earth should I do that?”
“Because I asked you to. You could do much worse than me, but I am also sure you cannot do better.”
Thorington hadn’t missed a step of the waltz as he said this, but Prudence, stunned to the point of dizziness, could barely stay on her feet. “I need to sit,” she said.
“No,” he said. “And stop gaping at me as though your world is coming to an end. If you show distress with me, the old tabbies sitting along the wall will have your reputation in shreds before you have a chance to catch your breath.”
“Is that why you asked me now?” she asked, still so shocked that she could only think to ask the most recent question, not the most important one. “Did you want to stop me from reacting as I wish?”
“How do you wish to react?” he asked.
She barely knew the man, and he was a duke besides, but Prudence’s shock overcame her circumspection. “I wish to pour a pitcher of water over your head and tell you not to be a fool.”
Thorington laughed — something that sounded almost genuine, or as genuine as she thought him capable of being. “I already like you more than I liked my last wife. Salford will regret losing your wit.”
Alex wouldn’t regret anything if she married Thorington. She frowned. “Are you asking for my hand just to upset Lord Salford?”
“I won’t deny that stealing you away from him appeals to me.”
“I shan’t marry you for your petty revenge,” Prudence said.
“Then marry me for yours. Won’t you enjoy being a rich duchess instead of his poor dependent?”
On another night her mercenary heart might have been seduced. She ignored the temptation. “You can marry whomever you like. I won’t stoop to argue with your claim that I cannot do better than you. But I am sure you can do better than me.”
Thorington inclined his head. “Of course I can. But I require a wife who is neither silly nor shrewish — harder to find than one might expect, Miss Etchingham. And I require one now, before any of the matchmaking mamas find a way to trick me into compromising their darlings.”
Prudence had heard all the rumors about his first wife, but she’d put little credence to the notion that he had been trapped into it. His eyes, though, told a different story. They were hard and cold again, with the steely determination of a man who has been through hell before and plans to avoid another sojourn there.
However, Prudence didn’t have to be the woman he used to save himself. “I thank you for the offer, your grace. But I regret to say that I don’t think we would suit.”
It was a polite brush-off. She found it surprisingly easy to say considering that she had never had cause to turn down a proposal of marriage before.
But all her smoothness of speech was wasted on Thorington. “I understand you wish to consider your options. Send word when you’ve decided to accept and we may agree on a date. Sooner would be better, but I understand if you need a few weeks to prepare your trousseau. Send the bills for your wardrobe to me — unless you want to bleed Salford a bit before you go.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you not hear me say that we won’t suit?”
“You said you don’t think we would suit. I encourage you to take the time you need to reconsider.”
“I will not change my mind,” she snapped, losing patience entirely.
He shrugged. “I usually get what I want, my dear. Better for you to know that now.”
The man was mad. Infuriatingly so. But if she walked away in the middle of their dance, it would draw far more attention than if she stayed. And if anyone started gossiping about her and Thorington…
She might as well choose her wedding gown. Or her coffin. Only the latter sounded appealing.
So she finished the waltz with him, although she stubbornly refused to answer any of his conversational gam
bits. When the music stopped, she expected him to return her to Ellie, or at least to the edge of the floor.
But there was no need for that. Alex appeared at her elbow before they’d taken more than five steps.
“Are you feeling well, Miss Etchingham?” he asked. It seemed to be the only question he was capable of asking her. Her temper was piqued by it, but he continued before she could answer. “I am sorry that you were disturbed by our uninvited guest.”
“I was invited,” Thorington said over Prudence’s attempt at speech. “You may run off and ask your friend Carnach about my invitation while I take Miss Etchingham in to supper.”
Alex took her other arm. “Miss Etchingham promised that I could take her in to supper,” he lied. “You may run off and ask your friend Carnach to join you instead.”
She started to protest, but Alex glared at her as though to warn her of something. Thorington didn’t let go. “Carnach wouldn’t want to intrude on my dinner with Miss Etchingham.”
Ferguson strolled up then. “Perhaps Miss Etchingham would rather dine with me.”
“You should dine with your duchess,” Prudence said.
She tugged on her arms, but neither Alex nor Thorington let her go. Ferguson raised his quizzing glass. “But you are the woman everyone is fighting over. I want to follow the latest fashion.”
“Go to the devil, Ferguson” Alex said.
Prudence gasped. Thorington tried to pull her closer to him. “Not in front of the lady.”
She was going to scream. She could feel it bubbling up inside her, threatening ruin if she let it out. She struggled more obviously, extricating her arms from theirs with a wholly ungraceful wriggle of limbs.
It was just awkward enough that they stopped arguing and gave her a chance to speak. “I shan’t dine with any of you.”
Alex and Thorington both turned on her, hemming her in. “Miss Etchingham,” Alex said, low and urgent. “Come with me.”
Thorington was just as insistent. “Allow me to escort you, my dear.”
“‘My dear’?” Alex asked, rounding on his former friend. “Watch your tongue, Thorington. Miss Etchingham is not for you.”
“Is she not?” Thorington asked, raising an eyebrow. “I think she will be mine, once she accepts my offer. And in any event, she’s your mother’s companion, not yours. Unless you have an interest here that you’ve kept secret?”
It was a dangerous question — not merely because it was another stab to Prudence’s heart, but because her reputation would be destroyed if anyone thought that Alex had taken her to bed while she lived in his house. From the reckless, angry light in Alex’s eyes, she wouldn’t like his answer.
And she was tired of everyone speaking over her. So she did the only thing she could think to do — the only thing she’d wanted to do all night.
“Once you’ve decided how I should behave, please send me a note,” she said, catching them off guard with the edge to her voice. “Until then, I shall pursue my entertainments elsewhere.”
She lifted her chin and offered her hand to Ferguson. “If you’ll give me the honor, I would appreciate your escort away from here.”
“Gladly,” Ferguson said.
He was mad enough to wink at her. She was sure Alex would have throttled him if he could do it without swinging from a noose for it.
But she didn’t care. She couldn’t stay with either Alex or Thorington another moment. If she had to choose between Ferguson’s meddling and listening to Alex and Thorington argue over her like she was a silly, incapable female — for once, she made the choice she wanted to make.
And if either of them decided to follow her…she might be willing to risk ruin by kicking them in the shins.
* * *
Even if he were capable of getting drunk, there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to take the edge off Alex’s temper. He’d waited for hours in his study, brooding over a pot of tea like a sad abstainer, knowing that he couldn’t be caught going to her. He was mad enough, and angry enough, that the thought tempted him — if he was caught with her, they would be forced to marry. Better that than losing her to Thorington.
But he couldn’t offer for her yet. It was still too likely that the curse would never be broken.
He knew he should wait for morning. But morning was for rational conversation. There was nothing rational he could say to Prudence about why she shouldn’t marry Thorington, unless Alex told her about the curse or offered for her himself.
She would think him demented if he said he was cursed. She would also think him demented if he said she should abandon a duke to remain his dependent.
He should leave it alone and let her do whatever she pleased. At least she was alive to do it; if she interfered in his studies, she might die for it. Or something might happen that would effectively remove her from his life. The last housemaid who had broken one of his artifacts had run off to Canada the next day — had she ever come to her senses and wondered how in the hell she had found herself in Newfoundland? Would Prudence similarly find herself on a ship to some foreign land, not quite knowing why she’d decided to leave him?
He should leave it alone.
But Prudence was a wound that never healed, one that he couldn’t ignore. And if he needed another excuse, he couldn’t let her marry Thorington — his curse might kill her just as easily as Alex’s would. As the clock in the hall chimed three in the morning, Alex stood and threw his teacup into the fireplace. It would have been more satisfying if it was a wineglass, but he took what pleasure he could find.
Then he took one of the lighted candles, snuffed the rest, and strode boldly out of his study and up the stairs. He didn’t bother to sneak down the hall. Sneaking always attracted more attention than forthright, direct action. But he wasn’t foolish enough to knock. He turned the handle instead, then pushed the door open as silently as he was able.
Prudence’s room was dark. The banked fire didn’t give enough light for him to make out anything beyond the bed and a vague outline of the body sleeping there. His candle flame shuddered as he exhaled. When the light was strong again, he moved into the room and closed the door behind him.
Suddenly, he didn’t know what he was doing there. He couldn’t tell her about the curse; he couldn’t tell her why she couldn’t marry Thorington.
But he had to do something to convince her to wait for him. He needed a week — long enough to know whether Ellie’s rock could break his curse. If he stayed cold, calculated, disengaged — could he convince her to wait for him without tempting his curse into taking action against her?
He set the candle on her bedside table, then sat on the edge of her bed. “Prudence,” he whispered. “Wake up.”
She mumbled something in her sleep. If he didn’t know she was too proper for it, he might have thought she said, “Bloody bounder.”
He touched her forehead, brushing a bit of hair away from her face. “Prudence,” he said, louder this time.
She shifted, blinked, blinked again. Her hand moved up to flick his away as though he were a gnat — then stilled abruptly as she touched him.
She sat up faster than should have been possible for someone who was so deeply asleep. Her head cracked against the headboard. “Easy,” he said. “I…”
She didn’t let him finish. She pulled back her fist and punched him in the mouth.
CHAPTER NINE
She had never heard him yelp before. As she woke up, the scientific part of her came alive to tick a mark against that observation.
“What in the bloody hell was that for?” Alex demanded, keeping his voice low as he pressed his hand against his lip.
The emotional part of her came alive wanting to punch him again, harder, and while she was awake enough to clearly remember doing it. “Have you gone mad?” she asked, somehow whispering it rather than shrieking it. “Why are you here?”
She tried to pull the covers up around her. But Alex was sitting on them and didn’t seem inclined to move. She cros
sed her arms over her breasts, suddenly flushing. This was as close as any man had ever come to seeing her undressed.
When she had dreamed of a moment like this, she had imagined her hair down and her plain cotton nightrail replaced with something bolder. She had imagined Alex kissing her awake, whispering sweet words about how he couldn’t wait any longer.
She had not imagined that she would punch him. But then, she had given up hoping that Alex would ever come to her. Now that he had, she didn’t know what to do with him.
She wasn’t supposed to want him anymore. So why was her breath short and her face hot?
“I came to talk, not to ravish you,” Alex said. “Although if you are considering Thorington’s proposal, you should make yourself accustomed to unwanted ravishment.”
She balled her hand into a fist. “I shall hit you again if you don’t leave immediately.”
He held up his hands. “No need. I didn’t come to insult you, either.”
“You are not succeeding.”
He laughed. A bit of tension escaped with that laugh, letting her see a glimpse of the old Alex — the happier one, the one who had been comfortable with her before that awful night in his study.
“No, I’m not succeeding,” he replied. “I thank you for the reminder. Will you allow me to try again?”
She pointed at the door. “Perhaps you will find more success in the morning.”
Alex shook his head. “This conversation is better suited for the dead of night.”
“Then you should return tomorrow night. We’re closer to dawn than midnight.”
Why was she trying to put him off? Two months earlier, she would have died, blissfully complete, if she had awoken to find Alex in her bed.
Tonight, she wanted to hit him over the head with a chamberpot.
