The Perfect Rake (37 page)

“Here is Lady Augusta’s direction.” She scribbled on a small piece of paper and pressed it into his hand. “I shall expect you this afternoon. What time would suit you?”

“Er…” He glanced around the street again, as if for inspiration. “Two?”

“Two will do very nicely. I will see you then, Phillip. We have much to discuss,” Prudence said crisply and hurried off down the street, gathering her sisters as she went, leaving Phillip staring after her.

Her legs were shaking by the time they reached Lady Augusta’s, even though it was but a few minutes’ walk. Her sisters discussed the extraordinary coincidence of running into Phillip all the way home, speculating on what had brought him to Bath, how he had changed, how fashionably he was dressed, and above all, what his return would mean to Prudence and themselves. They seemed to think all their problems were solved.

Prudence herself said not a word. If asked, she would have had to say she was delighted to see him. But actually, she’d been severely jolted by the encounter. She felt almost…betrayed by his return to England, unannounced. How long had he been in England?

She walked slowly up the stairs to her bedchamber. Not even the most optimistic of people could think that little scene in the street was the reunion of long-parted lovers, said the small voice within. But she still wore his ring on the chain around her neck. And he still clearly felt he had the right to reprimand her about her behavior, as an affianced husband might.

After so many years apart, each of them was bound to have changed, grown in different directions. He had become more assertive. As had she. It was only natural.

But what did Phillip expect of her? Had he told his parents of their betrothal? Was she still, for him,
“the sole dream that keeps me going in this hellhole on earth,”
as he had once written? It didn’t appear so, but appearances could deceive. He did not seem overwhelmed with emotion, but one could not embrace in the street, after all. It was not surprising if a certain amount of self-conscious awkwardness attended their initial meeting. And if he did still want her, how was she going to deal with that?

Her stomach fluttered with nerves.

At two o’clock they would meet again in private and it would all be sorted out, she told herself. She stared into the looking glass, tidying her hair absentmindedly.

When she thought of the nattily dressed stranger she’d met in the street, she didn’t feel anything. She didn’t feel betrothed to him. She didn’t feel connected to him in any way. And yet they’d made a child together.

Gideon had spent the past hour pacing back and forth, peering out of the upstairs window on the lookout for the return of Miss Prudence and her sisters. Having forced himself to wait until it was a decent hour to call on Miss Prudence again, he’d been frustrated to discover that all the young ladies had gone shopping. Again. He’d returned to his own house and proceeded to wait. As patiently as he could. Which was not very.

He’d made his decision and could not wait to speak to her about it. He would marry Miss Prudence forthwith and fetch her child to her at once. The child would live with them and be adopted as his son or daughter. It would cause a deal of talk, of course, but he had thought it all through; if any scandalmongering did arise, he would simply have it whispered abroad that the child was his, and thus there would be no slur on Prudence. The ton might even honor her charitable nature for taking in his base-born child with so little fuss.

Not that he gave the snap of his fingers what the world thought, as long as that dreadful, blind grief was banished forever from her eyes.

At last he saw the Merridew girls walking down the street, a small knot of bustling femininity engaged in animated conversation. Not Prudence, he saw. She wasn’t talking at all. It was a little difficult to see under the bonnet she was wearing, but he thought she looked a little pale, a little solemn and anxious. He’d soon put the roses back in her cheeks.

Gideon ran down the stairs, hurried next door, and sent up a message asking to speak to Miss Prudence. He paced the floor of the front drawing room and awaited her arrival.

Prudence hesitated, her hand on the door handle. She felt drained. First the encounter with Phillip in the street, and now this. She’d managed to avoid him for several days, but now events were crowding in on her. She had to deal with Lord Carradice before Phillip arrived.

His note said
in private
. What did that signify? Something he would not wish to speak of in public, or with a chaperone present? She hoped he wouldn’t bring up the child. A true gentleman would simply never refer to it again. He wasn’t like Grandpapa, he wasn’t. He might not approve of her immorality, but he was kind; he wouldn’t condemn her.

She felt sick. He must realize she had to speak to Phillip first, clear things with him before she could think about anything else. Once that was over…

The clock in the hall chimed. Half-past one. Phillip would be here in half an hour. She would have to get the interview with Lord Carradice over quickly. She didn’t think she could bear it if he was still here when Phillip arrived.

She tidied her hair and straightened her clothes. There was a hollow ache inside her. Nerves, she told herself. She took a deep breath and quietly entered the room.

Lord Carradice strode right up to her, much too close for comfort. “You
are
pale!” he exclaimed. “There is no color in your cheeks at all!”

“I cannot help that,” she responded stiffly and took a pace backward. If he so much as touched her she would cave in completely. She had to keep her strength.

He followed her, looming so close she could even smell his cologne water. His face was creased with concern. “No, I know. It is my fault. Oh, Prudence, I am sorry for pressing you to speak about your past—sorry for causing you distress, I mean. I cannot regret learning your story, but—”

“I am glad you found it edifying,” she said distantly and stepped backward again.

“Edifying?”
He frowned. “A strange word. But never mind that—”

“I won’t.”

He gave her an odd look, then closed the gap between them again. “Prudence, it doesn’t matter—”

She sidestepped him. “I think it does!”

He followed and took her shoulders in a firm, possessive grip. “Yes, of course it matters, but I meant it doesn’t make any difference to me. I want you! Let
me
take care of you. Let
me
protect you. I—”

This was what she’d so wanted. One part of her was bursting with joy for him to say such things. For this man to want her…

But she was still betrothed. She was promised to Phillip. How could she speak of love with this man before she’d broken off her engagement. If, indeed, she
could
break off her engagement…

She must.

“While I am still betrothed I can have no answer for you!” She thrust him away and retreated, panting slightly.

“You don’t care about Otterbottom! You don’t love him! You can’t possibly love a fellow who left you in such a case and stayed away for four long years, leaving you to the mercy of—”

“Phillip is back.”

His jaw dropped. “Back?” Black brows snapped together. “Where is he, then? When did he arrive in England?”

That was the number-one question, she thought. She said only, “He is here, in Bath. He will be here”—she glanced at the clock on the mantel—“in twenty minutes.”

“Here in Bath!” He looked shocked, but recovered and said in an urgent voice, “You can’t possibly just pick up where you left off, Prudence. You haven’t seen him since you were sixteen. If you ever did love him, it was a young girl’s infatuation, that’s all, and even so, if you’d been allowed any normal society, I doubt whether you would have given him the time of day! From what you and your sisters have said, your grandfather kept you all more or less as prisoners, and I’ve heard prisoners even befriend rats and mice, they are so lonely. Otterboots was your rat, that’s all, but you are out of your prison now and—”

“Otterb—Phillip is
not
my rat! He—”

“Only a rat would desert you when you found yourself with child, Imp,” he continued ruthlessly.

There was a short silence. She could not think of what to say.

She had to speak to Phillip. To break her promise to Phillip now, without speaking to him first…

No. She’d given him her promise. She owed him an interview at least before she fell into another man’s arms.

As desirable…as irresistible as those arms were…

So somehow she managed to shrug, and said only, “Well, he’s back now.” And she had no idea what to do.

“No excuse,” he said. “I would have come back—no, I wouldn’t—I’d never have left you behind in the first place.”

His persistence was irritating, even as it warmed her heart. She wished he would just go away and let her deal with Phillip and then she would know in what case she stood. Instead he was pushing her toward a declaration she was not ready to make. And she didn’t like to be pushed, not even by Gideon! “Hah!” she managed. “You are a notorious rake. You must have left dozens of women behind—hundreds, even!” Her voice grew a little added uncertain and she stepped behind a small footstool. She needed to put some distance between them.

A gleam of laughter crept into his eyes. “Oh, by all means, hundreds, to be sure. My stamina is legendary.” He prowled toward her.

“Well, I don’t know how many—” She broke off, perceiving that the conversation was in danger of descending into farce. “The point is, Phillip could not help leaving me. The circumstances—”

“He could, Imp.” He stepped over the footstool and caught her hands in his good one. She tried to tug them away, but his grip, though gentle, was firm. He looked down at her, and the mischief died away as his eyes caressed her. “These mythical hordes of women aside, I’ve never seduced an innocent, nor taken up with any woman who wanted more from me than a little lighthearted dalliance.”

Prudence just looked at him, trying to work out what he was telling her. Her head ached. Her mind was spinning. Phillip would be here any minute; Gideon was rambling on about rats and seduction. Maybe she’d misunderstood his declaration. Was he trying to tell her
she
was only a little lighthearted dalliance, too?

He continued, “It’s not to my credit, I admit, but I’ve never left a woman worse off for knowing me. And I’ve
never
left any woman carrying my child.”

His words froze her spinning mind. Why was he telling her this? Why did he have to talk about the child again? She could not deal with this anymore. She held up her hand as if to ward him off.

She had to put some distance between them.

“Please, I beg of you, say no more on this subject. I am waiting for Phillip. Until then, I can think of nothing else.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I really, truly do.”

Gideon felt more worried by the minute. She was withdrawing from him, he could tell it by the look in her eyes, the stiffness of her body. What more could he say to convince her? She simply had to agree. He could not bear it if finally, after all these years, he had found his true love and she rejected him because she thought she owed a duty to Otterbury. But she was definitely pulling back. All his skills with women seemed to have deserted him. That was the trouble; she was not “women,” she was Prudence. Gloriously, uniquely Prudence. His beloved.

He could not simply walk out now and let Otterbury keep her. For he would, Gideon knew. Seeing Prudence after all these years, Otterbury would fall in love with her all over again.

He had to win her now. Get in before Otterbury renewed his suit. Otterbury had all the winning cards; the ring, a promise kept for more than four years, and a child.

All Gideon had to offer was the heart of a rake. A heart that, by his own admission, had never before been constant or tested in any way.

His mind searched in vain for words to win her over, but he had no words he had not already said. And they had proven useless.

The Bard? Poetry—yes. That was the language of love. But he could think of no Shakespeare except for
Now is the winter of our discontent.
He squeezed her hands again. “Forget Otterboots. Come to me.” It was hardly poetic.

Lines from Marlowe came to him, blessedly, and he quoted,
“Come live with me and be my love, and we will all the pleasures prove.”

She stared at him as if confused and as she started to shake her head he hastened to reassure her. “Your babe can live with us and—”

That blank look came to her eyes, one he was beginning to recognize. Gideon felt suddenly frantic. “What is it, Imp? Oh, God, I’m making such a mull of this. What have I said now?”

She shook her head and turned away.

He followed her. “Prue, speak to me. What is the matter?”

She put up a shaking hand as if to keep him at bay. “You misunderstood. There is no child, not living. Grandp—I…I became ill and my—” She swallowed. “My baby was born dead before its time.”

She added, “I can bear no more of this. Please leave. Phillip will be here any minute.” She moved toward the door.

He said in a ragged voice, “I’ve never felt like this about any woman. I need you with me, Imp. More than I’ve ever needed anyone or anything in my life.” He reached for her again, but she backed away, shaking her head in frantic denial.

It was too much. There was too much filling her mind; filling her heart. She felt torn. She needed some time alone, time in which to think.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot!” She fled from the room.

Gideon walked out of his aunt’s house like a sleepwalker. He was shattered. And more deeply in love than ever. A year ago he would not have believed that a woman like Prudence could exist.

It was simply not in her to betray a vow. It didn’t matter that she’d made the promise to a man who abandoned her, nor that the witnesses to her vow were dead.

He thought of all the women he’d known who’d broken vows. He thought of his own mother who made and broke promises so lightly, who cared not a snap of her fingers for the vows she had made to her husband, or the duty she owed to her son, never mind that the man she eloped with was her own sister’s husband.