One thing still bothered him. Prudence might want to seem like an angel but he’d seen her passionate side. She was trapped behind Bible verses and rules. The true Prudence, the one he’d met in the Culpeppers’ garden, wasn’t someone who cared overly much about Society’s laws. Though she certainly seemed to now. Or had at least said she did last night . . . before she kissed him. But the last thing he needed was trouble with the Prince Regent, the man who might well have a great deal to say about whether his little problem with being falsely accused of piracy was resolved and his name cleared.
Regardless, Chance had caused Prudence pain. Stephen had confirmed as much. Chance wasn’t much one for guilt but he owed her an apology. Again.
Chapter Thirteen
Dinner that night was uneventful compared to the previous evening’s betrothal. When the men joined the ladies in one of the drawing rooms to play cards after the meal, Lord Beasley was nowhere to be found. Pru had already decided she had to stay far, far away from Christopher Chance and renew her efforts to engage Lord Beasley, however difficult that was proving to be. The first step of course was obviously locating the man.
Jane appeared at Pru’s side. “I have it on good authority that Lord Beasley is taking a stroll in the conservatory,” Jane whispered with a bright smile.
“Do you mind standing lookout again? Tell Mother I’m off to use the convenience if you must,” Pru replied with a conspiratorial grin.
“I’m perfectly happy to keep an eye out here but I refuse to stand guard outside of the conservatory,” Jane said with a mock frown. “Not after what happened last time.”
“An eye is all I ask,” Pru replied quickly, squeezing her friend’s hand. She waited for her mother’s attention to be diverted by choosing a partner for whist—Mama was a cutthroat whist player and felt the selection of the best partner was an essential element of winning the game. Mama was soon involved in a heated debate over whether Lady Weston should partner with Lady Portland when Pru stood, gathered her skirts, and quickly exited the drawing room.
The corridors of Rivercrest Hall were dark and chilly. A few candles were lit here and there to help servants and wandering guests find their way, but it took Pru a while to navigate to the back of the enormous house and find the entrance to the conservatory.
She would not make the same mistake this time. She would be methodical about it. Orderly. She would begin on one end and mark off the grid, ensuring she’d covered every square inch of the conservatory lest the elusive Lord Beasley evade her once again.
She’d gone halfway through the glorious maze of flowers, plants, and trees before she stopped short once again in the small orange grove. Someone was behind her. Could it be Lord Beasley?
She held her breath and swiveled.
Christopher Chance came around the corner. He was quietly . . . whistling?
“Ah, Lady Prudence, there you are.”
Her mouth fell open in amazement. “Are you following me?”
“It’s not obvious?” His grin was unrepentant.
“Why? Why are you following me?”
“I want to apologize to you.”
Her mouth fell open farther. “Apologize? To me?”
“Yes. I wanted to do so the first day I saw you here, but you wouldn’t allow it. Now it seems I have another transgression for which to ask for forgiveness.”
She pressed a fist to her hip. “Are you mocking me?”
“Never.” His eyes flashed like gray steel in the light from a few candles sprinkled about the space.
“So what exactly are you apologizing for then, Mr. Chance?”
“I merely wanted to tell you that I’m truly sorry for what happened between us in the Culpeppers’ gardens. I understand that it’s caused you guilt. And judging by the number of Bible verses I’ve heard you quote in the last two days, I assume last night may have also caused you guilt. I also understand that the Prince Regent is your godfather.”
Her eyes nearly bugged from her skull. “The Prin—And so you’re apologizing why? Because the Prince Regent is connected to my family? Not because you’re actually sorry.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“No. I’m apologizing because I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. I was in my cups that night and—”
“So that makes it all right? You were in your cups and deliberately forgot to tell me that you were betrothed. Is that it?”
“No. That’s not it.” His eyes glinted again and his voice held an edge of steel. “Do you know why I was drunk that night? Do you know why I was in the gardens drinking alone in the first place?”
She silently shook her head, not at all sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“Because the woman who had been set to pledge her undying troth to me had just informed me that she’d received a better offer from a marquess.”
Pru’s eyebrows snapped together. “Mary Anne?”
“Yes, Mary Anne. And fool that I was I actually thought I loved her. I was out in the Culpeppers’ gardens with a bottle of brandy, nursing my broken heart, and pouring out my soul to a statue.”
“And I came along,” she whispered.
“And you came along,” he repeated, “and you sounded like a siren and you looked like an angel and you rescued me. From the hedge, but also from myself that night.”
“But you left, you left town.”
“I had to get away. I had to get over my broken heart. I was useless to myself and everyone else. I learned a lot all those months at sea. I found myself.”
“What do you mean, you found yourself?” She held her breath again, not entirely sure she wanted to hear this answer, either.
He trailed a hand through his dark hair and paced away from Pru. “I realized that Mary Anne and I never would have suited. I realized that she was far too interested in herself and I wasn’t interested enough in her apparently. Nor did I possess an adequate title. I also found myself far too often in the same locale as an infamous pirate named Deveraux, leading to suspicions that have caused me a great deal of trouble. But I wouldn’t change it, not a day of it, because if I hadn’t left, if I hadn’t gone off and discovered myself, I might still be grieving over Mary Anne,” he finished, his eyes glinting like steel.
“And you’re not?” Pru asked tentatively.
“No. Not for one moment.”
She pushed at the mulch with a slipper. “I was not myself that night either, you know.”
“Are you certain?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” She narrowed her eyes on him, not at all sure she liked his tone.
He took a step toward her, towering over her. “I mean you purport to feel guilty but I think you’re really stifling yourself. You’re amusing, and beautiful, and full of life. You made me laugh that night and when you kissed me—”
“Stop,” she begged. “Just stop. You tempted me.” But she couldn’t help the warmth that was already spreading through her belly since he’d called her beautiful and amusing. No one had ever called her amusing.
“Is tempting you so awful?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
“Yes,” she shot back. “Sinning was my fault but I . . . I must stay away from you.”
“Because I make you feel things you don’t want to feel?”
She grabbed at her ears, not wanting to hear any of it. “You’re sinful. And I’m sinful when I’m with you.”
His fists clenched at his side. “Sinful or happy? I saw you in the drawing room this afternoon with your mother. She was reading you Bible verses, and you fell asleep and nearly toppled out of your chair.”
“No, I didn’t.” But she was stricken.
“Yes, you did. You’re bored! Bored stiff. And worse, you’re frightened. Frightened because I’m probably the first thing that’s come along in your life that doesn’t bore you. I do the opposite actually, don’t I? I make you feel alive.”
Her chest was heaving now. “No,” she insisted, turning her face away. “For all have sinned and fall shor
t of the glory of God.”
He took another step closer, this time so near that she felt his angry breath on the back of her neck. “You can wear these prim dresses and quote the Bible to me, but we both know you’re full of passion. In order not to sin, you must tell the truth. Well, here’s some truth for you, I’ve kissed you, twice, and you kissed me back. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with a husband who counts peas, is frightened of guns, and whose most endearing quality is that he’s well read?”
Tears stung her eyes but she wouldn’t turn her face to him. “Stop it,” she insisted.
“No,” he replied. He reached out and turned her chin, forcing her to face him.
He must have seen the tears swimming in her eyes. She steeled her resolve. He would not break her.
“Why?” he ground out savagely. “Why are you chasing a man who doesn’t seem to even know you exist when a man who wants you is standing right here in front of you?”
“I’m not chasing anyone,” she insisted.
“Yes, you are. Even now, you came in here this evening because you thought he was here, didn’t you?”
Her flushed face must have confirmed the truth of his words.
Christopher’s eyes shot sparks at her. “You’re chasing him and I’m chasing you.”
She wrenched from his grasp and wrapped her arms around her middle. “I am not chasing him. I would never do such a—”
“Yes, you are, Prudence.”
His words were soft, kind. But it was the use of her Christian name that stopped her. She sucked in her breath and glared at him, pressing her lips together tightly. In her entire sheltered, pampered life she’d never had someone so blatantly disagree with her. It was . . . disagreeable.
“And I think I know why,” he continued.
“Why?” she said angrily, turning on him, her skirts swirling around her ankles. “Tell me, Lord Pirate. Tell me why I’m chasing Lord Beasley if you know so much.”
“Because he’s safe.”
And in those three words, Prudence realized no one had understood her so completely as this man standing in front of her now did.
Chapter Fourteen
Christopher took two steps forward and pulled her against him, hard. Her small gasp of surprise was swallowed by his mouth as he lowered it to hers and took her lips in a demanding kiss. Like being ravished by a pirate, she thought before springing to her tiptoes and twining her fingers around his strong neck. One of his hands snaked around her back and he pressed her against him. She felt a hardness against her belly and she shivered.
He was pressing himself against her, and she wanted to be closer. She wanted to move her hand down to his hips and touch him. But she wasn’t that brave. She wasn’t that sinful . . . yet.
“Prudence, do you trust me?”
Her breathing was coming so hard she could only hear blood in her ears, but she had a moment of clarity. Did she trust him? Yes, she did. He’d murmured the words against her mouth, and she merely nodded her response, loath to break the kiss. But her nod was all he needed. Without taking his mouth from hers, he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her from the ground, and carried her a few feet to a mound of mulch under an orange tree. He quickly pulled off his coat and placed it on the ground, then he laid her down atop it in the fragrant spot and lowered himself on top of her. She moaned. His knee wedged hers apart under her gown, and his mouth broke contact with hers only for a moment as he slowly moved his hand down to the hem of her gown. His fingers brushing against her stockinged ankle was her first clue that he intended to do something exceedingly sinful.
“Christopher, I . . .” Suddenly, she was more frightened than she’d ever been in her life. Not of him. Never of him. She was frightened of what she was feeling. She wanted this more than anything, but she didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to do it.
His hand came up to cup her cheek. “I won’t hurt you, Prudence. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. I promise. Trust me.”
Trust a sinner?
But she knew instinctively that she was going to because even more than she was frightened she wanted to discover what he intended to do to her. She nodded and met his lips again and his hand descended back under her skirts.
Her thoughts immediately scattered. What is he doing, was quickly replaced by, do not let him stop. His warm, calloused hand moved up the inside of her leg slowly, until it came to the heated juncture between her thighs. She shook her head a little but only because she couldn’t believe he was doing it, that this was happening.
He must have felt her head shake because he pulled his mouth from hers temporarily, and breathed raggedly into her ear. “Do you want me to stop?” His gray eyes scanned her face and she knew he was close to begging. But she also knew he would stop if she but said that word.
“I don’t want you to stop,” she said instead. A look of relief flooded his features briefly before his mouth descended to hers again. And then his finger touched her, so gently, so hot, it slid into her cleft and her hips bucked. Then his finger slipped inside, and she turned into a pool of desire.
“Christopher,” she gasped against his mouth.
“Trust me. I won’t hurt you, Pru.”
“You’re not hurting me at all,” she breathed against his cheek.
“Shh.” He pulled his finger back out, now slicked, and her hips arched up of their own accord. He had found a place between her legs that was so exquisitely perfect, Pru wanted to cry out, “There! There!”
But apparently Chance knew what he was doing—of course he knew what he was doing— because the moment he’d found that perfect nub, his finger began to move in a circular motion that made her want to sob. Her hands came forward to cup his rough cheeks while his tongue plunged into her mouth again and again. How was he able to do these two extraordinary things at once? His finger teased her, tormented her, and she arched her hips, silently begging him not to stop.
And then he did.
“No!” The word was out of her mouth before she even decided to say it, a visceral cry, a plea.
“Trust me,” he repeated, his forehead pressed against hers tightly just before he slid that same torturous finger back inside her.
Pru concentrated on trying to breathe, on pulling air in and out of her aching lungs. She was a pool of white-hot heat. She’d never felt anything like it before. He slid his finger in and out carefully, cunningly, until sweat beaded on her forehead, and her hips squirmed. Trust him, he’d said. Did she trust that he wasn’t going to kill her with need? He pulled his finger away one more time and Prudence knew a moment of the most exquisite agony she’d ever experienced. She thought it was over. She was shaking, but still clinging to him, not wanting to break their kiss. That had been . . . Oh, God, unforgettable.
But then his finger returned to that same perfect spot. How had he found it again so easily? So specifically? His slickened fingertip rubbed her again in those tiny, perfect circles and Pru knew. She knew he’d calculated every moment. And she was going to hurtle off the universe if he kept it up this time. His lips moved to her neck, her ear. She gasped and her thighs tensed as he played with her. Her hips followed his rhythm as if they had no choice. They belonged to him, to the magic with which he was plying her.
Then he pressed that spot, hard and long and nudged it again, again, again. Her head moved fitfully against the soft ground. “Christopher, please.”
“Yes,” he said roughly against her ear. “Say my name, Prudence. Say my name as you come.”
“Christopher!” Her entire world exploded around her as if she’d been catapulted toward the stars and as the greatest sensation of her life rocketed through her entire body, making her limbs weak, her knees liquid, and her toes curl as she cried his name.
Her breathing returned to normal slowly but surely after a few moments in which Christopher pulled her skirts down. Good thing Jane wasn’t standing guard. How in the world would she ever explain calling out Christopher
’s name to her friend? Not to mention, she was never again going to be able to smell an orange again and not become . . . aroused.
“That was . . .” She stopped and bit her lip because there was no possible good way to complete that sentence. Every word that sprung to mind was completely inadequate.
“Sinful?” he offered.
“Among other things.”
Chance watched her carefully. He’d been fearful that she would get to her feet, slap him soundly across the cheek, and stalk way. He was fearful she would immediately ask to be taken to church where she might pray away her sin. But instead she was gazing into his eyes with a mixture of satisfaction and wonder and he couldn’t feel regret over what he’d just done. The woman was passionate. He’d wanted to show her what her body was capable of.
“It certainly wasn’t safe,” she murmured. Her words brought him back to reality. He realized how unsafe they really were here, lying on a bed of mulch in the Westons’ conservatory where anyone might happen upon them at any moment. He rolled away from her, sprang to his feet, and then leaned down to help her up. They both spent the next several moments silently helping each other dust mulch off their respective clothing.
And then because he couldn’t resist and because he sensed she would allow him to, he pulled her against him in a fierce hug.
“That’s what your body is capable of, Pru. That’s what God made it for,” he whispered against her sweet hair. “Don’t ever forget it.”
Pru took in these words as seriously as if it were a sermon on Sunday. They rang true to her somehow. Christopher had given her a gift. A gift of knowledge. She’d never before known anything like what had just happened to her was possible. And surely pleasure that exquisite couldn’t be wrong. Well, the fact that they’d just done it in secret in the Westons’ orange grove whilst blissfully unmarried might have been a sin, but surely the act itself was nothing short of a miracle. It had certainly felt like one. The only problem was, she didn’t have any idea what to do now. She pressed a hand to her middle. She must think. There had to be an orderly way to manage this. There had to be. Perhaps a list of some sort . . .
A Very Matchmaker Christmas Page 30
