A black curse escaped her brother. “All my life I’ve wanted you to be logical, so now that I want you to think with your heart, you should choose not to?” He fixed an icy glare on Christian. At her answering quiet, he made a sound of disgust. “Will you still wed her if I withhold her dowry?”
His pledge startled a gasp from her. “You would not.” She prided herself on the steady deliverance of those shocked words. Her confounded thoughts raced and Prudence tried to put order to the implications of that threat.
Sin remained silent.
She swung her gaze to Christian. He clenched his hand almost reflexively about hers and she winced at the unexpected pressure. He loosened his grip, but did not relinquish his hold.
“Will you wed her still if she brings you nothing, St. Cyr?” his brother taunted.
She took in the drawn corners of Christian’s mouth, the ashen hue of his skin and knew the answer from the bitterness and regret flitting through his eyes. He would not. And she should know that. Aware as she was of his dire financial straits, there had never been the illusion of more between them. She’d sought him out and offered her dowry in exchange for control of her fate and her happiness, only to now find her happiness was inextricably wrapped into this man’s heart.
Christian cleared his throat, his gaze trained on their interlocked fingers. “I wish I could give you more, Prudence.” His voice, roughened with shame and regret, pierced her. But I cannot…
“It is fine,” she said, her voice hollow to her own ears. Except it wasn’t fine. For if there was no marriage with the convenience of her dowry, there was no future between them, and the prospect filled her with an empty bleakness. “You do not have to say anything more.” Her voice broke and she damned that telling weakness.
He winced. “Prudence,” he began. To say what? That he’d wed her even if Sin withheld her fortune? He could not, not given his current circumstances. And the way in which he passed his frustrated, brown-eyed stare over her hinted at a helplessness she detested witnessing from him. He was a man of strength and courage who should not be so broken.
She slipped her hand from his and he stared blankly at his empty palm. His face contorted in a spasm, as though he were agonized by the loss of her touch. But why would that be? Why, if he desired nothing more of her than her wealth?
“I think there is nothing left for you to say, St. Cyr. I would never see my sister destitute.” Hope sprang to life in her breast. Sin clenched and unclenched his hands. “But I know my sisters and Prudence is determined to wed you.”
And given Patrina’s rash decision in the past, he suspected Prudence capable of the same poor judgment. Stealing a sideways glance at his unmoving figure, frozen at her side, she confronted the painful truth that, God help her, she was capable of the same folly made by her eldest sister.
“What are you saying?” Christian asked gruffly.
She loved Christian. Loved him for being a man capable of his own opinions; for being a man who spoke with her and not to her. She wanted him. And she’d merely deceived herself into believing she desired nothing more than controlling her own fate and happiness. That had merely been the lie she’d fed herself. She wanted him in all the ways a woman could know a man.
Her brother’s words pulled her to the moment. “I am saying I’d grant you leave to marry her because I suspect she’ll have it no other way.” Sin swiped a tired hand over his face. Regret lit his eyes. Then, he dropped his hand quickly to the desk.
He jerked his chin in Christian’s direction. “There you have him, Pru. That is the man you’d wed—a man who wants nothing more than your fortune.”
A chill stole through her. “You merely threatened that to see what Christian’s reaction would be were you to withhold my dowry.” Shock forced her words out as a breathless whisper. A fleeting trace of guilt reflected in her brother’s blue eyes, but then was swiftly gone. Of its own volition, her hand fluttered to her chest. How could her brother be capable of this cruelty?
Christian reached for her fingers and she took the comfort of his strong, powerful caress. “You would wound her in this manner?” Disgust coated his words. Her brother had the good grace to at least appear sheepish.
“And for what?” she demanded, her tone sharply rising. “Is this a game to you?”
Her brother sat back in his chair. He and Christian locked stares in a silent, unspoken battle. “This is no game, Pru. This is your life.”
“I will care for her.” A gravelly harshness underscored Christian’s pledge. “I will see her happy.”
“Can you?” Sin shot back, winging a brow upward. “Do you even know her interests? Do you know what brings her joy? Do you know her favorite color? I would have that man for her husband.”
He stiffly withdrew his hand and came slowly to his feet. For one agonizing moment, she believed he intended to withdraw his offer and in that moment, her heart slipped to her belly and sank hard like a stone, but he merely stood, towering above her still seated brother. When he spoke, he directed his words to her. “I know she loves to dance.” Her throat worked. “I know she tilts her head and taps her feet while she watches those other dancers. I know she should never miss a set and will see that she does not.”
Oh, God. A single tear squeezed from her lid and slid down her cheek. He brushed his knuckle, wiping away that drop. Through the years, in the secret of her own thoughts, she’d secretly longed for the love her siblings had found in their respective matches. She’d even, with a girlish innocence, sought to craft a fate and future similar to those very much in love couples. This, her reality with Christian, was far grander, far more beautiful than any replication of some other couple. This was her future with him and all the more beautiful for it.
“I know her eyes sparkle with merriment when she is devising a scheme.” A slow smile turned his lips into a grin that was both seductive and warming. “And I know she is often conceiving some scheme or another.” A laugh bubbled past her lips, and either uncaring or unfazed by her brother’s presence, Christian ran the pad of his thumb over that trembling flesh. “I know she loves to sketch and I know I will enjoy spending the remainder of my life trying to sort through just what image she’s put to paper.”
All the reservations in wedding a man who did not love her lifted. For surely a man who knew all that about her, knew those pieces of who she was, would, in time, come to love her. Hope blossomed in her chest.
Christian’s words were met with silence, matched by the tick-tock of the ormolu clock atop the fireplace mantel. After a long while, she forced her gaze away from him and looked to her brother. Shock etched the planes of his face. “Three weeks,” he said when he finally spoke.
A denial sprung to her lips.
“Three days,” Christian countered. Steel underscored those words which were more command than request.
Her brother ground his teeth together. “Will you excuse us while we discuss the details of your arrangement?” He spoke as though that admission cost him all his estates and holdings.
Prudence hesitated and then with a slight nod, stood. Christian captured her fingertips in his and raised each hand to his mouth, one at a time. Her skin burned from where he caressed the skin with his lips. Then, reluctantly she dropped a curtsy and started for the door.
From across the room, her brother muttered, “So much for no scandals, no elopements, or rushed marriages.”
She shot a look over her shoulder and winked at Christian. His laughter followed along behind her as she took her leave.
Chapter 20
Lesson Twenty
There are times when a gentleman will surprise you. Sometimes it is a good thing….
An uncharacteristic solemnity cloaked the house. Such somberness might match the austere moods of other propriety-driven lords and ladies, but it never held a place in the home of the boisterous, vivacious Tidemore clan.
Standing at the edge of the window in the Ivory Parlor, Prudence stole a glance over her should
er at the clock atop the fireplace mantel.
Thirty minutes past eight. In another hour, she was to meet Christian in Hyde Park—for their wedding. Warmth spiraled through her heart. As a matter of formality, they could have married in any parlor or church or office. But he’d have them wed in that spot that was so very special to her. Even though he’d never given her words of love, his actions belonged to a man who cared…in some way.
A smile pulled at her lips. For all the hurt and disappointment she’d known with her family’s rejection of Christian, excitement ran through her, still. How was a young lady not to smile on her wedding day? Her grin slipped. Even if her brother would prefer to face her husband on a dueling field than a table at White’s for drinks.
Prudence sighed and returned her attention to the window. She peeled the curtain back and stared out into the streets below. The dark pall cast through the home better matched the day Patrina had disappeared with Albert Marshville, to this, her wedding day. Annoyance twisted inside her. And more…she battled the betrayal of having her judgment and feelings so boldly challenged by those she loved.
She gave her head a wry shake. So this is what her brother had dealt with when Prudence had challenged his regard for the then governess, Juliet.
“Tsk, tsk. Tsk, tsk.” Not for the sixth time, Penelope had clucked her disapproval like a bothersome chicken. Reflected in the windowpane, with her hands primly folded on her lap and disapproval stamped in her features, the middle Tidemore daughter would have earned the pride of their mother for that dour look.
Prudence gritted her teeth and continued to present her back to Penelope. She’d not rise to the younger girl’s bait.
Alas, she’d wager Sin had put Penelope up to her grating lectures these past three days. “You do know it is not too late to reject the gentleman’s offer.” That phrase sternly delivered by Penelope had been uttered with the same mantra-like quality as mother’s previous, no scandal, no elopements, and no rushed marriages prayer.
Annoyance gave way to anger, and she released the curtain. Knowing a calm, emotionless response would grate, she said simply, “I do not intend to reject Christian’s offer. I want to marry him.” And as much as she longed for her family to accept Christian into their fold, their approval would not drive her actions this day. “He will be my husband, Penny,” she said gently. She and Penelope had been partners in crime through the years. This great rift caused a hollowness in her chest.
Yet, for whatever reason, Penelope had developed an almost tangible antipathy for the man she’d soon call brother-in-law. “It was a mistake accepting his offer.” Penelope tightened her mouth. “Or rather offering for him and then accepting his offer.” She paused and gave her a pointed look. “After he rejected you.”
Those words were meant to wound and they did, squeezing at her heart. She dropped her gaze to Penelope’s lap. Her sister crushed the fabric of her skirts. The other girl wanted a fight. That much was clear. “Oh, Penny,” she said softly. She could not fight with her. Not on her wedding day. This was supposed to be one of the happiest days in a lady’s life. “Why can I not make you see that he is a good man?” Well, most ladies.
Her younger sister ceased fiddling with her fabric. “He is a rogue,” she said flatly.
Prudence frowned.
“Reformed rogues make the best husbands.” And lest she forget… “Jonathan is proof of that.”
The other young woman shot to her feet. “How can you not see? He is not reformed. He is a man in need of a fortune. A fortune hunter. You represent nothing more than the means to his way out of debt.” Had she screamed the words, they could not have run through her with such ugly force.
The muscles of her throat bobbed. For the rub of it was, in this regard, her sister was unerringly on the mark. If there had been no fortune, there would be no Christian. God help her. She still wanted him anyway. “Why do you hate him so?” she asked quietly.
Penelope shook her head with an aged wariness better suited to one of far more advanced years. “I hate him because he will eventually hurt you.” Then almost as though an afterthought, she added, “and there will be a scandal.”
Ah, Penny. Sweet Penny who’d spent the better part of three years fashioning herself into a proper, mama-pleasing miss. She’d go through life being someone she was not. How could she know that ultimately one could strive to blend with Society, but you could not ultimately separate your spirit from who you were—even to please the ton. “Oh, Penny,” she began. “There is no scandal this t—”
Frantic footsteps sounded outside the parlor and their gazes flung in unison toward the entrance of the room just as Poppy entered. Their youngest sister froze in the doorway. A newspaper clutched in one hand, Poppy’s chest heaved with the force of her exertions. She borrowed support against the frame. “S-scandal.”
Prudence’s heart missed a beat. “Scandal?” she repeated dumbly.
The youngest Tidemore sibling placed her hands on her knees and leaned forward, gasping for breath. “S-something h-has happened.”
Prudence swung her gaze to Penelope. Indignantly, Penny folded her arms. “I have not caused a scandal.”
Which could only mean…
Poppy continued to suck in rasping breaths. “M-mother and S-Sin. Th-they were…” Her words trailed off as she focused on drawing in air.
Prudence raced across the room. “They were what?” she demanded. She could not conceal the panicky edge underscoring those three words. While her heart thumped loudly in her ears she assured herself that the scandal Poppy spoke of needn’t involve her and Christian. It—
“I-it is about you and the marquess.”
And her heart stopped. Poppy held the paper up. Regret, pity, and fury lit the blues of her eyes.
Prudence stared at the wrinkled pages in her sister’s hand a long moment. She shook her head once and then backed away. Coward that she was, she didn’t want to know the damning words on those pages, because with the same intuition that had driven her out of the shop and into Christian’s arms all those months ago, the same intuition that now told her that those sheets were about to shatter all her illusions of happiness.
Penelope stepped past Prudence and rescued the copy from their younger sister’s hands. “I will take that,” she muttered under her breath.
“It is on the front page.” Poppy stole a sheepish glance at Prudence.
A vise tightened about her lungs, making it difficult to form words. “Wh-what does it…?” Those words trailed off as Penelope’s frantic gaze skimmed the sheet. With each word she read, rage built in her blue eyes until the fire there threatened to singe the gossip column in her hand. “The bastard,” she hissed.
Prudence clutched her hands at her throat and as her sister lifted her eyes, she braced for some triumphant, I-was-of-course-correct expression there. Instead, hurt bled through with the fury in her stare. Perhaps there was another man who’d earned her sister’s ire. Perhaps there was—“Who?” That whispery word slipped past her lips.
“The marquess,” Penelope bit out.
Perhaps there was a greater likelihood of horses flying over the King’s castle. “Let me see.” How did those words emerge so steady? Her sisters exchanged a look. “Let me see!” she demanded, her tone rising in pitch.
Penelope thrust the paper out. “I am sorry,” she said with such gentleness that all her meanness these past three days faded with the evidence of her sisterly loyalty.
With numb fingers she collected the heavily wrinkled copy of The Times. She worked her eyes over the front page. The paper shook in her hands and she gripped the edges hard to steady her grip. Perhaps it was not so very damning and that her sisters were merely being their dramatic Tidemore selves. And—
The Wager that Led to an Heiress
Her heart missed a beat. She closed her eyes a long moment not wanting to read those words, not wanting confirmation that she was, in fact, the heiress they spoke of and not wanting to know of any ugly wager th
at involved her name.
“Do you want me to read it?” Poppy asked with such gentleness, tears popped behind her lashes.
Drawing in a steadying breath, she shook her head once and then forced her eyes open and read.
The Marquess of St. C’s circumstances will improve tremendously this day as he weds the scandalous, Lady Prudence T. It is no secret to the ton, that given the shameful nature of their family’s past, that the lady could not afford to be particular where offers of marriage are concerned. Forced into partnering her on a lost wager, the marquess was heard plainly speaking to the Earl of M and quite correctly stated, “The lady is purported to possess a fat dowry and, with her family’s scandal, would be an easy lady for me to claim. There are certainly worse things than losing a wager to dance with an heiress.”
A most advantageous wager on that gentleman’s part…
The paper slipped through her fingers and sailed to the floor with a soft thump.
“You’re not even really that scandalous,” Poppy put in, sounding as affronted as if they’d had their legitimacy thrown into question.
“Oh, God.” Prudence’s whispered prayer came as though down a long hall. She swayed and dimly registered Penelope and Poppy catching her arms and guiding her toward the sofa.
“I do not even care that he has dogs,” Poppy sputtered. “I despise that Lord Maxwell with every fiber of my being. I wouldn’t have him if Sir Faithful licked his boots in approval.”
Through her sister’s venomous fury, she sought to put order to her suddenly upended world. Surely there was some mistake. Surely…She slid her eyes briefly closed again. Surely she’d not been this much of a fool. Prudence shrugged off her sisters’ hands and stared blankly across the room at the hearth where the fire snapped and hissed. Those cold, callous words printed; those did not belong to the man who’d waltzed her across Lady Drake’s ballroom floor. Or who’d flipped through the pages of her sketchpad.
Captivated by a Lady's Charm Page 24
