I love you for the courage you inspire in me.
I love you for making every failing I have feel…less ridiculous.
I love you beyond reason, Jane.
And I know that I will love you and only you for all the days of my life.
Please make me the happiest man alive.
Please marry me, Lady Jane.
And please forgive me if I don’t make a speech at the wedding reception.
Yours with quiet and eternal affection,
Nick
“Oh!” Jane looked up at him, her eyes shining with happiness. “I don’t know what to say!”
“Y-you don’t?”
“I meant, of course, yes! Yes! A thousand times, yes! I only—my goodness, Lord Athmore! I have…I have no words!”
Nick smiled. “Ah, now that is something I understand completely.” He pulled her into his arms, savoring the way she melted into him and tipped her face up to his to welcome his kisses. “I love you, Lady Jane.”
“Those are the only words I shall ever need to hear you say, dear sir.”
“Thank God!”
He kissed her, a tender onslaught of kisses that swept away everything else and left only glorious promises of the years to come.
“Happy Christmas, my darling.”
“Happy Christmas.”
Finis
To Tempt a Saint
By
Valerie Bowman
Chapter One
London, 4 days before Christmas 1813
Prudence Carmichael fell out of her chair. Literally. She was lying on the floor in a heap of pristine white muslin skirts with one of her hairpins sticking into the side of her head at an unmerciful angle, by the time she was jolted awake.
She was punctual. She was organized. She was clever. She was kind. She was sweet to her younger sisters and a friend to her older brother. She was also hideously clumsy with the slightest penchant for falling asleep at the most inopportune times. Like just now when Mama had been reading her Bible verses of all things.
“Prudence, good heavens. What in the world is the matter with you?” Mama called from across the drawing room, a frown on her face and the stalwart Good Book clutched in her hands. Pru scrambled up while her younger sisters did their best to stifle their giggles. Oh, good heavens, she was the worst sinner imaginable. It didn’t matter that it was unbearably hot in the drawing room today what with her proximity to the fireplace, nor that she’d heard all of the Bible verses an alarming number of times. No. The fact was that she was supposed to be quietly listening to Mama while perusing her list of items to take with her to the Westons’ Christmastide house party in Kent. They were leaving for Lady Weston’s in the morning.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Pru muttered sheepishly as she slid back into her seat and pressed the balls of her hands to her eyes in an effort to wake herself. She leaned down and gathered the paper that had contained the list of items. Normally, her maid saw to her clothing, but Pru, being the kingdom’s biggest fusspot (or one of them at least), always made it a point to check everything twice. Didn’t St. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians say, “Let all things be done decently and in order?” Those were words Pru lived by.
Mama delicately closed the Bible with a long sigh. “I suppose that’s enough for today.”
Faith and Charity squealed with obvious excitement, stood, and all but ran from the room. At twenty, Prudence was the eldest of the three girls. Her fourteen-year-old sisters had never been much for either following rules or listening to Bible verses. And fusspots, they were not. Pru envied them. She shook her head watching them go. “Where do you think they’re off to?”
“Up to no good, most likely,” Mama replied, hugging the Bible to her chest. “But I’m pleased we have an opportunity to speak alone, actually.” Mama paused. “There’s something I wanted to mention to you, dear, before we arrive at the Westons’ party.”
Prudence glanced up. The tone of her mother’s voice was serious. “Oh?”
“Yes.” Still clutching the Bible, her mother picked a spot of imaginary lint from her pristine plum-colored skirts. Then she lifted her gaze and stared directly at her daughter. “Prudence, it’s time you found a husband.”
If she could have fallen off the chair again, Pru very well might have. Instead, she sat rooted to it, cocking her head to the side and blinking at her mother as if she’d just said something much more shocking.
“A husband?” Pru echoed. She snapped her mouth shut and thought about it. It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected this moment. She’d been out for two Seasons now and it was certainly past time by most anyone’s standards. But somehow she’d been under the impression that, well, it would just happen. That she would meet a particular gentleman somewhere someday and it would simply be obvious that he was the man destined to be her husband. The Lord would provide and all of that. She hadn’t exactly contemplated the fact that there might actually be work involved in the search for a husband. Though why exactly she hadn’t thought of it, she wasn’t entirely sure at the moment.
“Yes,” Mama repeated. “A husband.” She finished with a little pat on the Bible as if for good luck. “It’s long past the time that you were settled.”
Pru wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. Her mama was right. “You intend for me to locate a husband at Lady Weston’s Christmastide house party?”
The blond-gray curls on her mother’s head bobbed. “I’m not certain I would use the word locate, dear, but yes, if at all possible. It would be ever so convenient.”
Pru contemplated this news for a moment. She did not want to disappoint her mother or her father. And if Mother said it was time to find a husband, it was time. “Do you have someone in mind?” She was always practical. Well, except for that one unfortunate incident in the Culpeppers’ gardens, but champagne had been to blame for that. Though she supposed she had been to blame for consuming the champagne. No point quibbling over it at present, however.
Mama pressed her lips together and peered at her. “I was hoping, Pru, that you might have someone in mind. Some young man you’ve taken a fancy to, perhaps?”
Pru scrunched up her nose and mentally catalogued all the young men of her acquaintance. There were some clever ones, to be sure. Some handsome ones. Some witty ones. A few of them even had more than one of these traits simultaneously. Clearly, a boon. But none of them particularly stuck in her memory. None of them came to mind as she contemplated anything as important as a husband. In fact, the only eligible gentleman who stuck in her memory had turned out to be not eligible at all. But Pru refused to think of that ne’er-do-well at a time like this. Besides, the reason he stuck in her memory was for an entirely inappropriate reason. He wasn’t husband material in the least. He was the one man who had tempted her into sin. He was a devil.
Deliberately shoving aside all thoughts of him, she said, “I cannot say I’ve taken a fancy to anyone in particular, Mama.”
“Well, Agatha, Lenore, and Pamela are convinced their daughters need help in that quarter—choosing the correct gentlemen, I mean—but I told them that you, why, you’re so sensible, Pru. You’d never make a mistake in choosing a husband of all things. But if you should like my counsel, I’m happy to offer it.” Her mother finished with a pleasant smile and more agreeable head bobbing.
Pru took a deep breath. A husband. Fine. She would think about this logically. Just like she did with packing her trunks or studying her Bible verses or French verbs. There was an order to everything if one contemplated it long enough. There had to be a way to manage this.
Pru set aside her list of items to pack, stood, and crossed over to the writing desk in the corner where she secured a piece of paper and a quill. Another list was obviously in order. Lists solved problems. “Very well,” she said, turning to face her mother, the quill poised above the vellum. “Which guests will be at the house party?” She should begin inventorying the potential bridegrooms immediately.
Her mother’s face
bloomed with a large smile. She tapped her finger against her cheek. “There’s Stephen Pemberly of course, and the Earl of Weybourne, Captain Ponsonby, Lord Trent Ballantine, Viscount Munthorpe, and Lord Timothy Beasley. I hear Athmore is coming as well, but he’s so dreadfully unsocial. Though obviously eligible.” Mama shook her head.
Prudence pursed her lips as she transcribed the names. They were all fine gentlemen whom she’d met before.
“All perfectly acceptable candidates,” Mama finished.
“I agree,” Prudence answered, putting the final flourish on the last name. She perused her list. Were there two r’s in Munthorpe or just one?
Mama stood. “Oh, and there’s a rumor that Stephen is bringing that scoundrel Christopher Chance with him. At least that’s what Agatha told me. Apparently Stephen asked her for permission to include him. And she said yes, if you can believe it. I love her dearly, but I must say, Agatha can be a bit lax with her guest list at times.” Mama clucked her tongue.
Prudence’s mouth went dry. Normally, she would point out to Mama that they had been invited so the guest list couldn’t be too lax but Pru hadn’t heard much else after two words. “Chr … Christopher Chance?” She tugged at the unfashionably high, duly modest collar of her gown.
Mama rolled her eyes and caressed the cover of her well-worn Bible. “Yes, he’s been out to sea for a year, I’ve heard. The heir presumptive to the Earl of Arundell, you know. But rumor has it he’s a—Oh, I shouldn’t even mention such riff-raff in your presence, dear, forgive me. Let’s just hope Stephen has more sense than to bring someone like him into polite Society even if his mother did agree to it.” Mama made her way over to Pru and patted her hand. “At any rate, I know you’ll steer clear of him, dear. Now, I must go see to the twins’ packing. I’m certain if it was left to them, they’d bring nothing but peppermints and an odd stocking.”
Mama trotted away and the door closed behind her, but Pru’s heart continued to pound like the vicar’s fist against the pulpit during a particularly earnest Sunday sermon. Finally, she expelled her breath in a heated rush.
Christopher Chance.
Pru was well acquainted with the man. A bit too well acquainted with him, in fact. Her mother didn’t need to tell her what rumor had it that he was. Pru already knew all about it. Had read it in the papers. Scoured them for such news, if she was being honest. And he’d been gone for eighteen months, not a year. For Christopher Chance was the man who had led Prudence Carmichael into temptation. A temptation she didn’t let herself think about. A temptation she never spoke of. And a temptation she desperately wished she could wipe away, not only from her memory but from her list of sins, short sad little list that it was. Her encounter with Mr. Chance was the pièce de résistance of the list, of course. And oh, what an encounter it had been. Unplanned. Unexpected. Unacceptable. Though not unwelcome, but of course that had been before she’d realized he was betrothed and champagne was the devil’s work and—Oh, none of that mattered now. Prudence was on her way to the house party to find a suitable husband. A decent one. An honorable one. That was all there was to it.
Her mission was quite simple. She was off to find a man who would never put the thought of sin in her head. The exact opposite of Christopher Chance.
Chapter Two
“You want me to do what and go where with you?” Christopher Chance riposted as his friend Stephen Pemberly lunged at him. They were at the infamous Brompton’s Saloon on Old Bond Street and had been both fencing and giving each other hell for the better part of an hour.
“You heard me, Chance. It’s a Christmastide house party at our estate in Kent. Mother’s sent the invitations round. I’ve asked for special dispensation to bring you along. Besides where else do you intend to spend the holiday, raping and pillaging on the high seas?”
“I daresay it’ll be a sight better than spending them with a lot of overbred young ladies and their scandalized mamas in Kent.”
“Nonsense. They won’t be scandalized. They’ll be thrilled to have you.”
“Weren’t you just telling me minutes ago that my rumored piracy is on the front page of the Times today?”
“Bah. It’s merely a rumor, nothing more. I, myself, find it hysterical. Christopher Chance, Arundell’s heir, rumored to be the infamous pirate, Deveraux. Besides, someone’s got to be on the front page of the Times. Mother always says, the more people are talking about you, the better.”
“Yes, well, I don’t happen to share your sister’s penchant for fame. And I don’t care if it is just a rumor. It’s a lot of rubbish.”
“But it’s fascinating rubbish, you must admit,” Stephen replied. “And as long as it remains merely a rumor, your presence is in high demand at all the ton’s affairs.”
“Idiots,” Chance mumbled under his breath as Stephen lunged at him again and Chance blocked the blade. “At any rate, I’m not certain going to a house party is the best idea. I’m on the strictest orders to stay out of any and all trouble until after the first of the year when I can plead my case to the Lord Chancellor. And prove I’m not a bloody pirate.”
“And stay out of trouble you shall,” Stephen replied with a laugh. “How much trouble can one get up to at a Christmastide house party with a lot of innocents?”
Chance parried again. “You don’t seriously want me to answer that do you?” He gave his friend a biting smile.
Stephen riposted again and rolled his eyes. “Stay in Father’s study, away from the innocents. We’ll drink, we’ll play cards, we’ll discuss your travels. It’ll be like old times at Oxford. There shall be absolutely no trouble whatsoever.”
Chance slashed his blade through the air, barely missing Stephen’s middle. He was breathing heavily now. “Might I remind you that even at age of seven and twenty, trouble still has a knack for following me about? Hence, the circumstances in which I find myself at present.”
Stephen slashed his blade too close to Chance’s middle this time. He was breathing heavily, too. “Come with me to Kent. It’ll be perfectly boring, I assure you.”
Chance snorted. “Despite the scandalized mamas and their offspring?”
“You’re the heir to an earldom for God’s sake. Scandalized mamas will look the other way when an earldom is involved, even for a pirate.” Stephen grinned at him, just before lunging at him yet again. Chance easily sidestepped the blow. But Stephen was certainly a match for his skill. He’d improved since Chance had been out to sea. Apparently, his friend had been practicing.
Chance flashed the same grin that a princess in the Far East had once told him could get a girl into entirely too much trouble. “I’m the heir presumptive to an earldom and the last time I heard, Arundell is fit as an ox and married. His wife may yet give birth to a strong, healthy lad.”
“His wife is well past forty, and he’s yet to sire an heir,” Stephen countered. “Besides, the rumors are already out there. What does it matter?”
Chance took a deep breath and steeled himself for his next question. “She isn’t going to be there is she? With her husband, the duke.” Chance sneered the last word and his blade slashed angrily through air.
Stephen managed to sidestep the blow. “He’s not a duke.”
“Yet. For now he’s merely a marquess.” Another sneer from Chance and another slash.
Stephen jumped out of the way this time and raised an eyebrow at his friend. “To answer the question, no. Mary Anne won’t be there. I rarely see her these days. She’s been hidden away in the country ever since her marriage.”
Chance parried Stephen’s next blow. “No doubt her own desire.”
“I’m not convinced about that, but at any rate, she won’t be there.”
The sound of their clashing blades filled the padded room.
“Very well. Who will be there? There’s a short list of people who may want my head and I’d like to emerge from Christmastide very much alive, if you please.”
Stephen launched into a long list of names of perfectl
y respectable and perfectly responsible members of the ton. “You may want to steer clear of Simon Ponsonby, of course. Being a Captain in the Royal Navy, he doesn’t take kindly to pirates.”
Chance rolled his eyes. “I’m not a pirate.”
“Ponsonby doesn’t know that,” Stephen replied with another grin and another flourish of his foil.
Chance rolled his eyes. “Anyone else I should steer clear of?”
“No. I think I’ve mentioned everyone who’s coming. Hmm. Oh, the Marquess of Carlisle and his wife and daughters including Lady Prudence will be there. And Clayton, of course. I’ve no idea their stance on piracy, however.”
Chance didn’t even respond to his friend’s ribbing this time. Lord Clayton Carmichael was the son of the Marquess of Carlisle, a good chap, but that was not the name that made Chance’s head snap up. “Lady Prudence?”
“Yes, Lady Prudence Carmichael. Gorgeous girl, but a bit of a bore if you ask me. I’ve barely heard her speak a word and the few I have, have been quotes from the Bible if I recall correctly.”
“I remember her,” Chance mumbled. Another lunge. And she hadn’t been quoting the Bible when he’d met her.
“I don’t doubt it with her looks.” Another parry. “I’m leaving for Rivercrest Hall first thing in the morning. I’ll stop by on my way to collect you if you’ll come.”
That just decided it for him. Chance would go to the party. Blast it. But not for the reason Stephen believed. It wasn’t her looks that made Chance remember her. It was what had happened between him and Prudence Carmichael in the Culpeppers’ gardens well over a year ago. Lady Prudence had reason indeed to dislike him. And if their last encounter was anything to judge by, unfortunately, her presence just might spell trouble. But he had something to say to Lady Prudence. And it was worth the risk.
Chapter Three
Kent, 3 days before Christmas
Pru eyed the line of young men standing in the Westons’ marble-floored foyer filled with fragrant-smelling evergreen boughs and bright Christmas ribbons. Each gentleman was as young, and healthy, and fit, and titled as the next. Excellent choices. The Earl of Athmore wasn’t in their midst, but that was to be expected. The man holed up in his guest quarters at most social events. She surreptitiously glanced at the line again. They were all handsome, though some more than others. Tempting? Perhaps. Not as tempting as Christopher Chance had been, but they could hardly be blamed for that. Still, sin was a concern with any number of these young men. Hmm.
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