Prudence chewed her lip. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I am?” He turned back to her. His gray eyes held such surprise that she laughed.
She felt so deliciously warm and floating, not quite real. If only her corset would allow it, she would loll against the padded back of the loveseat. “Perhaps I am not suited for life as a courtesan.”
“I’m relieved that you see reason.”
“I shall become a mistress.”
He blinked at her a moment, then swore under his breath. “You do need a protector!”
She stroked her skirts. The material was soft as a kitten. “You are sadly correct. I do. That’s why I’m here, to throw myself upon Mrs. Tuppence’s mercy.” Her fingers traced the pattern on the material.
Flowers. Pretty.
I probably shouldn’t have had all that champagne.
“Your voice is odd.” She had difficulty focusing on him. Either he was swaying or she was. “Are you American?”
I can’t be swaying. I’m seated.
The thought made her giggle.
He dropped back onto the loveseat. “You should go home. You’ve had your bit of fun.”
She grinned, heartened by the sheepish expression on his handsome face.
“Yes, we both have,” he admitted. “I hope no one else has seen you here. Go home to your family. Seek their guidance and their protection.”
“If only that were possible.” Her eyes stayed on her skirt. Kissing him had made her feel bold, brazen even, but the reality of her situation came rushing back at her.
“Is it not?”
She shook her head, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. “I told you I was at point non plus and I meant every word. Papa is putting me out of the house.” It was painful to confess her sins and look him in the eye. She did anyway. “I’m compromised, you see. I was caught alone with a man who won’t marry me. I’m not quite the complete innocent you imagined.”
“Ah.” He looked down at his drink.
“It’s all so unfair. I’m ruined and I haven’t even done anything fun. One tiny little kiss and my life is over — as if I’m the only girl to ever have a man steal a kiss!” Pru snatched back up her glass. “It was barely even a kiss. If one is going to be ruined, it should be worth it, don’t you think?” She gestured with the handing holding the glass, slopping champagne over the side.
His lips twitched. “Most certainly. One should enjoy one’s ruin.”
“That’s exactly it.” Finally, someone understood. She took a drink of her champagne. “And I didn’t enjoy being ruined at all. Well, not much.”
She would enjoy herself from now on. She would be a notorious mistress and would never be embarrassed again.
“Your mother agrees to your father simply turning you out? She won’t help you?”
“My mama is dead.”
He was far too handsome for her peace of mind, with dark hair that fell across his forehead and grey eyes that had turned serious. His hair had felt so nice under her fingers.
“I’m sorry. We seem to share a common problem: mothers who have gone and fathers who are displeased.”
Pru lifted her glass. “To motherless children everywhere.”
Charles caught her wrist before she could drink. “You really are foxed if you believe Dorothea’s house is your only option.”
“Oh, what would you know?” She attempted to free her wrist.
He took her glass away. “More about appeasing angry fathers than you can imagine. Mine is still abroad, but eventually he’ll return and force me to marry. I’ve managed to stall the inevitable by putting in an appearance at the yearly marriage mart, but Father knows I’m not really trying. He’ll probably insist I marry exactly the sort of woman I detest, a fitting punishment.” He sipped his brandy morosely. “I tried tonight at the ball. I really did. But not a blessed one of those girls was interested in me except as a sop to her parents’ ambition. I’m only practice for the hunt until better game comes along. I’m strictly second tier and they won’t pay me any mind until the season grows late. By then I’ll be back home. I never last more than a few weeks at this. God, I hate London.”
She was too quiet.
He looked over. “Hell.”
Her eyes were closed. As he shifted off the loveseat she fell back against the arm. He’d been talking more to himself than her anyway, but now what? He could hardly leave her here like this.
“Great heavens,” Dorothea said. “What have you done with the girl, Charles?” The auburn-haired courtesan stood in the doorway with a puzzled smile.
“Apparently bored her to sleep — although I imagine the champagne had a fair amount to do with it.”
“Who is she?”
“I hoped you might know.”
“I’ve never clapped eyes on the chit before.”
“Didn’t she give her name?”
“Robert says she simply showed up asking to see me, claimed her name was Cerulean, if you can imagine such a preposterous thing.” Dorothea rolled her eyes. “He put her here and plied her with champagne to keep her out of the way. I’ve no idea who she is or what she wants but she most certainly can’t stay here. I can’t afford to deal with the inevitable angry father on my doorstep.”
“I’ll take her to my house.”
She stared hard at him, a single eyebrow raised in amusement. “You can’t be serious. I know that none of my girls captured your attention, darling. I thought you wanted to avoid the parson’s mousetrap, but that is exactly what will happen when her family discovers where she is.”
Charles looked down at the sleeping girl. “Perhaps I will get riveted to her. That would teach Father a lesson, wouldn’t it? To marry some girl I found in a brothel? She’s rather lovely.”
Dorothea moved into the room, closing the door carefully behind her. “She looks perfectly ordinary to me.”
“You haven’t seen her eyes or heard her laugh. She’s very appealing in a sweet way.”
And she kisses like a demon.
“You sound smitten, Charles.”
“Perhaps I am a bit. She’s a taking thing.”
“I never thought I would see the day. I can’t just let you have her.”
“You know I don’t mean to harm her.” Charles leapt to his feet. “I’m not going to molest her as she sleeps. She can’t stay here; she said she was ruined by a man who refused to marry her and her family has turned her out. She came to you seeking guidance on how to be a harlot or a mistress. I think she’d decided to be a mistress.”
“I would have told her how not to become one. Although a mistress often has better time of it than a wife if she has the right protector.”
He didn’t like the speculative gleam in Dorothea’s eye. She was notoriously tender-hearted for girls down on their luck, but not above making a profit on their misfortune. Men paid handsomely for introductions to the right sort of mistress. He wondered if she put out the stories of her helpfulness to lure desperate girls to her door.
“This girl is not for sale,” Charles said firmly.
“How mercenary you make me sound! I was hardly going to auction her off upstairs. Darling, you have no idea how much business I turn away.” She waved a languid hand. “I have no need to engage in as dangerous a matter as selling a society miss.”
“I’ll take her to my house and have a maid sit with her until she wakes. I’ll find out where she belongs and return her. A girl like that must have some family to care for her.”
“You Americans, always surprising.” Dorothea shrugged. “She’d bring me nothing but trouble. I’ll have your carriage brought around to the back. No one needs ever know she crossed my threshold.”
Chapter Two
PRUDENCE GROANED, STRUGGLING UPRIGHT through mounds of silken sheets. Her head throbbed and her mouth was gritty. With a mortifying flash, the previous day’s events returned to her. She had gone to find Tommy against Papa’s wishes and —
Her eyes flew open.
Where am I?
She certainly wasn’t in her own bed. The heavy curtains were still drawn, but this was not her house, not her room. Was this the house of Dorothea Tuppence? Pru frowned. There were no naughty statues or seductive paintings, no gilt or elaborate furnishings — although the sheets felt rather nice. The furniture was dull, heavy wood draped with lace adornments, entirely respectable. She searched for a clock.
Beady eyes stared down at her above a sharp beak and fierce talons. She let out a little shriek.
“Are you all right, miss?”
A plain woman in a maid’s uniform sat across the room from Pru in a tall-backed armchair.
“That.” Prudence pointed at the terrifying vision and immediately felt foolish. The monster was merely a stuffed bird. “Sorry. It looked fierce.”
“S’all right, miss.” The maid grinned. She was much younger than Prudence had thought, just a girl really. “The master has them all over the house. Gives you a fair start if you’re not expecting them.”
The master? Prudence shrank back, drawing up the covers. Her mind raced for possible answers. Mrs. Tuppence had given her to someone. Had she agreed to go? She could only remember the night through an alcoholic veil. Had she really agreed to become some man’s mistress?
Or worse.
What if she were a prisoner? Perhaps the maid was here to guard her.
Prudence flung the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her head swam in protest. She subsided with a groan and a shiver. “Whose gown is this? Who undressed me?”
“It’s Miss Hatterly’s gown. This is her room when she’s in London. I helped you last night, miss. You weren’t in any shape to undress yourself.” Prudence relaxed. The strange place hardly seemed like a seraglio. “Can I fetch you something, miss? Tea? Something for breakfast?”
The thought of food made her stomach heave. “Tea would be lovely.”
“Right then.” The maid headed for the door. “I’ll be back in snap, miss, but if you think of anything else, there’s the pull.” She gestured at a silken cord hanging over the bed. With a little curtsey, the maid was gone.
After slipping on a dressing robe left helpfully draped on the foot of the bed, Prudence hurried to the door and peeked out. There were no guards and nothing suspicious, simply a hallway with a plush rug and an ornate mirror across the way. She gasped when she saw her reflection. The owner of the gown and robe must be very small indeed. Her legs stuck out several inches from the fabric. Her hands went to her wild snarl of hair. She had gone to bed with a head full of pins and the result made her look like that woman who turned men to stone.
“I’m Medusa in an ill-fitting gown.”
“My thoughts exactly.” A man was leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, looking exactly as he had the first time she had seen him.
“You!”
Here was her handsome charmer from Mrs. Tuppence’s house. He looked fresh and cheerful in a blue morning coat and buff trousers with his dark hair impeccably coiffed. His neckcloth was simple, but as elegant as the man himself. His features were even more attractive in the light of day and he was taller than she had realized the night before.
“I was beginning to worry you would sleep all day. Care for a bit of breakfast?” he asked with a mischievous grin.
She shuddered. “I sent the maid for tea.”
“I have a better idea.” He came to her rapidly. She recoiled in alarm and went to close the door, but he blocked her with his boot. “Relax, my dear. I don’t mean to molest you. If I had, I would hardly have stationed a maid to watch over you in the night, now would I?” He pressed past her and crossed to the wardrobe with the leering hawk on its top. “Frances keeps it in here. She thinks I don’t know.”
“Frances?”
“My sister. Here.” He took out a small flask, pouring a finger’s width of amber liquid into a glass. “Drink this.”
“I’ll wait for my tea.”
“This will help. A hair of the dog and all that. Trust me on this.”
She reluctantly allowed the door to close and took a healthy swig from the glass, choking as the liquid burned a trail down her throat. “Vile!”
“Port,” he corrected.
Prudence curled up in the chair where the maid had slept, tucking her shockingly bare ankles back under the seat. “I’ll wait for the tea if you don’t mind.”
“Not much of a drinker, are you?”
She shook her head, closing her eyes against the misery. “No,” she said faintly. “I’ve never done that before.”
“I don’t imagine you will again.”
She colored. “None of it.” She put her hands over her face. “What have I done?”
“That is the question, isn’t it? What have you done?”
“What haven’t I done lately?” She ticked her sins off on her fingers. “In the past twenty-four hours I have ruined myself beyond all recognition, added humiliation on top of it, and been tossed out of the house for the same by my Papa.” Pru cocked her head. “Have I forgotten anything? Oh, yes — I got foxed at a famous Cyprian’s, kissed a complete stranger and then apparently spent the night under his roof.”
“In his sister’s bed under the watchful eye of his maid,” he added helpfully.
“Society will hardly see my actions that way,” Pru said. “I don’t suppose it signifies now anyway. Ruined is ruined. I can hardly be more ruined now than I was when I arrived.”
There was a tentative knock at the door. The maid brought the tea and a warm buttered scone. “Your tea, miss.”
Her eyes went wide at the sight of the master in the room. Prudence blushed and drew the robe tighter, aware of how she must look to the maid.
“Thank you, Lizzy. Leave the tray on the table.” His gray eyes glinted with amusement. “Unless you feel the need for her to stay.”
“Hardly matters, does it? I thought we had established that.”
Lizzy bobbed another curtsey and held her tongue. Maybe it wasn’t so odd for her to cater to strange women with naked ankles in this household.
“Charles Hatterly,” he said.
“Who?” The first drink of tea was heaven, hot and strong. She didn’t add any sugar or cream. The bitter bite of the tea made her feel more human immediately.
“Charles Hatterly. It’s my name. I thought you might be curious.”
“I was about to find my way to that part.” Despite her previous judgment, the scone smelled rather good.
“Your turn.” Mr. Hatterly leaned back in his chair.
“I’m glad you find this so amusing.”
“Entertaining is the word,” he said. “Please don’t think I’m making light of your dilemma, but this is the most entertainment I’ve had since I’ve been in London. Well, in ages actually.”
The wretched man was enjoying her predicament.
We’ll just see about that.
“Prudence.” She sipped her tea primly.
“Excuse me?”
“You wanted my name. It’s Prudence.”
Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Not really.”
She held his gaze evenly. “Yes, really.”
Don’t you dare laugh at me!
“Prudence?” His shoulders shook. He was working hard not to laugh at her. His mirth was contagious.
Her own mouth twitched. “Ironic, isn’t it?” He was going to make her laugh as well.
He grinned. “Tell me you don’t have sisters.”
A giggle started in her chest. “Two. Constance is the oldest.” The laughter bubbled up.
“Is she fickle?”
Pru choked on her tea. “Notoriously so.” She set the cup down to keep from spilling. “And then there’s Grace. She breaks things.”
He threw back his head and laughed. She joined him until they were both wiping tears. Upon surreptitious examination, Mr. Hatterly was impressively handsome and his clothes were fine. Why di
dn’t she know him?
“I suppose Papa tempted God with such absurd names for us and now we are his just desserts.”
“He certainly got his comeuppance with you. I can’t believe you found your way to a brothel.”
There was something not quite right about his speech, a peculiar flatness to the vowels. It was almost the voice of a gentleman. Almost wasn’t good enough in London. “You’re American!”
“Father was. I was born there. We didn’t come to England until I was ten. The family spent a lot of money on schools trying to beat the American out of me. What gave me away?”
“Your speech. I’m marveling that we’ve never met. You must not spend much time in London.”
“As little as possible,” he admitted. “I come to pacify my father and pretend I’m looking for a bride. I really tried this time. I meant to.” He frowned. “Still, I do put in my appearance during the Season, so it is surprising that we haven’t met. I would’ve remembered you.”
She hoped he meant that in a good way. “Papa was very particular about where I was allowed to go. He kept a tight rein.”
“But forgot to close the barn door.” Mr. Hatterly moved his chair around to sit right next to her. “Tell me what happened.”
Chapter Three
MR. HATTERLY SEEMED GENUINELY concerned. Now that Pru was fully sober, she hadn’t intended to open her budget to him.
There was something in the way he looked at her. Oh, he seemed amused at her predicament, but not maliciously so and he had removed her from the brothel before she’d come to harm.
She still hesitated. For some reason his opinion mattered. It shouldn’t. She was his entertainment. Hadn’t he already said so? He was also her rescuer and if he was less than Galahad — who certainly wouldn’t have mocked her name — she would indulge him.
Pru took a steadying breath and plunged in. “The story of my ruin is mortifying.”
“More so than last night?”
“In a way,” she admitted. “I don’t have the excuse of drink.”
“No need to stand on points. I’ve done a few bacon-brained things myself in the past.” His smile was encouraging. How unfair for him to be handsomely dressed when she was still clad in his sister’s cast off gown.
Compromising Prudence Page 2
