A Rogue for Miss Prim (Friendship Series)

by Julia Donner

  Adele had to admit that there was much to admire about the man’s exterior. She caught herself sinking to maudlin adoration, as most females were inflicted with in Treadwell’s company. It was said the man was Lord Byron’s twin with the same physical beauty, dark hair, gray eyes, and romantic air. She brutally squashed a wave of pathetic feminine submissiveness. Any softening of the heart would not do. He was her victim, a useful one at that, and she would get from him exactly what she needed.

  She stood and Mr. Treadwell sprang to his feet, shoving aside the cat as he rose. “Sir, would you care for a walk in the garden?”

  He glanced at the cat. “Will that thing follow?”

  “Most likely, especially since I plan to leave the garden door open, accidentally of course, as we go through. There is always the hope it will dine on a recently poisoned rodent, and the room requires airing.”

  “Ah, I see you are a lady with decided aspirations.” He preceded her to the glass-paned door and opened it. “The day is fine and with a refreshing breeze.”

  “I thought we were dispensing with the weather, Mr. Treadwell,” she said as she stepped outside.

  The garden wasn’t large, but it was well-tended. Mr. Treadwell commented on this as they walked. He gestured to a black granite bench placed in the curve of rhododendrons and she sat. He leaned his back against a tree trunk and planted his Hessians on the brick walkway. Dark curls fell over his brow. She suffered a brief qualm for what she was about to say and do.

  Since he politely waited for her to speak, and she knew the course she wanted to take, she said, “I am well aware of the reason for your calling here today, but would prefer to hear your understanding of this visit. I am perfectly clear in regards to my impression.”

  “If you wish to be entirely candid,” he paused when he noticed the statue of a rotund, boy angel in the center of a water fountain. It was impossible to ignore it since a stream of water arced from an orifice not covered with leaves.

  “I do wish for candor,” she tartly replied. “If you would please remove your attention from the rude cupid and complete your thought, Mr. Treadwell.”

  He pushed away from the prop of the tree, gave the hem of his waistcoat a tug, and straightened his shoulders. “I have the honor and pleasure to beg for your hand in marriage. Your acceptance would make me the happiest of men.”

  She hummed a noncommittal reply and eyed him up and down. “I had suggested candor between us, sir. The subject is merely marriage, not taking a stand in front of the firing wall. Rather than a positive reply to put you out of your misery, I should sooner think to offer you a blindfold.”

  “Miss Prim, on my honor, I—”

  Adele forced herself not to smile as she watched him struggle with the mistake he’d made. In order to maintain the impression of wallflower and later hopeless spinster, she’d had to spend many hours in corners and behind potted plants. She’d thought she’d become accustomed to the laughing and often unkind comments made about her, had made peace with being a figure of fun, but the name Society had given her, coming from this man’s lips, caused a twinge, even though he was quite obviously mortified by the slip.

  She took pity on him. “If you are construing a sonnet in apology of that blunder, do not bother. I am well aware and inured to the moniker, sir. I’ve heard it since the night of my come-out.”

  He did indeed look abjectly sorry. “Miss, I mean, ma’am, I’m making such a bungle of this. Should we start over?”

  “Not at all. I believe I’ve sated my unchristian urge to torture you. It’s time to settle what you’ve come to do and for me to tell you how I should like things to come about. Is that acceptable to you, Mr. Treadwell?”

  Relieved, he exhaled and nodded. With a wave of her hand, she offered him a seat beside her. An odd sensation tingled up her arm when he sat at the end of the bench. She shook it off and concentrated on what she needed to accomplish, but her thoughts had scattered from the unexpected physical reaction to his nearness. Odd, that. Requiring time to recompose her goals, she sank into an unexpectedly comfortable silence as they enjoyed the peace of the garden. He waited for her to resume with no signs of impatience. Perhaps he was more clever than she supposed.

  “Mr. Treadwell, neither of us foresaw this turn of events. Am I correct in supposing your family suggested your course of action?”

  “In truth, I proposed it to my father. I should also say that I know what was expected of me.”

  “Very good, sir. I now have confidence in your candor, therefore, I will present my version. I am not overly concerned about what Society has to say, whether it be gossip or vulgar remarks, such as the item in print in yesterday’s newspaper.”

  “I am excessively sorry about that, ma’am.”

  “You needn’t be. Just so much drivel. We shall hold ourselves above it, sir. Here is what I propose. The benefits for you first. I have an income of twelve thousand a year. How nice of you to not conceal your amazement. But there is much more, as you will no doubt discover when settlements are outlined, although the particulars of my inheritance have never been discussed. I inadvertently learned of the amount and that my parents invested heavily in the funds to assure my future. As husband, you will have it all, as the law requires. But now we shall move to what I require and why I moved this discussion out of doors.”

  When she spied Vera peering from behind a window curtain, Adele felt confident to continue, although she spoke to her lap so that her aunt couldn’t read her lips. “What I need is for a house to be bought for my cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Abercrombie, also an adequate settlement made on them, which allows me to wash my hands of them.”

  “They’ve been unkind to you, Miss Primrose?”

  His eyes conveyed honest concern. “No, sir. Please, I do not wish to convey that impression. It’s that I want my own establishment. This house in particular, which belonged to my father’s family. I’m quite attached to this garden, rude statuary and all, and no, the little fellow stays. I would also require a substantial income, not merely pin money. In turn, sir, I will not meddle with your private affairs. Nor will I complain about your gambling, your friends, or your lack of attendance on me. I have my own interests and concerns. Does that sound agreeable to you, sir?”

  She studied his proud profile when he turned away to study a carved, granite vase. He had a strong nose and chin, elegant cheekbones and a sensitive, sensual mouth. He did look a great deal like his cousin, Lord Byron, which she supposed could be a bit of a bane. Her heart halted and started up at a rapid pace when he suddenly looked directly into her eyes.

  “I shall be perfectly frank, ma’am. I came here today with the hope that you would decline, but now you’ve offered me a convenient way to settle all of my problems in a single event. I believe I will accept your terms, if you will consider mine.”

  A distant warning told her to heed the resolution is his eyes, but the temptation of success beckoned stronger, so close to her grasp. “Very well, Mr. Treadwell, your thoughts and conditions.”

  “My father is not an easy man to please. Marrying you would go a long way to bring me back into his good graces. His approval means a great deal to me. I have substantial, but not ruinous debts, which I assume, you are already aware of. I promise to become responsible, and there will be no hint of any social embarrassments, but there is one thing I must insist upon as soon as it is possible for my father’s sake and peace of mind.”

  “I would never wish to cause distress to your family. What might that concern be?”

  “I want an heir. As soon as possible.”

  Chapter 6

  Gordon watched as Miss Primrose strove to display no outward response, but her eyes had widened slightly. Her golden-green eyes were emphasized by irises encircled in black and shielded by thick, dark lashes. He stared into them for a moment while wondering about her hair color. A snug cap concealed every strand, but her eyebrows were sable brown.

  Sitting next to her, he saw that it wasn’t un
attractiveness that left her sitting on the sidelines at assemblies and kept everyone at a distance. Her features were refined and her complexion delicate. The impression that one must stand back or suffer the consequences came from her outward demeanor, one that it had taken him only a moment to see through. He couldn’t say why he comprehended her so easily, but he did, and felt this with confidence. Miss Prim wasn’t level-headed at all, as his father had said, but as prickly as a hedgehog. He wasn’t dismayed. He’d worked his way around more than a few thorny shrubberies and in the end, turned every one of them up sweet.

  Hiding his enjoyment of the moment, he rephrased his earlier comment. “Miss Primrose, you do understand the gravity, the specifics of marital obligations.”

  Hoarseness, a telltale hint of discomfort was revealed, when she replied to his demand. “That is to be expected, an imperative wifely duty.”

  An evil imp within made him tease, but with decided gravity, “As soon as possible. No waiting.”

  Miss Prim glanced away. Had her eyelids fluttered?

  “Repetition is unnecessary, sir. You made that condition quite clear already. I shall do my very best to comply.” With an odd little twitch of her shoulders, she retook control. “If we are agreed, how do you wish to proceed?”

  “If you will allow me a moment to consider, ma’am?”

  “Most certainly. These are matters which require careful deliberation.”

  She lifted her nose and pinched her lips, suggesting that she would have preferred to get this matter settled and him sent on his way. He wasn’t quite ready for that. He’d just agreed to a monumental life change and the hedgehog sitting next to him happened to have lips a divine shade of pink, now pursed in discontent.

  With the decision to marry came an unexpected but wholly male sense of ownership. Miss Adele Primrose and her excellent dowry were now his. The sudden rush of possessiveness would have been alarming had he not been taken with the notion of how marriage to her was likely going to be anything but tedious. Her confident and officious style sparked a humorous chord. If he had to be leg-shackled to a managing sort, he could not have made a better choice. She promised to see to her own affairs and not seek to intrude on his. He’d heard men complain about their wives continuously expecting them to act as escort to social events, tepid engagements where nothing presented a reprieve from the molar-cracking tedium. Miss Prim had no interest in Society and apparently, none in her future husband. What a darling lass.

  The fact was that he liked women. Really liked them. All kinds of women, as long as they were not the whining, complaining sort. He doubted he could squeeze a whine out of Miss Prim even if he twisted her arm off. She’d give him a defiant, squinty-eyed glare or a brash laugh in his face if he tried.

  She sat across from him now, determined not to show her impatience, but her pretty lips were pressed into a line. The movement of the sprigged muslin covering her lap revealed that she impatiently tapped a foot or jiggled a leg. How would she react if he pressed her back on the bench and gave her a taste of what was to come? He jerked his gaze back to the granite vase, startled by the imagery. Where had that come from? How had he gone from tedium to defiance to intimacy?

  Miss Primrose penetrated his puzzlement with a sharp question. “Well, sir? The day is fading while you decide.”

  “Apologies. I became sidetracked by certain aspects of our union.” When she scrunched her eyebrows into a frown, he answered, “I think the next step is to inform your cousin so that she may place an announcement in tomorrow’s gazettes.”

  “You’ve already spoken to my uncle?”

  “Oh, yes, before coming in to see you.”

  “I see.”

  She stood and he did also, taking her hand. For a moment, he thought she would withdraw, but held still as he bowed, his mouth not quite touching her ink smudged knuckles. Then the imp in him pressed his lips to her fingertips.

  He smiled when he saw that her scowl had become more severe. “Thank you for accepting my proposal, Miss Primrose. If you will excuse me, I should like to speak with your guardians. Will St. George suit?”

  “For what? Oh, you mean for the ceremony. Yes, of course. I care not where it is accomplished.”

  She tugged her fingers free and dipped a curtsey. “Good day to you, sir.”

  Gordon inclined his head and left her at the bench. Before he entered the house, he glanced back out of the corner of his eye. He spied her rubbing where his lips had touched and smiled.

  Chapter 7

  A week before the last of the banns were read, Cecil and Tookie talked him into a dawn ride as a bachelor’s last rite. They’d spent the night carousing and playing cards. They proposed to finish off their time together with a ride to watch the sun come up on the Thames. They rode back to Mayfair, clopping along streets beginning to fill with carts and merchants converging on alleys and squares to sell their wares and fresh produce at back entrances. It was the time of morning when peddlers and servants began their day as the owners of the West End houses were going to bed. Gordon suggested that they leave the street and detour through the park to avoid the increasing bustle and noise.

  The peace of the empty park allowed for the continuation of companionship and sleepy tales of the exploits, sports, and pranks they’d enjoyed at school. Their horses plodded along the road in an easy gait, in step and in companionable quiet. The morning fog had begun to dissipate, earlier than usual, which suggested a sunny day ahead. Cecil rode a sturdy bay, while Tookie looked every inch the splendid horseman. He rode a glossy chestnut, a wiry gelding of vibrant spirit that he was thinking about selling.

  If Gordon had the blunt he would have made an immediate offer for the gelding, one of the finest bits of blood and bone in the city. Whether it was Tookie exerting masterly control or the horse’s excellent training and temperament couldn’t be detected. His seat was in direct contrast to Cecil’s awkward bulk on his big-boned gelding. The bay was a perfect mount for hacking about the countryside, but the horse had none of the flair seen on promenade in Town parks. But then, Cecil had no interest in the Rotten Row social parade and didn’t care much for riding. Tookie rode every afternoon with the hope of glimpsing his lady love, the celebrated Annabelle Percival. He often grumbled that finding her wasn’t terribly difficult. Getting her attention, when she was constantly surrounded by a crowd of admirers, made him tetchy.

  Cecil broke the spell when he murmured, “Gordie, am I seeing things, or is that your intended?”

  “Where?”

  Cecil pointed with his crop. “Over there. By that monstrous great oak tree. Tookie, can you see that far?”

  Tookie squinted. “Why, yes. It does appear to be Miss Primrose. I say, that’s a neatish little gig. No escort. How unusual. Ah, there appears to be a man on the other side.”

  Gordon reined in his horse. He stared at the single horse carriage in the distance. There was no groom or tiger in attendance, since what could be seen of the man on the ground, especially in his manner of dress, showed no evidence of being a servant.

  What was Miss Prim doing at this time of day, meeting a man in the park, and unattended?

  He could sense his friends mentally asking themselves the same question. Their respect for him was conveyed in their silence and a peculiar awkwardness. They cared enough not to make comment on his future wife, but one could scarcely stop from speculating. An assignation with a man in the park was not the sort of thing one associated with the reclusive Adele Primrose. If anything, she was antisocial and always projected the impression she was a stickler.

  His fiancé handed the man a package. Through narrowed vision, Gordon saw that it was paper-wrapped and tied with cord. The man handed back an envelope.

  Cecil whispered, “Sorry, old man, but that looks rather havey-cavey to me. Should we capture the fellow and give him a lessoning?”

  Initially, Gordon had been about to do the very same thing, but when Miss Primrose readily handed over her package, it was quite obv
ious that she was not being waylaid by a thief.

  “Cecil, Tookie,” he said without taking his attention from the gig, “if you wouldn’t mind excusing me, I should like to see what this is all about. My thanks for a marvelous evening.”

  He scarcely noticed their farewells as he left them and headed for the gig. Miss Prim had lifted the reins and the horse took off at a smart trot. The man she’d met with veered onto a path going in the opposite direction.

  Gordon followed the man, knowing he would get Miss Prim’s version of the assignation later. Before his quarry could step out onto the street, Gordon heeled his horse ahead to intercept the man, who fell back against a shrubbery when Gordon wheeled his horse to block the path.

  “Sir, mind your horse!” the man scolded. “You nearly ran me down.”

  Gordon looked down from the height of horseback. His rival could not be defined as a heartbreaker—slender, fine featured enough—but sour-faced. His hat had been knocked askew, and before righting it, showed thinning brown hair touched at the temples with silver. His clothes were well-enough but not tailored with style. He looked like a well-dressed clerk.

  Gordon speared the fellow with his most toplofty glare. “What business do you have accosting Miss Primrose?”

  “I, sir? I would never countenance such an ungentlemanly act. And who is Miss Primrose?”

  “Do not deny meeting her. You hold the parcel she gave you.”

  The man glanced down at the flat package under his arm and pressed it closer to his side. “Sir, you have no right to go about molesting innocent pedestrians and making unwholesome accusations. I know no one by the name of Primrose. I will be about my own business and bid you farewell.”

  Gordon watched him stride away, sending a glare over his shoulder as he crossed the street. He’d moved the parcel to his chest and held it firmly there. Something about the desperate manner in which he clutched the parcel set off alarms in Gordon’s head. It looked bloody suspicious.