Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2) Page 4

  He placed her hand in the crook of his arm again and they continued about the room. She could feel the power of the muscles in his arm. It was very distracting.

  “And how much of this does my great-aunt know, if any?” he said.

  Lady Weston smiled at them from across the room and Prudence forced herself to smile back. “She knows that my students come from the streets. And she supports my ideas about education. She wants to help these girls, Lord Weston, even if you don’t.”

  “And does she know about your own nocturnal adventures, Miss Atwater?”

  Prudence replied, “No. She does not. And I do not believe she would approve of such a thing, which is why I did not tell her.”

  “And how do you think she would react if she knew that you had lied to her?” he asked. “That having accosted her great-nephew and stolen his clothes, you are indeed a thief. And what’s more, that you are responsible for an article appearing in the Times that was embarrassing to her as well as to me?”

  Prudence tried to steady her breathing. It felt as if her heart was being crushed by a huge fist. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I do know,” Lord Weston replied. “She would not be pleased. In fact, she might be persuaded to withdraw her support from your school, Miss Atwater. Quite easily, indeed.”

  This could not be happening.

  Prudence desperately needed Lady Weston’s support, or the future of the school would be uncertain. In truth, it might not have a future at all.

  She took a deep breath and met Lord Weston’s eyes. “Please…I implore you. Do not tell Lady Weston the truth of our association.”

  “You want me to lie to her, then? As you have done?” he said with unmasked contempt.

  “I beseech you, Lord Weston,” Prudence continued, “on behalf of my girls. They are depending on me in order to realize their dreams of a better life. Please do not turn Lady Weston against me. For myself, I accept the consequences of having Mungo knock you out and steal your clothes—”

  “Mungo?” he asked, cocking a brow.

  “Mungo Church,” she replied. “My bodyguard.”

  “Ah…the one with the meaty fists,” he said. “I’d thought him a pirate.”

  “He is,” Prudence answered. “He was, I mean. I found him one night when I was out looking for students. He’d been injured quite badly in a brawl. I took him home with me to the school and we nursed him back to health. Since then, he’s taken it upon himself to act as my bodyguard when I go about at night.”

  Lord Weston gave a bitter chuckle, saying, “Well, I can assure you that the man is very good at his job. I still have a lump on my head from his efforts.”

  “I am dreadfully sorry you were hurt, Lord Weston,” she replied. “But knocking you out seemed the only course of action. I was afraid that you would have had us arrested.”

  “Perhaps I still should, Miss Atwater,” he threatened.

  She gulped down her fear at the prospect. “That is your decision, my lord.

  But I hope you will remember what I said about the girls at my school. It is they who you will be hurting, much more than me.”

  Lord Weston studied her with bold intensity, finally saying, “I will make an agreement with you, Miss Atwater. I will keep your secret. I will not tell my great-aunt anything about the first time we met that night in Drury Lane. But my silence will have a price. And it will not come cheaply.”

  What would this man deem to be a fair price? Prudence wondered. And what choice did she have but to pay it, whatever it was? “W-what exactly did you have in mind, my lord?” she stammered.

  He looked thoughtful, obviously enjoying her uneasiness. “I do not yet know. But I assure you, Miss Atwater, I will think of something. I can safely say that it will not be anything of material value, but rather something you yourself will have to do for me. Those are my terms. Do you agree to them?”

  Her heart thrummed painfully in her chest.

  How could she agree to such a thing?

  How could she not?

  If she refused, she would lose the school. The girls would have nowhere to go but back to the streets that they were trying so hard to escape. But could she agree to be no better than this man’s slave? What exactly would he ask of her?

  The strange, cold feeling in her stomach told her the answer. She had no choice. She would have to pay the price for Lord Weston’s silence, and pray that he would be honorable.

  “I agree to your terms, my lord,” she said. “In exchange for your silence, I shall pay whatever price you deem fit.”

  His dark eyes sparkled, and he gave a wry smile. “Very good, Miss Atwater. When I have decided on the price you are to pay, I will inform you. And now, I must return to my great-aunt. I fear that if you and I take anymore turns about the room, we will cause the gossips to speculate on the depth of our relationship. Until tomorrow night. We shall come ’round about eight to fetch you.”

  He bowed over her hand again, leaning toward her and said softly, “You might consider wearing that lovely little confection in red satin I saw you in that night. I must say, the plunging neckline suited you. And I very much enjoyed the view. Until tomorrow, Miss Atwater.”

  Prudence watched him walk away and tried to quell the wretched feeling that churned in her heart.

  Until she paid her debt to him, the infuriating Lord Weston now virtually held her prisoner!

  * * *

  Alfred handed Great-Aunt Withypoll into the carriage and followed her inside. In a few moments they were heading away from the library and home to the townhouse in Mayfair.

  “And how did you enjoy meeting Miss Atwater, Alfred?” Lady Weston asked as she settled herself into her seat. “Pretty little chit, is she not?”

  “She was indeed pretty, Auntie, I agree.”

  “Mmm. And bright, as well,” she said. “Whatever were the two of you talking about for so long? Lady Abercrombie speculated that you may have developed a tendre for Miss Atwater already, you seemed so enchanted by her.”

  Alfred huffed. “Hardly. I’ve just met the girl, and you are measuring me for my wedding clothes! Miss Atwater is bright, and pretty, and that is all.”

  Only it wasn’t all, Alfred thought.

  There was much more to Miss Atwater than anyone would guess.

  “Well, there is no need to take that tone, Alfred,” Lady Weston said. “You had better be nice to her at the ball tomorrow.”

  “It will be an evening Miss Atwater will never forget…I promise,” he said, keeping his wicked thoughts to himself.

  “I am glad to hear it,” the old woman said, yawning sleepily. “I have had quite a day. I think I shall have a nap the rest of the way, my dear. Wake me when we are home.”

  “I will, Auntie.”

  In few moments Great-Aunt Withypoll was dozing off, and Alfred was left alone with his thoughts. He stared out the window as the carriage ambled through the streets of London.

  But as he stared out the window, he saw only the girl’s face. The full mouth…the vivid blue eyes…the autumn-red hair.

  He had lied to Great-Aunt Withypoll.

  Miss Prudence Atwater wasn’t the least bit pretty.

  The chit was most extraordinarily beautiful.

  She was also a petty thief who liked to go out at night dressed as a trollop.

  He chuckled as he thought of their first meeting, where she’d been trying so hard to convince him that she was a streetwalker. He’d known something wasn’t right. At first he’d thought she might have been a bored countess, out getting her kicks for the night. Then, when she’d seemed almost panicky, he’d attributed it to virginal trepidation.

  He’d been wrong on both counts.

  The girl was a bloody school-marm! One who needed to be taught a lesson herself, it seemed. And he would be only too glad to oblige.

  Now he had her right where he wanted her—indebted to him. She had agreed to pay the price of his choosing. It was a situation that he planned to take full advanta
ge of.

  Perhaps it was rakish, what he was doing. Certainly, a gentleman wouldn’t put a young woman in such a position.

  But he had never claimed to be a gentleman.

  Never had been—never would be.

  And what would he exact as a price? He couldn’t help but grin as his mind raced with possibilities. She had looked so very enticing in that red satin, with her breasts spilling out of the tight bodice like pearls out of a jewel-case….

  How much could he demand from her?

  How far could he go?

  An uncomfortable heat suffused his loins as he remembered the sensation of her mouth beneath his and her tempting little body pressing against him.

  He would make her wait for awhile.

  Make her fear the worst.

  Then he would make her pay as he had vowed to do that very night.

  Didn’t he still have scratches all over his body from when he’d jumped through the bushes? Hadn’t he had to put up with all the jokes at his club, all the curious looks and nudges? And hadn’t he had to deal with Great-Aunt Withypoll’s disappointment in him for sullying the family name?

  Oh yes…Miss Prudence Atwater would pay for all of that, starting tomorrow night at Lady Townsend’s ball.

  Chapter 5

  “Cup o’ tea, Miss?” Dolly said as Prudence walked slowly into the kitchen. She sat down at the table, staring numbly at the brightly flowered tablecloth.

  “I said, would ye like a cup o’ tea?” Dolly said, again. “The kettle’s just boiled. Miss Atwater? Is somethin’ wrong?”

  Prudence jolted slightly as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up into Dolly’s concerned eyes. “I’m sorry…what did you say?”

  The housekeeper stood back and folded her arms across her ample bosom. “I asked ye if there was somethin’ wrong, and I see plainly that there is. Now what’s happened?”

  “I—I met the man,” Prudence stammered.

  “The man?” Dolly said, frowning. “Could you be just a wee bit more specific?”

  “The one that Mungo and I left under the hedge.”

  “Oh, no!” Dolly exclaimed. “Ye mean the one ol’ Mungo clobbed on the ’ead? The one ye left naked as a wee babe after ye stripped ’im of all ’is fine clothes? The one that kissed and fondled ye as if ’e had a God-given right to?”

  “Yes, Dolly,” Prudence said, finally. “That one.”

  “Lud! Well, ye better tell me everythin’,” Dolly said.

  As she poured two steaming cups of tea, Prudence related the tale, begging Dolly not to tell Mungo about the price Lord Weston meant to claim from her. Mungo would only go after the man and no doubt succeed in strangling him the second time around. This was one problem Prudence would have to solve by herself.

  “Oh, my…,” Dolly said, putting her hand to her face after Prudence finished her story. “An’ now ’e’s yer escort to the ball tomorrow. Dreadful! But ye can’t do this, Miss! What does the rascal want of ye? ’Ave ye thought of that? ’E is a red-blooded man, after all.”

  “I know, Dolly, but I have no choice,” Prudence replied. “I’ll have to do whatever he says. Otherwise, the Atwater School will most certainly be forced to close its doors. I can’t send you all back out onto the street again. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

  Dolly clasped her hand. “Per’aps me or one o’ the girls could…y’know. Change ’is mind.”

  Prudence looked at Dolly, alarmed. “No, Dolly. That part of your life is over. You’ll never again be forced to sell your body to a man. I promised you that.”

  “But ye will in our place?” Dolly asked. “’Ow is that fair?”

  “We don’t even know what Lord Weston wants,” Prudence replied, weakly.

  “Oh yes, we do. ’E wants ye, flat on yer back! Mark my words, so ’e does. Ye must tell ’im ye’ve changed yer mind. There must be another way.”

  “There is no other way,” Prudence said sighing. “The money Father left me is all but gone. I’ve been using my own money since the school’s account ran dry last Christmas. I’m afraid the only way we can survive is through the generosity of a wealthy patron. And we have secured one in Lady Weston. If we lose her, I don’t know how long it would take to find another. Or if we could find another one.”

  “But ye’ve sacrificed so much, Miss,” Dolly said, “If not for us, you could have been married by now.”

  “I don’t want to be married, Dolly. You know that,” Prudence said, clearing away the teacups. “I am doing what I love. And I am not going to let Lord Weston—or anyone else—stop me.”

  Dolly sighed, joining Prudence at the sink. “Well, yer a clever girl, Miss. I’m sure ye can outsmart this nasty rogue, if ye try. And ye’ll look so beautiful tomorrow night, ’e’ll lose ’is very senses when ’e sees ye. I’ll make sure o’ that. Now ’ow shall I do yer hair…?”

  Prudence smiled and left Dolly dreaming at the sink.

  She walked down the hall to the little classroom and went inside to prepare for tomorrow’s lessons.

  She had to keep her mind off of Lord Weston and their dreadful arrangement.

  As she stood behind her desk, Prudence looked about the room at all the treasures her father had left her. There was the huge atlas he’d used to teach her geography. There were the shelves of books on everything from Alexander the Great to botany to the works of John Donne. And she had read them all.

  They were like old friends, for in reality, they were the only friends she had ever truly had. As a girl, she had never fit in with children her own age. Father had taught her to read and from then on, she’d always had her head buried in books. They’d been much more interesting than the neighborhood children. More fun, too.

  As Prudence grew up, she always seemed to be too smart for the boys who tried to court her. Intimidated by her talk of ancient history and philosophy, they soon disappeared.

  But Prudence didn’t mind. She’d found most of the boys a little boring, anyway.

  And now, at twenty-one, she was the proprietress of the Atwater Finishing School for Young Ladies. This had been Father’s dream, and together they had worked hard to make it a reality. Then, only a week after they had opened their doors, he’d collapsed. The doctor had said it was his heart.

  So Prudence had kept her father’s dream alive, and carried on with the school. Now it was her dream to help the girls who had given up on dreams.

  And Mungo, who—though he didn’t like to proclaim himself a graduate of a Finishing School for Young Ladies—had nonetheless learned to read there.

  The current class showed just as much promise as the previous ones. Prudence couldn’t take those dreams away from them, not after they had worked so hard to achieve them.

  Lord Weston wasn’t going to scare her off by demanding a price for his silence. And yet, that little knot was forming in her stomach again as she thought about what he might want from her.

  Would he ask for her favors? She tried to prepare herself for that possibility, tried to imagine herself kissing him again. Certainly, she had to admit that kissing him hadn’t been entirely unpleasant.

  But what if he wanted more than just kissing?

  What would she do then?

  Oh, it was no use trying to predict the future. She would make herself sick if she kept worrying like this.

  She had done the right thing. Why, just a few days ago, she had used some of the money that Lady Weston had donated to purchase five new readers for the primary class, and five new books of poetry for the secondary class, as well as embroidery thread and needles.

  The rest of the money would be needed for Dolly and Mungo’s wages, for food, clothing, coal, and other necessities. And that would only last a few months. Though Lady Weston had assured Prudence of her ongoing patronage, the lady’s future support was now uncertain.

  At least the Atwater School owned the building they were in. Her father had secured it as a donation before he died. Though the building was not large by any
standards, it was in Putnam Lane, a lovely residential area of town.

  It had a schoolroom, a kitchen, a salon, and three large bedrooms for the students and staff to share. And it had a very nice sign above the door that she and her father had painted, which announced to the world in swirling black letters that this was The Atwater Finishing School for Young Ladies.

  And the Atwater Finishing School for Young Ladies was worth fighting for.

  Prudence picked up her chalk and began listing the kings and queens of England on the blackboard for tomorrow morning’s history lesson.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as she thought. Perhaps Lord Weston’s price would be quite innocent, after all.

  And perhaps she was Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine.

  * * *

  Alfred paused before lifting the brass knocker. The lion looked quite angry with him for swinging the ring in its mouth, but he did it anyway with gusto. The heavy ring clanged against the brass plate on the beautifully painted olive-green door.

  Well, at least from the outside the school looked respectable.

  The door opened, and Alfred gazed up into the scarred face of Mungo Church—Miss Atwater’s faithful bodyguard. The man recognized him immediately, and instead of taking pains to hide it, smiled a big, gap-toothed grin at Alfred as if they were old friends.

  He bowed his hulking form and asked, “May I help ye, sir?”

  Although Alfred could still remember the disturbing sensation of the brute’s hands around his neck, he curiously felt his anger dissipating.

  Still, he would have words with him later.

  Now wasn’t the time. Not with Great-Aunt Withypoll waiting out in the carriage for him to fetch Miss Atwater.

  “Good Evening,” he said to Mungo. “Would you be so good as to tell Miss Atwater that Lord Weston is here. I believe she is expecting me.”

  “Very good, sir. Will you await Miss Atwater in the salon?” Mungo directed him to a modestly decorated but quaint little blue salon. He stood near the fireplace while the man went to fetch his mistress.

  Absently, Alfred picked up a miniature that stood on the mantle, and studied it. Surely it was Miss Atwater as a girl, he thought as he regarded the vibrant red hair, bright blue eyes and rosy cheeks of youth. Even as a girl she had possessed a startling beauty.