The Earl Who Played With Fire

by Sara Ramsey

  He grinned as he said this, but the light in his eyes was already fading. They knew what they were destined for. Their faces were inches apart, the love between them was strong enough to bridge across any distance…but his past wish and her current pragmatism had stolen the future they should have had.

  “I won’t thank you, then,” she said. “But you should know it was perfect.”

  “Really?” he asked. “I haven’t ever…”

  “You’ve never taken a lover?” she asked, shocked.

  He snorted, then had the grace to flush. “Lovers, yes. Gently bred virgins, no.”

  “‘Gently bred virgins’ sound like such a depressing group,” she said. “I’m glad I can no longer count myself among their number.”

  “We should have been more careful,” Alex said.

  She shrugged. “I can’t be too upset for Thorington. He doesn’t deserve my virtue.”

  She wished she hadn’t brought it up. Her earlier presentiment that Thorington’s name shouldn’t be mentioned came true as Alex turned away from her to stare at the ceiling again. “Thorington doesn’t deserve a lot of things. But, believe it or not, I would be happy that he had found you if I didn’t want you for myself.”

  “How is that possible?” she asked. “I thought you hated each other.”

  Alex picked up her hand and twined it in his, a casual gesture of intimacy that tugged at her heart. “His family is difficult, to say the least. The amount of money they go through is staggering. But I’ll say this for him — he takes care of his own. And I would wish him happy if he found someone to share that burden with.”

  If she was sure she was going to marry Thorington, that might have comforted her. But even though she could never go out in polite society again if she jilted him, she felt ill at even the thought of marrying him. “I don’t wish to share his burdens,” she said.

  “I wish I could save you.”

  She would save herself if she had to — fifty thousand pounds wouldn’t buy her friends, but it could buy her safety from Thorington. But after tonight, after this perfect moment, she wasn’t quite ready to settle for less.

  She tugged at his hand. “We must find a way to break your curse. That is the only plan I wish to pursue.”

  He dropped her fingers. “There is no cure, Prudence. If there ever was, it was lost centuries ago.”

  How was he so sure? “I think you are being a trifle too conservative in your assessment,” she said.

  She had tried to wrap up her condemnation in prettier words, but Alex knew at once what she was saying. “There is no bloody cure. And I’ve already stayed too long.”

  He sat up, ready to abandon her. She grabbed his wrist. “I may be able to help. I know I didn’t go to Cambridge, but I have read a lot. And I’m sure I’ve read something about a dagger.”

  “It was probably a fairy tale,” he said dismissively.

  The fairy tale she really wanted was currently leaving her bed and searching for its shirt. She sighed. “It doesn’t hurt for me to look through my papers.”

  He pulled his shirt over his head, tucking it in and buttoning it in case he ran into anyone in the hall — not that they wouldn’t immediately start speculating where he had been. “Look wherever you like,” he said, in the same voice he might use to tell his wife that he liked the pattern of her new dressing gown.

  She was being unfair. But she still bristled. “If I find something, shall I bring it to you? Or shall I sell it to the highest bidder?”

  It was an unfortunate, inadvertent reference to the auction he had lost — the one he still didn’t know she had been responsible for. He scowled. “I must go to my study. I’ve spent too much time with you already. Perhaps tomorrow night we can discuss this.”

  “I won’t be here tomorrow night.” Her voice was suddenly small, not wanting to remind him — or herself — that she had agreed to leave. “I will still come here to help your mother if she needs it, not that she ever seemed to. But it seems…better for me to leave.”

  “I want to keep you here,” he said simply.

  She wanted to stay, but that didn’t change their circumstances. “It’s for the best. But if I find anything in my papers, I will send word.”

  “Do,” he said, in a voice that said he was sure she wouldn’t find anything. She seethed just a bit, wanting to prove him wrong — wanting to show him that she was smart enough to correspond about antiquities with him for years without him ever guessing it was her.

  But it was silly to waste one of their last moments on seething. So when he came back to the bed and kissed her one last time, she gave herself fully to it.

  She would be Miss Prudence Etchingham in the morning. She might someday be the Duchess of Thorington. Or she might be living under an assumed name in some forgotten village in Italy. Or she might be dead because of Alex’s curse. But for one last minute, she was Alex’s beloved instead. And she wouldn’t let herself ruin it without giving them one last chance at happiness.

  So when he left, she didn’t luxuriate in bed. She began to search instead. She sifted through books, papers, folios, ledgers — a vast and sprawling correspondence that she had carried on, incognito, with nearly every important scholar of the day. Her letters had dropped off in the last few months as she had focused on her forgeries, but surely someone in her acquaintance had mentioned the dagger before.

  It was almost dawn before she found the letter she was looking for. It shouldn’t have surprised her. The handwriting was familiar, the paper the same as he always used. The signature across the bottom was bold and clearly legible, as though he had nothing to hide.

  “Ostringer,” she whispered.

  If only it had been anyone else. How could she convince Alex to ask the antiquities dealer for help?

  And what price would Ostringer demand in return?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  She should have left for Ellie’s as soon as she’d awoken. But after going to bed at dawn, Prudence had slept until almost ten. Then she had dashed off a note to Ostringer and another to Alex, directing both through the pub at Soho Square. By the time she had eaten and finished packing, it was nearly one — and then she was punished for her tardiness.

  “My dear daughter,” Lady Harcastle said, rising from the seat in Lady Salford’s drawing room where Prudence had kept her waiting longer than she should have. “I am so proud of you.”

  Prudence returned her mother’s kiss, because, really, what else could she do? “I am sorry you heard the news before I was able to tell you myself.”

  She hadn’t thought to try to reach her mother before the gossips did. Her mother waved off her apology. “I know you must have been too stunned to think of me. I confess I was stunned myself. I had never thought that Thorington was a possibility for you. Never in my wildest imaginings.”

  Unlike Lady Salford, her mother didn’t ask if she thought she might be happy with the man. Prudence couldn’t help but bristle, already too sensitive after only moments in her mother’s company. “I am glad that you are glad, Mother,” she said frostily.

  “Glad?” Her mother sounded truly confused. “Proud, yes. A duke is nothing to sneeze at. But glad?”

  Lady Harcastle trailed off, returning to her seat on the settee as though the question had suddenly made her too tired to stand. Prudence sat in a chair next to her, close enough to look polite without being in danger of an unexpected embrace.

  “I expected you to be glad, Mother. You can gloat if you wish,” she said. “You have wanted me to marry a title for years. Thorington’s is one of the best titles of them all.”

  “There is something lovely about thinking of you as a duchess,” her mother said with a sigh. “And I suppose I am glad to know that you will not have to worry in your old age. I’m sure Thorington will make appropriate provisions so that you do not find yourself relying on the charity of others.”

  Her mother’s hands twisted in her lap as she said this. Prudence felt a twinge of guilt. “It
is a brilliant match.”

  Her mother didn’t need to know that Prudence was going to do everything in her power to escape it. She would expect that Prudence would meet her duty head-on, not make a scandal of herself trying to avoid it.

  Or so Prudence thought. Her mother surprised her. “Yes, it is a brilliant match. But I worry for you, my dear.”

  “Why?” Prudence asked, confused.

  “It’s Thorington,” Lady Harcastle said, as though the name alone was an explanation. “He is either mad or evil.”

  Prudence couldn’t choke back her laugh fast enough. “But he is mad, evil, and titled.”

  “True. The same could be said for Emperor Nero.”

  Her mother’s acerbic wit, when turned on someone other than Prudence, was actually refreshing. “Aren’t you unkind this morning,” she teased. “I’m sure Thorington isn’t burning Christians in his gardens.”

  Lady Harcastle paused. The drawing room door had opened to admit a footman with the tea cart, and whatever she wanted to tell Prudence couldn’t be done in front of the servants. So they both waited, in silence, as the man arranged their refreshments. The pause was long enough for Prudence to look at her mother — really look at her, rather than just seeing what her imagination laid over their reality.

  Her mother was thinner than she had been. Her hair under her morning bonnet was grey now, not the same brown that Prudence still had.

  Her mother was growing old. Older than she should have looked; she was the same age as Lady Salford, after all. But Lady Salford had somehow managed to recover from the death of her husband. Prudence’s mother, even though she had loved her husband far less, was still trapped in the shadows of her memories. And it showed in the tight lines of her face, the bitter tinge to her voice.

  If Prudence couldn’t escape Thorington — still a possibility, even though she didn’t want to consider it — could she at least escape the prison of her own mind? Or would she torture herself as her mother did?

  The footman left. Lady Harcastle picked up the conversation as though they hadn’t been interrupted, not knowing that Prudence was no longer amused. “I’ll grant that Thorington isn’t the devil himself,” she said placidly, pouring heated water into the teapot. “But for all that I wanted you to do your duty, I had hoped you might find more happiness than I did. Thorington does not comfort me.”

  “Thorington does not comfort me either,” Prudence said. “But that choice is gone now.”

  Her mother fidgeted with the sugar tongs, sending a lump flying across the tray. “There is always a choice, Prudence.”

  “You know that isn’t true.” She didn’t tell her mother about the fifty thousand pounds, or about the chance she and Alex might have to break his curse. She had to keep up the pretense that she was marrying Thorington — there was no sense in worrying her mother or risking her reputation until she’d escaped.

  “It’s always true.” Her mother looked up, determination sweeping away her disillusion. “I’ll grant you, I mostly hope you choose to marry him. It’s the wisest course of action. You will be safe, protected, and well-fed. You’ll have gowns aplenty and invitations to any party you wish to attend. Your children will have the life I could never give you.”

  Lady Harcastle’s hand shook for a moment. She clenched the tongs until it stopped. Then, softer, she said, “But I also hope you are happier than I was.”

  Prudence had expected that her mother would be happy about Thorington. But hearing that her mother knew the duke wouldn’t make her happy but expected her to follow through with the wedding set off her fragile temper. “It is too late for happiness,” she said. “I trust you’ll forget this advice when Thorington’s wealth buys you a house.”

  Her mother blanched. “Do you believe that matters more to me than you do?”

  “Doesn’t it?” Prudence stood up. “You would have married me to Malcolm before I’d ever even met him. Marriage is the only thing you’ve ever asked from me. I wish you very happy with it.”

  “Prudence,” her mother started to say.

  “Goodbye, Mother,” she said firmly. “I will send word when we’ve set a date for the wedding.”

  She walked out — stormed out, if she was being honest. But she couldn’t be honest with herself until she had reached her room and slammed the door behind her.

  She had been hideously ungrateful. She had been cruel, unnecessarily so.

  But the only glimmer of good that she’d found in the idea of marriage to Thorington was that her mother might be pleased. And to have even that cold comfort taken away from her…

  If she’d considered Thorington as a possibility before, she couldn’t anymore. She’d never wanted him. But there had still been the small, well-bred part of her that couldn’t quite contemplate the idea of ruining herself by jilting him.

  But now she was ready to embrace her ruin. She threw the last of her papers into a valise, not caring whether they creased each other in her haste. She couldn’t bear to look at her bedchamber and remember everything Alex had done to her, everything she’d given him.

  Her mother was right, for once. Prudence had a choice. But no one knew how dark it was. Either she would return to Alex’s house as his wife…or she would leave England forever.

  * * *

  He missed her. Damn her, he missed her already, even though she had only fled from his house to Ellie’s a day earlier. Dinner the previous evening had been worse for it. Amelia had looked at him like he was a prime fool. Malcolm was still cold, unimpressed by Alex’s apparent cowardice. His mother just sighed, repeatedly, as though it was her heart that had been broken, not his.

  Prudence was better without him. She would stay alive without him. But that rationale was dim and powerless when he wondered whether she was spending the afternoon shopping for her trousseau…

  When he reached the pub, Alex slid down from his curricle and handed the reins to a loitering groom, along with a shilling to ensure his horse and carriage were safely conducted to the nearest stables. He was on a fool’s errand. But the invitation he’d received the previous day was just tantalizing enough to draw him out of his brooding.

  He had corresponded with a scholar named Chandlord for at least four years, but they had never met in person. Chandlord was a recluse, but he seemed to know everyone in the antiquities world through his correspondence. And, oddly, he had chosen to come to London just when Alex wondered whether he should ask Chandlord if he’d heard any rumors about the dagger.

  The public house the man had chosen for their meeting was near the Strand and the Society of Antiquaries’ chambers at Somerset House. It was quiet, still early enough in the afternoon that there wouldn’t be crowds. Alex didn’t think the man was any likelier to have an answer than anyone else he’d talked to over the years, but going to the pub was better than stewing in his study alone.

  He ducked through the old doorway and stepped inside. An enquiry at the bar turned him in the direction of a private room at the back of the common area. He navigated through the ancient tables and solid chairs, hoping the man proved as charming in person as he was in his letters. The barkeep’s smirk had given him just a bit of pause — was the scholar so awkward that Alex wouldn’t be able to stand his company?

  But he must have entered the wrong room. A woman turned toward him as he pushed the door open, swathed in black, with a heavy veil covering her face.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said, bowing quickly as he backed out of the room.

  She held up a hand. “Come in, Alex.”

  He recognized her voice immediately. It drew his temper faster than he could control it. “What in the devil are you doing here?” he asked, stepping in and shutting the door before he attracted any attention. “Ladies never come to a place such as this.”

  Prudence shrugged as she unwound the veil. There wasn’t a trace of shame on her face — not that he expected there to be, given how she had changed these last months. “I am not a lady yet, merely a gentle
woman. It would seem a pity not to see this place before my circumstances change. If I can never see the hallowed inner chambers of the Society of Antiquaries, I can at least see where you drink after.”

  On another day he would have laughed. But he wanted to wrap her in his coat and smuggle her out of there before anything happened to her. His eyes narrowed. “Come with me, before you’re seen. I would have brought a closed carriage if I’d known you were here, but I’ll find you a hackney to return you to Ellie’s where you belong.”

  Prudence dropped the veil to the floor. “Don’t worry about my safety. My maid is waiting in the public room, and one of Ellie’s carriages is sitting somewhere outside.”

  He took a breath. “Why couldn’t we meet at Ellie’s house? Did you go through my papers to find Chandlord’s name and lure me here?”

  She sat down at the small table next to the window, overlooking the interior courtyard. The pub had originally been an old coaching inn, and its provenance showed in the cobbled court and the ancient, leaded windows. She pulled the drapes closed over the glass, but there was enough light from the candles in the room to see her without straining.

  “Would you care for coffee while you perform your monologue?” she asked, holding up the silver coffeepot. “I would have ordered small beer, but it was difficult enough to convince the man outside that I wasn’t a prostitute. Ordering alcohol might have made him refuse me entirely.”

  “You are going to have to accustom yourself to behaving better when you’re a duchess,” he said.

  He felt nasty and small even as he said it. Somehow, he couldn’t stop himself in time. She shot him a look that said she’d rather throw the coffeepot at his head than serve him with it, but she poured two cups anyway. “I do not want to be a duchess. But if you expect me to behave as you’d like me to, you’d best wish for it with that dagger of yours.”

  Alex sighed and took the seat across from her. The fight he’d wanted evaporated as contrition took its place. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”