Though Ledbetter recognized the same impatience in himself, he counted himself lucky not to possess his father's stentorian tones. Given his position, people jumped to do his bidding, and there was never the least need to raise his voice. He had, in fact, learned the value of keeping a very civil tongue, and therefore he was always a little surprised when someone, usually his sister, called him on his impatience.
"It is the
tone
of your voice," Harriet would insist. "There is that about it which I cannot like, as though you are angry with me."
And Ledbetter would reply, "Nonsense! You have altogether too much sensibility, Harriet! No one is angry with you."
Ledbetter certainly was not angry with his wife. But he was most decidedly impatient for more physical contact with her. He contemplated the last sip of port in his glass with a baleful eye. At the rate things were progressing, it would be a year before he managed to see her naked!
And he had a real desire to see her naked.
Ledbetter polished off the last of his port, decided against pouring himself another glass, and rose from the table.
Well, he would do his level best to move the seduction of his wife forward. He was not, be believed, an incompetent where charming women was concerned. He had, after all, spent a great deal of time in London and much of that time he'd had some woman or other in keeping. Jenny in particular had been insistent that he pay attention to her needs as well as his own, which had been something of a revelation to Ledbetter.
He strolled into the Gold Drawing Room with his most winning smile firmly fixed on his face—only to find that his wife was not there. "Devil take her!" he muttered. After making a close inspection of the room for some hint of where Prudence had disappeared to, and finding nothing, he stepped back out into the hall and motioned to the footman stationed in the entry hall.
"Do you know where Lady Ledbetter has gone?"
"Her ladyship said to tell you, if you asked, that she would be back shortly, my lord."
And I'm supposed to just cool my heels, am I? he thought, chagrined. Prudence was proving a great deal more trouble than he'd thought she would be. She had always struck him as a sensible girl, even when he'd met her during her Season. In fact, if that callow youth Porlonsby hadn't moved in with such surprising speed to win her, Ledbetter had intended to get to know the young woman better himself. Another lesson in carelessness for him.
Ledbetter waited impatiently in the Gold Drawing Room for quarter of an hour. He knew he had waited quarter of an hour because the ormolu clock on the mantel chimed when he first sat down, and again as he was rising to pace about the room. Once he was on his feet, he decided that he was going to wait no longer, but go to find out what had become of his errant wife. Ledbetter was not in the habit of waiting for anyone.
It seemed most likely that she had gone to her room, so he picked up a candle and headed in that direction. But perhaps she had needed to use the facilities, he thought, slowing his pace as he made his way up the stairs and down the hall. There was a water closet next to her room, but the door was open slightly and he could see that there was no one in it. On the other hand, the door to her room was closed and he heard the murmur of voices beyond it.
He rapped sharply on her door and the voices stopped abruptly. After a moment, Prudence's hesitant voice called, "Ledbetter?"
"Yes, of course it's me," he said irritably. "Is there something the matter?"
"I intend to join you shortly."
"So I was told some while ago. May I come in?"
"No!"
There was a hurried whispering, and then the maid Betsy opened the door an inch and made a deep curtsy. "My lord, my ladyship is in need of . . . um . . . something which I must go belowstairs to get for her. She begs you will pardon her and await her in the drawing room."
It all seemed very suspicious to Ledbetter. He very much feared that his wife was attempting to avoid him, and that she had some intention of backing out of their arrangement to move toward a consummation of their marriage. Therefore he said stiffly, "You may tell your ladyship that I shall await her in the sitting area off my bedchamber, where she can explain her difficulties to me while you are belowstairs."
He heard a gasp from within the room, but ignored it and turned on his heel and stalked across the hall and into his own bedchamber. Really, she was making a great to-do about nothing. Ledbetter paused in front of his mirror to adjust the set of his cravat. He caught a glimpse of his expression in the glass and realized that he looked thoroughly annoyed. Oh, for God's sake! She'd think he was trying to browbeat her. With a great effort he managed to smooth out the fierce lines between his brows and replace them with a look of mild concern.
When he heard footsteps in the hall, he moved swiftly into the sitting area and disposed himself against the mantel. Unfortunately, as it was early, there was no fire lit either in the sitting area or the bedchamber itself, and the room was chilly. His candle provided insufficient light to make the room look welcoming. He would appear the veriest inquisitor.
His bride scratched at the door and let herself in without awaiting his summons. One look at her assured him that she was not of his mother's cast. No suspicion of tears here! Quite the opposite. If Ledbetter had been in the habit of encountering termagants, he might have been more familiar with the martial light in her eyes. As it was, he could tell that she was not happy.
"Really, William, I can think of no reason for you to involve yourself in this matter," she said, glaring at him. "It has
nothing
to do with you. Can I not retire to my room for a space without your hunting me down and demanding an explanation?"
"You were gone for a considerable amount of time. I was concerned that there was some difficulty."
"Well, you needn't be. When I encounter some difficulty which requires your assistance, be assured that I will ask it of you."
The chance that his mother would ever have made such a speech was so remote as to have been an impossibility. Ledbetter very much feared that he had chosen perhaps a little too far in the opposite direction to his mother's meekness. He was not in the habit of having anyone question his actions or speak to him in such a fashion.
"If you would be so good as to explain your difficulty, it would put my mind at ease," he informed her.
Prudence threw her hands up in exasperation. "Ease your mind! Well, there is certainly nothing I wish more than to ease your mind in this instance, William. My difficulty," she said, flushing hotly, "is that I need clean rags."
"I beg your pardon?" He regarded her in some perplexity. "Why in God's name do you need clean rags? And at this hour of the night?"
"Because," she said between clenched teeth, "I have gotten my courses. My monthly cycle, William. Were I at home, I would know precisely where to obtain such items as I need. But I find myself in an unfamiliar house, without the resources I am accustomed to. Does that explain everything to your satisfaction?"
The baron had the grace to flush in his turn. "I beg your pardon! I had no idea!"
"And why should you? But, my dear sir, am I to understand that I shall not be allowed the privacy to deal with this or any other matter I choose to deal with privately?"
"Of course not. I had no intention of invading your privacy, ma'am."
"Nevertheless, you have." Prudence dropped down onto the damask-covered chair opposite to the fireplace and sighed. "Oh, William, I know you're disappointed about my . . . my shyness and my fears. And I truly intend to overcome them. But it is only a few days since we married and I fear I have already tried your patience too far."
"Not at all." Ledbetter moved quickly to stand beside her. He dropped one hand on her shoulder and used the other to lift her face to look at him. "I was very much at fault to seek you out as I did, and to force you to tell me the nature of your distress. I can't promise that I won't do something equally odious another time, Prudence, but I shall certainly try not to."
"Thank you."
"I realize I've forced you to be very frank with me, and you probably don't much care for that." He looked rueful. "But do you know, Prudence, I find it easier to handle than trying to guess what is on your mind."
"Nonsense. You were absolutely appalled when I launched into my diatribe."
"True," he admitted. "But look at the results of your outburst. You told me exactly how you felt, something you would not have done if you'd been trying to be polite and accommodating."
"It's very difficult to be polite and accommodating with you sometimes, William."
"So I gather." He helped her to her feet and gave her a light push in the direction of the door. "I would appreciate your joining me in the Gold Drawing Room when you've taken care of . . . matters."
She dropped a mocking curtsy. "I shan't be overlong, my lord."
"I hope you will take as much time as you need," he retorted.
Chapter Ten
Prudence joined him in well under half an hour. She found him paging through a leather-bound volume, with several others stacked on a table beside him. At her entry he rose and came toward her, taking her hand and conveying it to his lips.
“My dear,” he murmured, a warm light in his eyes.
“My lord,” she responded, a little diffidently. “I trust you did not despair of my coming. It was necessary to change my gown.”
“I like this one better, in any case,” he said. “It is cut considerably lower than the other.”
“That is not why I chose it.” Though she spoke earnestly, her eyes belied the severity of her words.
“Why did you choose it?”
“Because it is easy to get into.”
“Ah, and therefore easy to get out of as well, I trust.”
“As you say.” Prudence took the chair he indicated, beside his. “Were you looking for something in particular in the books?”
“These?” He waved a hand at the small stack of volumes. “I thought we might read aloud, and I was wondering which would be of the most interest to you. I have a volume of Robert Burns's
Tam o' Shanter
, a work called
Waverly
which I have on good authority is by Walter Scott, or a recent novel by a Lady, called
Emma
.”
“Oh,
Emma
, I should think, if it is all the same to you.”
“As you wish.” Ledbetter returned to his seat and picked up one of the volumes. “I've rung for tea but see no reason why we should not get started. Shall I begin?”
“Please do.”
“’
Emma: A Novel. In three volumes. By the author of “Pride and Prejudice
,”
etc., etc. Vol. I. 'Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable
home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence;
and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex
her.'
A nice start,” he commented, smiling across at his wife.
“Indeed.” Prudence disposed herself comfortably on the high-backed armchair and allowed his voice to engross her. He had a rich voice, one to which she could have listened for hours on end. His reading was dramatic and humorous by turns as he detailed life in Highbury and Mr. Woodhouse's objections to Miss Taylor's marriage.
When the tea tray came, he did not pause, but allowed Prudence to pour out and set his cup beside him where he might take a sip as he read. He finished the first chapter of the novel before putting it aside to choose one of the biscuits. “Well, what do you think? We have a whole cast of characters set out so far. I'm especially taken with this Knightley fellow.”
Prudence grinned at him. “Perhaps you feel some kinship with him, William. The author says he is the only one who can see faults in Emma.”
“Now what could you possibly mean by that?” he wondered. “I am not given to seeing faults in anyone.”
“Thank heaven.” She set down her cup and asked, “Shall I read for a while?”
“Would you?” Ledbetter handed her the volume and indicated where he had stopped.
Prudence loved reading aloud. It had been a favorite occupation with her and her sisters of a cold, blustery evening at home. She enjoyed the opportunity to take on different voices and accents, to dramatize a bit of poetry or a wrenching scene. As always, she became deeply involved in the story and only noticed Ledbetter's keen interest when she finished a chapter and glanced up.
“What is it?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing. You read charmingly, Prudence. Would you read another chapter?”
“Certainly.”
This time she was a little more aware of his gaze upon her but it did not inhibit her enjoyment of the story, or her delight in giving voice to Mr. Woodhouse's absurdities. “A little thin gruel, indeed,” she said when she set down the volume at chapter's end. “I daresay you have none of Mr. Woodhouse's eccentricities on that front, William, and will expect your guests to have every type of treat available in March.”
“Absolutely.” He rose and held a hand out to her. “Come. It's late. We'll read more tomorrow night.”
He retained a grip on her hand after she was on her feet and gently tugged her closer to him. She felt a moment of panic when she realized he was going to kiss her, but fought it down.
His mouth on hers was firm. She felt her lips respond to the pressure, as if of their own accord. And then he deepened the kiss, pulled her into the urgency of it somehow. His hands went around his waist, hers lifted to his shoulders to steady herself. The sensations she experienced were unsettling. Little tugs of pleasure occurred here and there in her body. She found that he had pressed her against the long length of him—or she had pressed herself there.
The little tugs of pleasure were becoming more of an ache, a longing, now. In the most private of places. Prudence felt the warmth of a flush stain her cheeks, and she attempted to draw back. He allowed her to separate from him, but kept a steadying hand on her back.
“Is something the matter?” he asked, a quizzical light in his eyes.