by Sara Ramsey
In a different life he would have taken the same action. But in this life, the life he’d cursed himself to bear, he only had two choices: let her go, or convince her to wait for a day that might never come.
“It does not signify,” Alex said. “She will marry Thorington. I wish them very happy.”
He didn’t. And they knew it. But for once in his life, Ferguson stayed silent.
And Alex was left to wonder how he would survive losing her — and whether there was any way he could keep her without destroying her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Later that night, Prudence was still awake, in her nightgown with a robe wrapped around her, sorting through her possessions. She would write to Ellie in the morning and ask to stay with her until she could find another home — or until she married Thorington. Since she couldn’t sleep, she might as well start packing.
Why had she lied and told the men that she had decided to marry Thorington? It had been the first excuse that popped into her head when Ferguson made it clear that he would force her to marry Salford. As much as she would rather marry Alex, she couldn’t bear to do it if she would know, all her life, that he had been coerced.
But Thorington? She should have asked for a firing squad instead.
She carefully pulled one of her cases out from under her bed. She could have stored her baggage in the attics with the family’s trunks, but she’d kept this one close at hand. Flipping open the clasp, she raised the lid. There were eight jars of tea nestled within, buffered from each other by lengths of old muslin.
She grabbed her oldest petticoats from her wardrobe and layered them into the case, making sure the jars wouldn’t move or break in transit. The scarabs were close to having the right patina, and she didn’t want to start over with them. When she was done, she sat back on her heels. Even after the disastrous auction, she was still proud of her efforts. She could forge a new life for herself with her art.
She knew then that she was depraved. She had fallen too far to ever be redeemed if she still considered forging antiquities after swindling the Duke of Thorington out of fifty thousand pounds — and breaking Alex’s spirit in the bargain.
The door opened without warning. She dropped the lid on her case before she turned, knowing who it must be. “I’m not sure I ever wish to see you again,” she said to Alex.
She’d kept her voice low, but he still glanced up and down the hall. He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. She stood, not willing to give him the advantage of having her on the floor. But he still loomed over her. His jaw was tense and his eyes were dark, but even though his height had never bothered her before, tonight it added an edge of menace. He could break her if he wished.
“Tell me you’re not marrying Thorington,” he demanded.
Prudence shook her head and held her ground. “It’s no business of yours, Lord Salford.”
She emphasized his title. It should have reminded him that this was a conversation they shouldn’t have.
He didn’t take the reminder. He stepped toward her, until they were only a pace apart.
“This is highly improper,” she said.
He snorted. “This is improper? After everything that occurred the last time I came to your room?”
She didn’t want the memory. She went on the attack. “Do you not like that word? I’ll choose another. This is asinine. Or imbecilic, if you prefer. Or ill-considered. Shall I continue, or are you satisfied with those?”
He gestured toward the straightbacked wooden chair that Prudence used when one of Lady Salford’s maids arranged her hair. “You should sit, Miss Etchingham. You seem overwrought.”
“Overwrought? Why would you think that? I’m as calm as one can be when dreaming of her wedding day.”
He flinched. “Please, sit, so that we may discuss this.”
She crossed her arms. “Say whatever you’ve come to say. I trust I can remain standing long enough to see you out.”
He stared at her a moment — not with the look of a man who wants a woman, but with the confused, slightly annoyed air of a man who has been stymied. “What’s become of you, Prudence?”
“What’s become of me?” she repeated. “What’s become of me?”
She wanted to slap him, or punch him, or kick him — preferably somewhere painful, such as a shin, or perhaps something higher than that. Instead, she took a breath. She could be reasonable for at least a minute — long enough to convince him to leave before her nerves were utterly shredded.
“Nothing’s become of me,” she said. “And nothing will ever become of me if I stay here. I should thank you for making that so perfectly clear to me. Now, if you would be so kind as to excuse me, I must pack.”
He cut her off with an impatient shake of his head. “You could do much better than Thorington. Say you won’t marry him.”
“Better than Thorington?” She laughed, a brittle little sound that dressed itself up as humor. “He’s a duke and he has all his teeth. I cannot do better than that.”
“Is that all you care for? A title?”
“And teeth,” she reminded him. “I am particularly fond of men who have all their teeth.”
“Thorington cannot give you what you deserve, Prudence.”
He was back to her Christian name. “What game are you playing?” she asked abruptly.
“Game?”
He truly sounded confused. She dropped her arms from her chest. “You do not love me,” she said, patiently, as though schooling a child. “Or anyway, you do not love me enough to marry me, even when both our reputations are at stake. Why does it matter to you what I deserve and whether Thorington is the man who may give it to me?”
She scanned across his face, looking for some meaning hidden in the hollows of his cheeks or the tightness around his mouth. He shoved a hand across his scalp, ruining his stern look as his hair turned wild. “It matters. You matter. More than I can say.”
His voice was low, as though he could barely bring himself to say anything aloud. It was a terse, deathbed confession, the last words of a man on the gallows.
For that, she wanted to see his head on a spike. “I matter,” she repeated, flat and unemotional. “Lovely. Now leave me be.”
He grabbed her shoulders, faster than she could anticipate. Whatever restraint he’d placed on himself shattered. “You matter, damn you.” His grip branded her, his thumbs grazing her collarbones in a gesture that was both intimate and intimidating. “To me. You always have.”
He paused. Their eyes met. The same connection they’d always had reared to life, a fire that a single glance could stoke.
“You always will, Prudence,” he said. “You have to believe me.”
She inhaled, a shaky breath that had to sneak past her rapidly-constricting heart. She wanted to believe him. Damn her traitorous heart, she did believe him.
But there was belief…and then there was action. She mattered to him. But she didn’t matter enough. And if she accepted what he offered — which was precisely nothing, save a few pretty words — she would be compelled to continue in her odd, shadowed half-life, residing on the periphery of the life she might have had.
“You say it as though repetition will make it true. But words aren’t enough,” she said. “I want more than you can give me.”
“Is it a dukedom?” he asked, with a bitter edge to his voice.
She shook her head. “It’s not his title that appeals. And I know Thorington won’t give me a grand passion. But he won’t make me fall in love with him, either. Why wouldn’t I choose that, instead of hearing one moment that I matter and the next that I don’t?”
“You have too much passion for him, Prue. You’ll be bored of him within a fortnight.”
She shrugged. “I’m bored of this conversation, and yet it continues. I shall survive Thorington as well.”
“For a night, perhaps. Or a week. Or a month. But a lifetime? A lifetime of banal conversation at your breakfast table?”
“Thorington is an intelligent man,” Prudence said stubbornly. “I’m sure we shall converse perfectly well.”
“A lifetime of quick, unpleasant lovemaking? Done solely to make an heir, not to give you pleasure?”
She kept herself from gasping, but she couldn’t quite control her blush. “What do you know of Thorington’s lovemaking?” she retorted.
Alex somehow choked on a laugh. It turned into a cough, and he dropped a hand away from her shoulder to stifle it. Prudence took the opportunity to slide away from him. She moved to the window, briefly speculating that she might rather jump out of it than continue this discussion.
She knew that Alex wasn’t done. And he didn’t leave her waiting. As soon as he could speak again, he said, “I’ve known Thorington for years. And I know his demons. Better than anyone, I’d wager. He’s using you to get to me. He won’t toss you out when he’s done with his revenge, but that doesn’t mean he’ll take any time to make your life more pleasant.”
She shrugged, not looking back even though there was nothing worth seeing through the dark, slender crack in her chamber’s curtains. “Again, it’s not your concern. But if it comforts you, I care very little for how well Thorington…pleases me.” She stammered just a bit on the words, uncharacteristically. “If he gives me a child and enough pin money to keep me in books and parchment, I’ll consider it a deal well made.”
The better deal would be to take Thorington’s money and run away, but she couldn’t tell Alex about her secret plan. But she hoped that her supposed desire to marry Thorington would get him to leave her in peace.
Alex’s hands closed over her shoulders again. He turned her around. “Prudence,” he said softly. “Enough nonsense.”
She saw in his eyes, heard in his voice, what he intended to do. “Don’t do something you’ll regret,” she warned, as much to herself as to him.
He shrugged. “My regrets would fill a book. But if I am responsible for you believing that you deserve anything less than the grandest passion…”
He leaned in to kiss her. She anticipated it, wanted it…
And at the last moment, she turned her face away. His lips landed awkwardly on her cheek, perilously close to her eye.
She shoved his chest, pushing him away from her. “Enough nonsense,” she said, mimicking his earlier words with a nasty edge to her voice. “If you touch me again, I shall scream. Your mother is less likely to overlook your indiscretions than Ferguson and Malcolm were. And then we will both be in trouble.”
“Just promise me you won’t marry Thorington,” Alex said, urgently, ignoring her threat entirely.
She pointed to the door. “If you won’t marry me yourself, you’ve no right to ask me that.”
They hovered on the edge of something…else. Something that, in a dream, might have turned to something sweet. She could almost feel it — almost feel him dropping to his knees, begging her forgiveness. Taking her to bed. Showing her that he was capable of giving her the grand passion her heart had always longed for. The passion she only wanted from him, despite what she said.
Instead, he scrubbed a hand against his mouth, as though to wipe away the kiss she’d denied them. “I can’t lose you like this. But I can’t keep you.”
The words were wrenched from his very soul. She felt herself waver, torn between pragmatic plans and not-quite-dead dreams.
She didn’t want to waver. She tried to stand still, to will him away. But the part that still loved him overruled everything else. “Why can’t you keep me?” she asked.
He looked down at his hands, tracing the scar in his palm. He was silent a moment, then another. But his words, when they finally came, gave an excuse she never could have expected.
“I’m cursed, Prudence,” he said.
She almost laughed. But he looked up before she could react, shocking her as his eyes filled with despair. “And if I marry you, it will surely kill you.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
His words took a moment to turn from sound into meaning. When they finally did, Prudence wanted to strangle him.
“That is the most idiotic excuse for inaction I have ever heard,” she snapped. “Do you really think I’m enough of a simple-minded female to believe such superstitious nonsense?”
Alex winced. “I know you may find it difficult to understand…”
“The only thing I find difficult to understand is how your rational, scientific mind could come up with a Cheltenham tale such as that.” Her blood heated as her heart beat faster, fleeing from the memory of the moment when she had thought, again, that he truly loved her. “Tell me another, my lord. Shall you tell me next that you cannot marry me because you’re a selkie, destined to return to the sea?”
He held up his hands. “Hear me out, Prudence.”
She stepped around him, moving toward her desk. “I’ve no need for your excuses. If you mean to belittle my intelligence by giving me a fantasy in the place of an apology, I consider our acquaintance at an end.”
“You are the most intelligent person I know. Which is why I never told you — I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
His words stopped her more effectively than his hands could have. There was a compliment buried in that statement — an immense one, one that seduced her more than any meaningless flattery about her beauty ever could have. But still, a curse?
She slowly turned back to face him. He was rubbing his thumb across his palm again. She recognized that old gesture and suspected, suddenly, what he thought had cursed him. The dagger she’d found in his study, the amount of money he’d bid for something that might have given its translation, the crushing loss he’d felt when he found out the stone’s Aramaic lines weren’t what he expected…
She couldn’t guess out loud. But she could lead him to it. “What caused this curse?”
“You won’t believe it.”
“I won’t believe you unless you tell me,” she pointed out.
He paused and looked down at his hand. Finally, he said, “It was an ancient Egyptian dagger that I bought a decade ago. I made a wish, cut my palm with it, and woke up to find that my wish had come true. And it will continue to give me what I wished for, for the rest of my life. Even if I no longer want it.”
“What did you wish for?” she asked.
“That nothing interfere with my historical studies.”
His voice sounded self-deprecating. She laughed. “That doesn’t sound so terrible.”
In fact, it sounded almost sweet. But he shook his head. “I never should have wished it. But I was twenty-two, and Father was making noises about having me take up more duties with the estate rather than continuing my education at Cambridge.”
He didn’t continue, but he didn’t have to. She knew the history of his life nearly as well as she knew her own. “Your father died that year, didn’t he?”
“In his sleep, the night I made my wish. And it’s my fault.”
Prudence bit her lip, considering. “It could have been a coincidence. Men die too young every day. Are you sure you aren’t blaming yourself where there is no blame to be had?”
Alex had the look of a man confessing his greatest sin under torture. “It’s no coincidence. Nothing has significantly distracted me from my studies since that night. And if anything threatens to distract me, it is always eliminated.”
“But you’re not studying now,” she said.
He shrugged. “It seems to eliminate the major barriers, not the minor bits. I still must sleep, eat, and groom myself. I can go to a party if I feel like attending. I can spend days at a time doing whatever I like. But if someone or something takes too much of my time, the curse removes it from my life. It took ‘interference’ in a very literal sense.”
She moved away and sat on the edge of her bed. There was no point in standing toe to toe with him, not when she had the oddest urge to pull him into her arms and soothe him. “What do you mean, the curse removes it? Has anyone else died besides your father?”
A
lex closed his hand into a fist. “There was my first mistress — a freak windstorm blew a tree onto her carriage. Then there was the incompetent land steward who kept asking for more and more of my time to address issues with the estate, until he ate some toadstools that he thought were mushrooms. The second land steward didn’t die, but he broke his leg in a bad fall down the stairs of my country house and decided to retire. Thank God I found a good one after that.”
Prudence might have laughed if Alex didn’t seem so serious. “Those could all be coincidences, you know.”
“I could go on — I have a ledger if you care to examine it. I make anonymous tithes to their local churches every year in honor of all of them.”
“No need,” she said. “I’m sure you think this is true.”
“You don’t believe me.”
It wasn’t a question. She shrugged. “You must admit this is a bit fantastical.”
He wasn’t defeated by her denial — if anything, it spurred him. “I would have said the same ten years ago. I did say the same, in fact. My wish was a joke. How could a man of my intellect believe that a cut across the hand could do anything other than bleed? But if you knew how it felt to make that wish, fall asleep, and awaken to find your father dead…”
He lapsed into silence as she considered. Finally, she said, “I still do not see why this would prevent your marriage. Most husbands and wives in our circle hardly see each other beyond dinner and the occasional ball. A wife surely wouldn’t interfere with your studies enough to matter.”
“Would you be satisfied with that?”
His question was too direct. She shook her head.
“Then you know why I cannot marry you. I would want to lose myself in your bed for weeks and let my studies rot. If I trusted my willpower, if I thought I could confine myself to only an hour a day with you — perhaps I would risk it. But I can’t help myself with you, Prudence. I wouldn’t be able to resist you if you were truly mine. I wouldn’t be able to ignore our children, if we had them. And I would inevitably cost you your life.”
