Candice Hern (22 page)

“I would like to make a deal with you, Mr. Cracken.”

“What sort of deal, ma’am?

“A very confidential deal. Between you and me alone.”

The portly gentleman stared quizzically at her across his cluttered desk. “You intrigue me, Mrs. Parrish.”

“Do I have your word that any transaction between us remains strictly confidential?”

“You have my word. But what are we talking about here? I gather you want to deceive your husband in some way?”

Pru winced at his words. She
would
be deceiving Nicholas, it was true. But not for something evil or sordid. For something good. For their future together. “It is a deception of sorts, yes,” she said. “You see, I want him to make his profits on the
Benjamin
’s cargo.”

Cracken’s bushy gray eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “And how do you expect me to do that when the cargo is still in question?”

“Because I am going to provide the profits.”

He squinted and wrinkled up his nose. “How’s that, again?”

Pru kept her gaze directly on his. She did not completely trust him, and she was certain he did not trust her. But she held on to her resolve and stood firm. It was amazing how her shyness or nervousness was seldom a problem with a business relationship, when she was confident of her position. It was only those pesky personal relationships that so often caused her embarrassment.

“Let me explain,” she said. “I want you to inform Mr. Parrish that the cargo arrived safely in Amsterdam. And I want you to send him a bank draft for his share of the profits. I will, in turn, pay you the sum of the bank draft, plus a fee for keeping all this confidential.”

“Well. It is certainly an interesting proposition.”

“Will you do it?”

“It is highly irregular.”

“Your fee will offset any irregularities.”

“And how much would that fee be?”

Pru named a figure, a small percentage of the draft. He looked over his spectacles and boldly asked for more. They negotiated a fee somewhere in between, and she was satisfied.

“Do you have the draft with you?”

Pru was reluctant to admit she did. What if he had a gang of ruffians in hiding who were waiting to steal it from her? She had had enough of ruffians. She still had nightmares about the assault on Ludgate Hill.

“Mrs. Parrish, I am a businessman, not a thief. If you have the draft, turn it over to me, and I will take care of the rest.”

“No,” she said, “that is not how we will proceed. We will do it my way.”

Her way was time-consuming and complicated, but it gave her more security. Pru accompanied Cracken to his own bank and asked for a copy of the receipt for the deposit of her draft. Back at his office, she stood by while he wrote the letter to Nicholas and made out the draft to him. She took both, and would see that Nicholas got them. And finally, she made Cracken sign a contract, in duplicate, that kept their transaction secret.

“You are a tough little customer, Mrs. Parrish. I send my compliments to Mr. Parrish on his choice of wife.”

And so it was done. Very nearly every shilling of Aunt Elizabeth’s legacy now belonged to Nicholas. Or soon would, once she made sure that
he received Cracken’s packet. She would keep it hidden for a few days, though, and not mention a word about finances in the meantime. She did not want him to suspect anything.

“I tell you, Simon, she is not the woman I married.”

Nick’s friend howled with laughter, and he immediately regretted confiding in him.

“She’s grown beautiful, has she?”

“Well, yes. Sort of. Damn it all, Simon, stop laughing. Don’t you remember what a dowdy little mouse we thought her?”

“
You
thought her.”

“But just look at this.” He pointed to the colored print of Pru he had slapped down on the card table. “Look at her, Simon. Is that the Pru you once knew? Look at her! How the devil am I supposed to keep my hands off her?”

“Who says you have to? She’s your wife, for God’s sake. What is this, anyway? A print for the
Cabinet
?”

“Yes. Flora apparently got her to pose for it. Can you imagine? Shy little Pru posing for a fashion print? I tell you, Simon, the woman is full of surprises. I’m on my way to have it framed.”

“Are you?” Simon leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Well, well. It appears I was right after all.”

“About what?”

“About how this marriage would turn out. You’re in love with her.”

Nick rolled his eyes to the heavens. “Don’t be
ridiculous. God, you are such a romantic, Simon. Not everyone is as dreamy-eyed as you are. We cannot all have the sort of love match you have with Eleanor. In love with Pru? How absurd. I will admit to a certain amount of unexpected lust. But you should see her, man. She is a perfect little Venus.”

“Don’t tell me I should see her, old boy. If I did, I suspect I would soon be looking down the barrel of your gun.”

“And so you would.”

“Why is it so hard for you to admit you’re in love with your own wife?”

“Dash it all, I am
not
in love with her.”

“Then you’re either blind or stupid. Or both. Listen to yourself, Nick. You have just spent the last half hour telling me about her music. About how she plays like an angel. About how she has this fantastic plan for a music school that you secretly admire even if you won’t admit it. About how shockingly knowledgeable she is regarding financial investment. About how brilliantly she is handling the
Cabinet
while Edwina is away. About how angry you have been to see how her relatives ignore her. About how you wanted to kill that brute who’d dared to touch her. And then there is all that talk about her hair and her eyes and her skin and her…other assets. I don’t know. Perhaps I
am
a romantic fool, but all that sounds like a man in love to me.”

Nick blinked. “Did I really say all that?”

“And more.”

“Well.” Nick was quite frankly abashed. As he listened to his friend repeat back his own words
about Pru, it occurred to him that he really had grown to admire her and respect her. His affection for her had grown as well. Not to mention his desire. He certainly felt protective of her, sometimes even possessive. Could there be some truth in Simon’s words? Was he, after all, in love with his wife? “I will, um, consider what you have said.”

Two days later, he was still considering it when he accompanied Pru to her aunt Sarah’s garden party in Richmond. It was a beautiful day, and Pru was as radiant as the sunshine in a pale green dress and matching bonnet. They strolled into the breeze, and the soft muslin of her skirts clung to her in the most enticing manner, revealing with each step the shape of her slender legs and the curve of her hips.

Nick was proud to have her on his arm as they walked through the gardens, greeting and chatting with one Armitage after another. Their hosts, Lord and Lady George, had even made a little fuss about what a happy couple they were. Nick realized the pretense of a love match had become second nature to him. In fact, it no longer felt in the least like pretense. It felt right to act as though he loved her. It felt real.

Well, he thought, how about that?

“Did you and Lord Caldecott have a good talk?” Pru asked.

“We did indeed. I thank you for arranging the meeting, my dear. He was very interested in my views on the factory bill. He will be a solid advocate in Lords. I was pleasantly surprised. He seems a right-thinking fellow, Pru.”

“For an earl?”

He smiled down at her. “For a man. If I have learned one thing from you, Mrs. Parrish, it is not to judge a man by his rank. No matter how high it is.” He stopped walking and looked down at her. “I have actually learned a great deal from you, Pru. I wish I’d known you better all these years. You’re a remarkable woman, you know.”

He took her arm and pulled her behind a large tree. She giggled as he leaned against the trunk and swung her into his arms. He dipped his head and kissed her.

It was too public a place, with too many Armitages about, to get overly passionate. So he kept it simple and slow and closemouthed. When he broke away, he smiled at her and said, “I’m sorry, Pru. I keep promising to take it slow, and I keep breaking my promise. But you are looking quite irresistible this afternoon, my dear, and I simply could not help myself.”

“Please don’t apologize again, Nicholas.”

“No?”

“No. I hate apologies. Just shut up and kiss me.”

And he did. This time her lips parted, inviting him in, and her tongue met his with an eagerness that set his blood racing. After a long moment, he pulled back, afraid if they kissed any longer he would be raising her skirts and taking her against the tree trunk.

He turned his head at the sound of soft footsteps on the grass, and saw Joanna Draycott walk
ing away. She stopped and turned to look over her shoulder, caught his eye, and winked.

It was like the night of the Norwich ball. Pru was feeling blissfully and completely happy as they drove back from Richmond. She could not stop smiling. Except when Nicholas kissed her. Which was often.

Once she managed to convey to him that she actually
wanted
him to kiss her—heavens, had she really told him to shut up?—he had hardly stopped doing so. And it was a very, very long drive back to Golden Square.

When they arrived home, Pru spied the packet on the hall table, and she drew in a sharp breath. She’d been so wrapped up in her own happiness, she’d forgotten all about it. But now a flutter of anticipation gripped her stomach.

She walked around Nick, trying her best to be nonchalant, and headed up the stairs. There were lights in the drawing room, so she stepped inside. Bartholomew sat in front of the fireplace—where no fire burned since it was a warm afternoon—reading a book. He looked up and saw her.

“Hullo, Prudence.” He rose to his feet, smiling, and crossed the room. “How was the party?”

“It was lovely, sir, thank you. We—”

“Pru! Father!” Nicholas came bounding into the room, grinning from ear to ear. “You’ll never guess what’s happened.”

“Then you had better tell us,” Bartholomew said with an answering grin.

Nicholas looked at Pru, eyes flashing, excitement fairly shimmering all about him. “The first Amsterdam shipment paid off. And at a much larger profit than I’d expected. I have the bank draft right here. Pru, do you know what this means?”

She beamed a smile at him. “Yes. Yes, I do. Oh, Nicholas!”

“Ha ha!” He lifted her by the waist and swung her around and around, laughing and whooping, until she cried out to be put down. He had to steady her when he did for she was bobbling with dizziness. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “Finally. Finally, Pru, I have enough to get started. After so many disasters, I can hardly believe it.”

“Well done, my boy. Well done.”

Nicholas released her and took his father in a great bear hug. “Father! Isn’t it marvelous?”

“Please don’t swing me around, Nick. I’m much too old for that sort of thing.”

“We must celebrate.” Nicholas, so filled with energy he seemed ready to explode, dashed to the doorway and shouted for Lucy. He turned back to Pru. “We must have champagne. Lots of champagne. We shall drink and get giddy and celebrate all night.”

“But Nicholas, we are supposed to attend the theater tonight with Margaret and Arabella.”

His face fell, and he looked like a child whose favorite toy had been taken away. “Must we?”

She could not deny him. Not tonight. “I suppose I can send a note with our excuses, if you prefer.”

He grinned. “I do prefer. Let us have a private celebration right here. I will send out for champagne and ask Mrs. Gibb to prepare a fine supper. And we’ll invite Simon and Eleanor.”

Pru looked at Bartholomew. “And Flora.”

“Definitely,” Nicholas said. “We cannot have a party without Flora.”

He grabbed Pru again and crushed her in his embrace. “Ah, Mrs. Parrish. What a day this has been.”

And he kissed her, then and there, with his father looking on.

I
t was a boisterous evening, and the champagne flowed freely. Bartholomew had sent out for several bottles, then both Simon and Flora arrived with more. Over dinner they had joked and laughed and told stories. And now they were gathered around the pianoforte singing “Lavender’s Blue” to Pru’s accompaniment.

She learned something new about her husband tonight. He could not carry a tune.

Nicholas sat beside her on the bench and sang loudly in her ear. But she didn’t care since his knee was rubbing up against hers in a very suggestive manner. Pru could not recall when she had been so happy. She felt she might actually burst with joy and had every expectation that the evening would end with her in Nicholas’s bed. In truth,
she would be utterly devastated if she spent another night alone, staring at the closed door of her bedchamber.

But she was determined that would not happen. If she had been able to muster enough courage to tell the man to shut up and kiss her, surely she could manage to ask him to make love to her. Couldn’t she?

Pru forced her concentration on the music.

Verse after verse was sung of the old song, with several new ones made up on the spot. Simon was quick to spin sweet, sentimental rhymes directed to his wife. Flora added several bawdy verses that had them all howling.

Finally, Eleanor fell to laughing and shrieked, “Enough! I can’t bear another ‘diddle diddle.’ Pru, play something we cannot possibly sing.”

“Oh, yes,” Nicholas said, vacating the bench and leaving her knee bereft and lonesome. “You must hear at least one serious piece. Pru is the most splendid talent, you know.”

And so she played part of an Eckard sonata that was an easy piece for her, one she could play almost without thought. Cheers and applause followed, and she beamed with appreciation, though the entire company—with the exception of Eleanor, who was increasing—was a bit the worse for champagne and not a proper audience.

“Pru, you are a marvel,” Eleanor said, “but we should not wear you out. Let me take your place for a while. I’m not as skilled, but this lot won’t notice.”

Pru stood and stretched out her fingers. She’d been playing longer than she realized. She wondered how late it was.

Eleanor pulled the bench back to make room for her expanding waistline, and began to play “Barbara Allen.” Her husband took Pru’s arm and led her to the other side of the room where empty champagne bottles littered the sideboard.

“I haven’t had a chance,” Simon said as he poured them each another glass, “to tell you how pleased I am that your marriage has worked out so well. It is almost difficult to recall how miserable the two of you were at the wedding ceremony. You seem so happy now.”

“I am happy, Simon.”

“It shows. You are quite radiant tonight.”

“The glow of too much champagne, I daresay.”

“No, it is much more than that and you know it. You are very much in love with him, aren’t you?”

Pru smiled and gave a little shrug. “You, sir, are an incurable romantic.”

He grinned. “Guilty as charged. And I shan’t pry any further, I promise. But I can see you are both happy and I cannot tell you how much that pleases me. I have long hoped that Nick would find the same happiness I have with Eleanor. I told him before your wedding that this marriage would be the best thing that ever happened to him.”

“You did?”

“Yes. And I believe he has come to learn I was right.”

“He has?”

“It certainly looks that way. But I really should keep my tongue between my teeth. Whatever Nick feels is for you to discover.” He flashed a grin. “But I am, after all, the Busybody, and forever poking my nose into other people’s affairs.”

“Simon, old boy,” Bartholomew shouted across the room, “bring that bottle and refill all our glasses. I have an announcement.”

Pru’s eyes found her husband’s and they each lifted their brows in question. She went to his side and took his arm.

“Have a seat, everyone,” Bartholomew said. “I believe I am going to make a little speech.”

Nicholas led her to the settee and they sat close together. Flora and Eleanor took the two armchairs, and Simon stood behind his wife, resting his hands on her shoulders.

Bartholomew stood facing them and cleared his throat. His eyes were a trifle glassy from the champagne. “As you know,” he said, with only the merest hint of a slur, “I came to London to become acquainted with my new daughter-in-law. And I can say now, with all honesty, that I could not have asked for a better wife for my son.”

Nicholas put his arm around Pru and gave a squeeze.

“Prudence,” Bartholomew said, “I am honored to welcome you to our family. Paltry as it is, compared to your own. Did you know,” he said, speaking directly to Eleanor, “that she has fifty-two first cousins?”

Eleanor’s mouth fell open and she stared at Pru, who smiled at her and nodded.

“And so,” Bartholomew said, “I would like to offer a toast to Prudence, my second daughter.” He raised his glass and waited until the others had done the same.

“To Prudence,” Simon said, and the rest echoed the toast.

Pru was glad Nicholas kept his arm around her. She felt like crying. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you Bartholomew.”

“And it occurred to me,” Bartholomew continued, “that since my son has got himself such an excellent wife, he should have a house of his own to share with her. And so, Nick, I have decided this house, which Prudence has already made into such a comfortable home, should belong to you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded parchment. “Here is the deed, my boy. I have signed it over to you.”

“Good Lord.” Nicholas rose from the settee and took the document from his father. He looked down at it for a moment and shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.” His voice was heavy with emotion. He took Bartholomew’s hand and shook it firmly. “Thank you, Father. Thank you.”

Pru batted back tears. What a wonderful thing for Bartholomew to do. Did he realize how much it meant? That they would always have the security of a house, no matter what happened with Nicholas’s factory?

She stood and went to her father-in-law, raised up on her toes, and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, sir. It is an extremely kind and generous thing to do.”

Bartholomew waved away her words. “It is nothing. Nick has spent more years here than I ever did. It is more his home than mine. This just makes it official.”

“Well done, sir,” Simon said. “Another toast is in order, I think.”

And they all raised their glasses to Bartholomew.

Nicholas and Pru returned to the settee, and he took her hand in his.

“One more thing,” Bartholomew said, still standing. “Now that the house belongs to you, Nick, I think it is high time I let you and Prudence have it all to yourselves. A newly married couple should not have to contend with a resident father-in-law, and I am sorry I have imposed so long. I plan to remove myself within the next day or so.”

“Are your returning to Derbyshire?” Pru asked, darting a glance to Flora, who was smiling. She did not believe Flora was a countryside sort of person. The former courtesan was very much a Town lady.

“No, not just yet,” Bartholomew said. “I have kept myself away from London too long, and I have discovered that I rather enjoy life in Town.” He glanced at Flora. “More than I ever thought possible. Indeed, I have decided I would like to
spend a great deal more time here. I have found a charming little house on Conduit Street. It’s a bit smaller than this, and without the garden in back, but I quite like it. In fact, I have taken a long lease on it.”

“Father! Another house in Town? After giving this one up, you find another?”

“I believe he wants some privacy, Nicholas,” Pru said, smiling at her father-in-law.

“Well, you could have kept this one, you know,” Nicholas said. “Pru and I could have taken the smaller house.”

“No, you need more space, my boy. Especially when the children come along.”

Pru felt her color rise. At least this time she was blushing because it actually
might
happen, not because it couldn’t possibly.

“Won’t you be lonely,” Eleanor asked, “all alone in the house?”

“I am accustomed to being alone,” Bartholomew said. “I have spent the last fifteen years alone. And quite frankly, I am tired of it. But I have hope that I shall not be alone forever.” He looked longingly at Flora, who smiled at him.

He said no more, and no one asked what he meant. The look he gave Flora was perfectly clear. Pru hoped she would make the poor besotted man happy. Her smile suggested she just might.

Imagine that. Pru might have Flora as a mother-in-law. She giggled at the idea, and realized the champagne had gone to her head.

Nick stood with Pru in the entry hall, having just ushered out their guests. His father had escorted Flora home, and Nick suspected he would not return.

“What a night it has been,” he said, taking Pru’s arm and leading her to the stairs. “My head is spinning, and not just because of the champagne. First the
Benjamin
profits. Then the deed to this house. Do you believe it, Pru? This is
our
house now. Really ours. You could have knocked me over with a feather when Father made that announcement.”

“It was exceedingly kind of him,” she said. “A lovely gesture.”

“And this business with Flora.” He laughed. “She could become my stepmother, Pru. The notorious Mrs. Gallager. He’s top over tail in love with her, you know. I wonder if she will marry him?”

“I have wondered that, too. I hope she doesn’t break his heart. She has never seemed the marrying type, what with her history and all.”

“And yet there must have been a Mr. Gallagher at some point.”

Pru stopped on the landing and stared at him. “Good heavens, you’re right. Funny, I never even thought of that.”

“I’d be willing to guess it was a youthful folly of some kind. Before her first protector took her out of St. Giles. Oh, my God. You don’t think she is still married to him, do you? And that is why she can’t marry Father?”

“Oh Nicholas, I hope not.”

“Well, I am sure they will work things out. She does seem fond of him, does she not?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Nick stepped into the drawing room and snuffed all the candles. When he turned toward the door, it was so dark he could not see Pru. Dear God, she hadn’t bolted upstairs alone, had she? Not tonight. Please, not tonight. “Pru?”

“I’m here.”

He reached out and found her hand, then pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. “I thought you’d run away.”

“Never.”

“Ah, Pru.” He kissed her.

He coaxed her lips apart and slid his tongue deep inside, stroking her tongue and the warm flesh of her mouth. Her arms crept up and around his shoulders, and he pulled her closer, pressing his hips against her belly. The undulation of her hips, a maddening combination of innocence and desire, sent a great, hot wave of desire rolling through him.

He pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “It has been a night for celebrating.”

“Yes.”

“I would like the celebration to continue, Pru. I’d like to make love to you. But only if you want it.”

He could feel her smile. “I want it.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Nicholas, shut up and—”

He kissed her. And then took her by the hand and led her upstairs.

He pulled her into his bedchamber and kissed her again. When he moved to light a candle, she said, “No, please.”

“You prefer the dark.”

“Yes.”

“Because you get embarrassed?”

“Yes.”

“It shall be as you wish, my dear. But you have nothing to be ashamed of, you know. You’re a beautiful, desirable woman.”

She made a little snorting sound that might have been laughter.

“You don’t believe me? Pru, you have played the quiet, shy little mouse for too long. But I have discovered your secret self. You’re a lovely, passionate, exceedingly desirable woman. You can’t hide that from me anymore. Even in the dark.”

They undressed each other, and he took her soft, naked body against his and kissed her, hungrily, and she eagerly responded. He set up a rhythmic thrusting and sucking of her tongue that she instantly understood to be a prelude of what was to come. Following his lead, she tentatively sucked his tongue, and he felt his temperature rise.

He was ready to explode, to take her quickly to quell his raging hunger. But this time, it would be for her. He wanted to make it good for her, espe
cially after the pain of the first time. He would not rush things. He wanted Pru to experience the full pleasure of lovemaking.

He laid her on the bed and set about loving her with his hands and lips and tongue, using every bit of sexual expertise he’d developed over the years to arouse her. The darkness emboldened her, and she tentatively explored him with her fingers, taking him to the edge of madness.

When he could bear no more, he positioned himself above her and between her thighs. “Ah, my love.” He put his hands beneath her sweet little bottom and lifted her slightly, then, taking it as slowly as he was able, he eased himself inside. With no barrier this time, she was slick and tight and welcoming.

He held her as he set up a slow rhythm, moving her with him, showing her with his hands how to rotate her hips in counter rhythm to each thrust and withdrawal. Her breathing became ragged and she clutched at his shoulders. He could feel her muscles tense and she began to moan softly. He knew she was close to climax, but not how close, so he held himself back by a supreme effort of willpower and determination.

Her body suddenly went still, every muscle tensed. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, Nicholas.”

He increased the rhythm, moving inside her faster, faster. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

“Nicholas! Oh, my God, Nicholas! Oh. OH!”

He held her tight as her body jerked and
bucked against him, and finally shuddered into stillness. It was only then that he let himself go, pumping hard toward his own release.