Compromising Prudence

by Marguerite Butler

  “I promised to leave you in peace, to occupy myself and I’ve done a wretched job of things. I may be a bit too managing for my own good. I turned your house upside down, invaded your study, kept you from going to your club, interfered with your ability to work — ”

  He cut her off with a kiss.

  Gently. Softly. She had every chance to refuse him, but instead she parted her lips and he drank more deeply.

  He’d wanted to do that all night.

  Her hands slid up his chest and around his neck as she pressed herself closer to him. He’d only meant to stop her self-flagellation, but he didn’t pull away. All through dinner he’d been entranced, watching her. The curve of her lips, the tilt of her head, her husky laugh, everything about her grew more alluring with each hour he spent in her company.

  He didn’t want her to leave him in peace. He wanted her just like this, sweetly inflaming his senses. His arms were around her now, holding her tightly. He would never let go.

  He needed to let go.

  He and Prudence had gone about the entire marriage and courtship the wrong way. They had violated every rule of civil conduct in almost every way imaginable — except for this. He wouldn’t defile her with his base needs. In spite of her sisters’ instructions, Prudence couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to lie together. He needed to stop for both of them. They would get this part right.

  She was not his wife yet. A dim part of his mind suggested that was splitting hairs, but the better part of his nature prompted him to leave her lips and trace her jaw line. She muttered something unintelligible that sounded like a protest.

  Charles planted a kiss on the velvet-soft skin just below her ear. “If I don’t stop kissing you, I’ll do something unforgivable.”

  “Whose forgiveness would you require?” Her voice was dark and husky.

  Oh God, it makes me want her even more.

  He needed to step back, to put space between them. He couldn’t think with her breasts crushed against him. The fabric of her gown was so thin, he could feel every lush curve underneath, warm against his hands.

  He groaned and rested his forehead against hers. “My own. I made a promise to myself.”

  “I won’t hold you to it.”

  “I’m a man, not a beast.”

  “You can be both with me.”

  That did it. He pulled away slightly. “Not tonight, Prudence. Tomorrow I will be your husband, but tonight I will remain a gentleman. I won’t ruin you.”

  “I’m already ruined, thoroughly and completely ruined. Well, actually just a tiny bit ruined because he barely kissed me, but — ”

  “No buts, Miss Wemberly.” He put her firmly away.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “I see. Oh, how very like a man. You will decide what is best for me. You kiss me and arouse me, tempt me with carnal thoughts and then put me aside for my own good. I am heartily sick of being told what I will do and when I will do it!”

  “Prudence — ”

  “Oh, no! I’m Miss Wemberly again, am I not, Mr. Hatterly? Very well, if it’s a dutiful wife in name only that you’re seeking, by all means, I shall leave you to you birds. I’m fatigued anyway.”

  She stormed from the room leaving him in that befuddled state that only she could induce. What the devil had just happened? His bride-to-be was as mercurial as May weather.

  A glass of brandy did little to steady his nerves and so Charles retreated to the only thing in the world that ever made complete sense to him. He went to his study to work.

  Pru spent a restless night plagued by warped dreams of being married in her nightrail. Birds nested in her hair. Tommy Petworth and his wretched friends snickered in the choir loft while Papa and several members of Parliament sang mournful hymns.

  From nowhere, an orchestra broke into a country reel and all the attendants began dancing. Merriment reigned until the music became a waltz and Papa halted the celebration with the announcement that no daughter of his would ever waltz — even though they now allowed the dance at Almack’s. When Mrs. Forbes finally pronounced them to be wed, Hatterly snatched her up and plopped her down on a white mare. He slapped its rear and announced, “Off you go!”

  Perhaps it was the clatter of wheels or the bell of the ragman, but Pru woke uncharacteristically early and summoned her abigail. Her eyes were dry and scratchy from her miserable night. She wanted nothing more than breakfast. She was surprised to find Hatterly already seated in the morning room drinking his coffee and perusing the Times. He set down his paper with a slight frown.

  He did not appear to have spent a night as wretched as hers. He looked rested and quite handsome in his morning coat. But she did need to apologize. She opened her mouth.

  “I’m sorry about last evening,” he said.

  “You are sorry?”

  “Of course I am. Please, sit. Poor honey, you look quite fatigued.”

  She took her place at the table. Lizzie poured her a cup and set a basket of scones within reach. Pru took her time buttering it. Of course she appeared fatigued, the looking glass had told her that much and her abigail had tutted about the circles under her eyes. She didn’t need him to remind her as well.

  He started again. “I’m sorry I made you feel — ”

  “Don’t you dare!” She savagely slathered on more butter.

  Hatterly broke the scone he was holding in half. “Miss Wemberly…Pru…”

  “Don’t you dare apologize for my poor behavior last night.” She set down her scone which was now thoroughly caked in butter. “I am the one who must apologize here. You behaved like a perfect gentleman and I was a horrible little shrew. My anger was not directed at you.” Pru chose her words carefully.

  “I rather thought not.”

  “Did you?”

  “I didn’t mean to be so provoking. Hatterly, you can’t. You just cannot do this.” His brow wrinkled in confusion. “You cannot apologize for everything. You aren’t responsible for my moods. I am not usually so tempestuous. In the last few days I have been so far from myself. I’ve never been anywhere, never done anything. London and Bath have been my whole life. Yet here I am living unchaperoned with a man I met just days ago in a courtesan’s house. I do not drink to excess. I do not invade a gentleman’s study. I do not kiss strangers. I would never run away from home. But here I am. It’s all been a great adventure from the moment I left in the hack. I dare say what seems commonplace to you is exotic to me. You have been patient — more than patient — but I never want you on eggshells around me. If we’re to get on together, you must speak your mind with me.”

  “You want to know what is on my mind?”

  “Please.”

  Thank heavens he was still smiling after all that. Indeed he looked positively indulgent. This man was a complete mystery to her. Papa always said she’d drive a man to murder with her babbling ways and by all rights, Hatterly should be horrified with her. Instead, he looked pleased.

  He looked like he had last night just before he kissed her.

  She never found out what he would have confessed, for the door burst open.

  “See, I told you, Henry. A perfectly nice woman has Charles’ attention.” Graham Hatterly was resplendent in his breeches, striped vest and velvet coat. His excellent shoulders were exaggerated by the padding. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such a complicated neckcloth outside of the ballroom. Graham clearly did not share his brother’s contempt for employing a valet.

  The slender man standing next to him could only be another, younger Hatterly. They shared a common nose and mouth. He studied her through his spectacles. “You’re absolutely correct. She doesn’t look a bit like a finch or a sparrow. Remarkable!”

  “Henry! What the devil are you doing here?” Charles exclaimed.

  “Too fair for a raven. Don’t you agree?” Graham continued on as if his brother hadn’t spoken.

  “Much too fair and not drab enough for a little wren. Perhaps some sort of lesser egret?” />
  “She’s seated right here,” Pru said, much amused. “Perhaps you should ask her yourself.” Still seated, she offered her hand. “You must be yet another Hatterly.”

  The younger brother bowed low over her hand. “Henry Hatterly, your most obedient servant.”

  “Ah yes. The one who explodes things.”

  Graham slapped his knee. “Told you she was a right one!” He pulled up a chair. “Scones. Brilliant!”

  He helped himself, nodding his appreciation as Lizzie appeared with a cup and plate for him.

  “I thought you were joking about breakfast,” Charles said.

  “I never joke about food.” Graham tucked into cold meat pies the moment they appeared.

  “And you — ” Charles turned his attention to Henry “ — you were supposed to be in Strayfield.”

  “I’m not.” Henry took a cup of coffee.

  “Obviously.”

  “Promised Graham I’d meet him for the race. Didn’t tell because you wouldn’t like it.”

  Charles mouth was a grim line. “No, I don’t like it. Keep following Graham’s example and you’ll end up badly dipped again. I won’t rescue you from scrapes forever.”

  “Well, I won’t be dipped because Devil May Care can’t lose. He’s a sure pay out.”

  “You can’t ring a peal over Henry today,” Graham objected. “It’s your wedding day.”

  “My wedding day. Not his. And I’ll ring a peal over him just as long as he’s in my care.”

  “I’m of age,” Henry said.

  Pru ate her breakfast in silence. Watching the brothers bicker made her nostalgic for her sisters. Charles would have two of his brothers present for the wedding, whether he appreciated it at the moment or not. She would have no one.

  Brushing aside her melancholy, Pru rose to her feet. The three men broke off in mid argument.

  “Oh pray, don’t stop on my account,” she said. “I’m only going to see if the footman has returned with my gown. I sent him for the last of my purchases.”

  “Will your attendants be joining us?” Henry asked.

  It was a leveler.

  “There won’t be anyone else joining us,” she said, and left before she became weepy.

  Charles hurt for her. She had looked so disconsolate.

  “Brilliant, Henry!” Graham slapped him upside the head. “This is why you’re unmarried.”

  “We’re all unmarried. Well, Charles is by only a few hours, but you’re bloody well unmarried.” Henry rubbed the back of his head.

  “I’m unmarried by choice. No woman would have you.”

  “No sane woman would marry a birdwatcher. So if Charles can find a bride, anyone can.”

  “You should get dressed,” Graham said.

  “I am dressed,” Charles said with a frown.

  “I meant in your wedding clothes. You can’t jump over the broomstick in your morning jacket and trousers.”

  “This wedding is hardly a formal affair.” Charles drained the last of his coffee. “I expect Prudence to spend a good few hours cloistered with her abigail which means I can squeeze in a bit of work. Entertain yourselves.” He stood, but so did his brothers.

  “Upstairs,” Graham said.

  “Right,” Henry replied.

  They each grabbed him under an elbow.

  “What the devil are you doing?” He thrashed but it was no use. Both brothers had a firm grim.

  “Don’t think of me as your brother,” Graham said. “This instant I am your valet. Let’s get you into something presentable.”

  “And not that damn bottle-green thing you always wear to the club either.” Henry gave a tug to his arm. “Upstairs with you.”

  They subjected him to a ridiculous amount of fussing so that he accused his brothers of being old Tabbys. His wardrobe was exclaimed over and critiqued until he longed to box both their ears. Finally they declared him fit to be married.

  Charles emerged from his chambers to find Miss Wemberly’s new abigail fretting in the hallway.

  “Begging your pardon, sir.” She dropped a hurried curtsey. “But my lady wishes me to inform you that she is unable to be married today.”

  Graham and Henry exchanged glances.

  He was completely flummoxed. “Unable to be…what the devil?” Good God, had she changed her mind? His brothers could be overwhelming but she hadn’t seemed put off by them. Oh, damn it. Henry’s casual remark about attendants had made her sick for home and her family.

  He should have anticipated that. It wasn’t natural for a woman to simply walk away from her family, to turn her back on a loving father and sisters.

  “I’ll go to her,” Charles choked out.

  He entered her room without knocking. Pru sat on the same loveseat where he’d first offered for her in his hamfisted way. Her lovely face was forlorn. Her lower lip trembled, but her eyes were dry. That was something, at least.

  Gowns were spread around the room, a rainbow of fabric and lace.

  “Hatterly!” She leapt to her feet. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “I have been before.” He drew closer to her.

  She paced back and forth. “Yes, but everyone is here now and they know you are here and — ”

  “I expect we’ll have to get married then.”

  “Don’t tease.” She wrung her hands. “We can’t, at least we can’t today.”

  Charles caught her hands. “The day is the problem?”

  “I have nothing to wear,” she wailed.

  He blinked.

  “Nothing to wear?” he repeated. “You must have bought forty gowns yesterday.”

  “But I don’t have the gown, the one I wished to be married in. I have morning gowns and promenade gowns and walking gowns, but nothing appropriate for our wedding. I sent that wretched footman at first light and he still has not returned with my things.”

  Charles pressed a kiss to each hand before releasing them. “What of this one?” He touched a green muslin.

  “I can’t wear that. It’s a walking gown.”

  “Why ever not? Looks very fetching on you.”

  “You’ve never seen that gown on me.”

  He shrugged. “Everything looks fetching on you.”

  She blushed. “Hatterly, I do believe you shall make a superlative husband.”

  “Miss Wemberly — Prudence — I honestly don’t care what you wear. Fashions mean little to me. I intended to be married in my morning coat and trousers.”

  “Oh, no!” Her hands flew up to her cheeks.

  He laughed. “As you see, Graham and Henry had other plans.”

  “And you look splendid. I should look very out of place dressed in nothing more than sprigged muslin.”

  “As I said, you will look fetching in whatever you wear. I refuse to allow something like a gown to interfere with getting riveted today. We will be married and that is final. It isn’t the wedding that matters, darling, it’s the marriage. Ours will be a happy union. Choose any gown you like. We’ll sack the wayward footman if he reappears and send a sharp message to the Registry Office for sending him.”

  She gave him a sheepish smile. “How very masterful you are, Mr. Hatterly. I rather like you that way.”

  “And you are adorable. I may need to kiss you.”

  So he did, very chastely on her forehead. He didn’t trust Prudence not to kiss him senseless given half a chance.

  She shooed him out to change. Graham and Henry were nervously pacing the drawing room.

  “We’re getting married,” he announced to a resounding cheer from his brothers.

  The ceremony took only minutes. They calmly recited their vows in Parson’s office with Graham and Henry attending. Charles found himself understandably anxious. A man didn’t get riveted every day, even if the marriage were a matter of convenience. It was rapidly becoming a happy convenience. Unfortunately, both he and Prudence had forgotten the matter of a ring and so he slid his Cambridge signet ring on her slim finger. The ring w
as ridiculously large, but she held it on with her thumb.

  After Richard Parson pronounced them Mr. and Mrs. Hatterly, he cupped her face with one hand and kissed her so sweetly that no one watching would ever guess theirs was a hasty bargain.

  Graham and Henry thumped his back so enthusiastically he feared for his ribs. He tolerated the thumping with his usual good nature, but drew the line at Graham’s professed intent to kiss the bride. Not that he was so possessive, Charles reasoned, but merely that he couldn’t trust his angelic new wife not to seduce the man with her kiss.

  She had that sort of effect.

  Before they left, Parson drew him aside. “Are you sure about this, Hatterly? Do you really know what…?”

  Charles stopped him with a small gesture. “I’m aware that Miss Wemberly is the subject of gossip.”

  Parson’s shoulders relaxed. “You know who her father is?”

  “Of course I know. Your concern is appreciated, but I have found my mate. She’ll enjoy rattling about the house and making friends in Strayfield.”

  “Until the first time you come tromping though her parlour with muddy boots and a couple dozen eggs, I wager. You really think a London miss will be content to rusticate in Kent? Nothing is final until I file the paperwork. What say I hold the certificate for a couple of days? Then if you — if either one of you — says the word, I’ll burn the papers and no one is the wiser. Your brothers wouldn’t say anything. Well, long as you remind them not to.”

  “I won’t change my mind,” Charles said and went out to offer his arm to his wife who waited in an alcove.

  “Now then, Miss Wemberly, where to? It’s our wedding day and while I cannot offer you a proper trip just yet, we should take in the sights.”

  Her soft lips curved. “It isn’t Miss Wemberly any longer, is it, Mr. Hatterly?”

  He grinned. “I stand corrected, Mrs. Hatterly — although I suppose we should be Prudence and Charles now.”