A Countess of Convenience (3 page)

As their carriage moved into the queue in front of the theater, Prudence marveled over being able to converse so easily with a handsome, titled man like the Earl of Malvern.

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Malvern found everything about Miss Prudence Crump charming. Her tawdry affair with a married man had not tarnished her fresh from the country, innocent air. Not truly innocent, but obviously she still saw life as a joyous adventure. She'd been so enthralled at the theater he'd feared she might fall from her chair during the violent final scenes of Hamlet. And she'd actually cried over Ophelia's fate—real tears that had required her to dab at her eyes with a hanky. He didn't know when he'd enjoyed Shakespeare more.

She was a pretty thing, like a spring morning. Blushes often enhanced her rosy complexion. Imagine, blushing at her age. She had to be in her twenties. As they made their way toward the hotel dining room, he studied her profile and elegant neck. What a perfect place to display the Malvern rubies. Of course, he couldn't give her the family jewels, but he'd certainly consider giving her a ruby pendant. He could just imagine it twinkling between those creamy breasts.

He reminded himself not to make plans before he knew if the lady was amenable. But he'd seen the look she gave him when they first met. He'd drawn enough female admiration in his time to easily recognize it. She definitely liked his looks. And once he had overcome her awe of him, she'd lapsed into a pleasant chattiness, even showing a decent sense of humor—something a lot of women in his circle lacked. Yes, indeed, he thought they would suit very well.

The maitre'd recognized him and rushed to usher them into the private dining room Malvern had reserved. Before sitting in the chair a waiter held for her, Prudence removed her shawl, and Malvern couldn't stop himself from staring at the tantalizing mounds of flesh rising above the low neckline of her dress. He longed to rest his head on those soft pillows.

Impatient to get the dinner over with, he snapped his fingers at the waiter and signaled for him to start serving the preordered meal. First, of course, the waiter served the champagne.

Malvern watched Prudence take a cautious sip, wrinkle her nose at the bubbles, and giggle.

"Pru's never had champagne,” Weathersby explained.

Charming, absolutely charming.

A growing warmth from the French wine added to Prudence's excitement. This evening would surely live in her memory as the most wonderful of her life. The theater had been a true spectacle, with the audience rivaling the actors for lavish costumes and extravagant behavior. But the most exciting element of the evening was the man by her side, the Earl of Malvern, who behaved as though her comfort and enjoyment were his only concerns.

After Neil had moved to London and assumed his rightful position in society, Prudence had thought him most dashing, but the earl made Neil seem like a callow youth. While they both wore nearly identical black evening clothes, they presented the clothing quite differently. The earl's broad shoulders and the relaxed, yet confident, way he moved made his clothing seem far more elegant than Neil's. His sable brown hair and lively hazel eyes were more dramatic than Neil's fair coloring.

She had hair and eye color similar to Neil's, so she must look as colorless as he, especially in her black dress. And the earl couldn't possibly be interested in her silly stories about the charms of country living. His treatment of her, undoubtedly, stemmed from his friendship with Neil, or perhaps, from true nobility. Whatever the cause, he made her feel special.

The waiter brought a platter of roasted partridges to the table. Lord Malvern raised his hand with a look of alarm. “Does this dish offend you, Miss Crump?"

"Why should it offend me?” she asked.

"Since you once keep partridges as pets, I thought you might be averse to eating them."

Through her delighted smile, she managed to say, “That was long ago, my lord. I'm sure I never knew any of these birds personally.” He had remembered the story she'd told on the way to the theater. Wasn't he dear?

Malvern wondered what was wrong with Weathersby. He'd hardly said two words through the first part of the evening; now he chattered away like a magpie. The meal was almost over, and sweet Prudence obviously wasn't used to spirits. He couldn't keep serving her wine or she'd be too tipsy to think clearly, and he wanted her to understand exactly what he offered.

Malvern interrupted Weathersby's comments about horse racing with, “But what about hunting?"

Weathersby blinked at him. “Hunting?"

"Yes, I find hunting far more exciting than watching a race. In fact, I'm quite looking forward to this season. They say the
hunting in Hamptonshire
was splendid last year. I'd very much like to go there.” Malvern hoped the man wasn't too foxed to remember the signal.

"Oh, yes, hunting is nice.” A look of uncertainty came over Weathersby's face.

Malvern watched him anxiously. Had he changed his mind?

Then his smile snapped back into place. “Gads, I promised to meet Turnbull and Cartland in the public room for a drink. I'd better pop out and see if they're waiting for me. Would you mind entertaining my sister for a few moments? I'll think up some excuse and beg off from them."

Malvern smiled in relief. “Not at all. Be glad to."

Prudence felt a jolt of alarm as Neil started for the door. She shouldn't be left alone with the earl. Before she could speak, Neil said, “I shan't be long, Pru. Try not to bore Lord Malvern with more of your stories about the joys of country living."

He closed the door behind himself, and she turned toward the earl. Neil had said her chatter was boring. What on earth would she talk about now? “I'm sorry if my stories have been tedious, my lord."

"Not a bit.” Lord Malvern eased his chair closer, as though he wanted to be sure he heard her every word. “I've spent a good deal of time in the country myself. Malvern Manor has extensive woodlands."

"Then I'd think the hunting would be good there."

"It is. But it's always exciting to try something new, don't you think?” He leaned closer and braced one arm against the back of her chair, as if eagerly awaiting her response.

She leaned forward to avoid any contact with his arm, and his gaze shifted, making her realize she'd thrust her cleavage under his nose. She looked away from him in embarrassment. “My...my visit to London is certainly exciting."

His voice seemed to flow over her like warm honey. “I hope I'm adding to your excitement in some small way."

Imagine a man as wonderful as Lord Malvern fishing for a compliment. She found his insecurity appealing and wanted him to know how much she appreciated his hospitality. “Not in a small way, my lord. This evening has been the most wonderful of my entire life. I'll treasure the memory forever."

He leaned so close she felt puffs of his breath on her cheek when he spoke. “But you make this evening sound so final. I'd like to spend many evenings with you. There are so many things to see and do in London."

Good heavens! Was the Earl of Malvern attracted to her? She turned to him so quickly their noses almost touched. “Oh, Lord Malvern, I don't know what to say."

"Please call me Malvern. No need for formality between us."

"But that wouldn't be proper,” she managed to say in a strained voice.

"Our being alone in this room isn't proper, but isn't it exciting? That's what makes the improper so appealing."

He stroked the side of her neck with the tip of one finger. “I've been wondering about your beautiful neck all evening. It looks as if it were carved from ivory by a great sculptor, but now I find it's soft and warm, like you, dear Prudence."

"Oh, Malvern!” She stared at him in wonder until he came so close she had to shut her eyes.

He gently touched the end of her nose with his lips. “Adorable nose.” He lightly caressed her lips with his own. “Precious lips."

She opened her eyes in surprise.

"Your eyes are as blue as the deepest sea.” His fingers toyed with one of her curls. “Your hair has captured the sunshine."

Oh, dear! What was she to do? This wasn't at all proper. But it was definitely exciting. She had wanted to attract a man while in London, but this was more than she'd ever hoped for. Tentatively, she held up her hand, knowing she should stop him but not wanting to.

He caught her hand with one of his and massaged her palm with his thumb. “I know we'll be good together, and I'll take care of you. I promise."

What was he talking about? Before she could ask, his lips settled firmly on hers in a kiss that sent her into such a spin she grabbed his shoulders to steady herself. She felt his arm go around her, pulling, lifting. She jerked away from his mouth, mewing in alarm.

Then, in a mound of black silk ruffles, she found herself sitting on his lap. Her mouth gaped open in shock as she stared down into his intent face. One of his hands cupped the back of her head and pulled her into a kiss very unlike the others. His tongue went inside her mouth, stroking, imploring, beguiling. She sagged limply against his chest. His embrace tightened. The pressure of his lips increased. He touched the top of one breast. His fingers slipped beneath her clothing, moving closer and closer until he touched her nipple, turning it into a fiery point of pleasure.

The door to the dining room suddenly opened and Neil's voice boomed out. “When the fellows found out you were here they insisted on meeting my— My God! What are you doing with my sister?"

For a second, Malvern was too stunned to move. Then he yanked his hand away from Prudence's breast and pushed her back to her own chair. He looked up to see Weathersby glaring at him with an outraged expression while Foster Turnbull and Harry Cartland leered over his shoulder. “Now see here, Weathersby—"

"I have seen—seen a man I called friend, a man I trusted, dishonoring my innocent sister. How could you, Malvern?” He fairly screamed the last part—the name—?and Malvern understood what a fool he had been.

Weathersby rushed over to the still dazed Prudence and hurriedly draped her shawl over her bulging breasts. “Cover yourself, sister,” he said in a voice that sounded truly shocked.

He pulled her to her feet, wrapped an arm protectively around her, and then looked at Malvern. “I have no choice but to call you out. Cartland, please serve as my second and make arrangements for our meeting on the field of honor.” He swept from the room, dragging Prudence along with him.

Harry and Foster exchanged glances with each other before turning troubled faces to Malvern. “Ah—what would you like for me to do about this?” Harry muttered. “I've never served as a second. Didn't volunteer for this assignment."

"Perhaps you should go to the continent,” Foster said. “Avoid any to-do over the laws against dueling."

Malvern ran his hand through his hair and fought to control his boiling temper. “I can't fight a duel over a woman's honor, and Weathersby damn well knows it.” At the moment, he desperately wished he could fight. He'd befriended the young cub when he had first come to the city, had told him who the best tailors were, had introduced him to the right people, and this was the way the worthless whelp repaid him.

Harry cleared his throat. “Oh, I see, the thing about your father! But what shall I tell Weathersby?"

Through gritted teeth, Malvern forced himself to say, “You may tell him I will call on him and his sister tomorrow afternoon to discuss further arrangements. But wait until the morning to do so. I'd like for him to sleep as poorly tonight as I shall."

Despite his bubbling glee, Neil forced himself to frown as he hailed the nearest hack and helped Prudence inside. After calling out his address to the driver, he swung in beside her.

She looked at him with large, frightened eyes. “You mustn't do this, Neil. You mustn't fight Lord Malvern."

He patted her arm. “Don't worry, sister. Everything will be all right."

Tears began to course down her cheeks. “But you—he—one of you might die."

He wished he could tell her the truth and calm her fears, but her rustic scruples would undoubtedly spoil everything. “I'll do my best to only wound."

She looked even more aghast. “It—it wasn't all his fault. I did nothing to stop him."

He was well aware of that. He'd rushed Foster and Harry back to the private room expecting to find his naive sister fighting off the randy earl, not sitting in his lap in a near swoon. Of course, he wouldn't complain; the more blatant the liberty, the tighter the noose around Malvern's neck.

Then he noticed how Prudence hung her head and the spots of red on her pale cheeks. He couldn't allow her to accept the responsibility for tonight's little scene. “Don't blame yourself. Malvern is a notorious womanizer. An innocent woman like you would be defenseless against his charm. I would not have left you alone with him, except I thought he would treat you respectfully because of our long-standing friendship. So this is really my fault. I must seek redress."

Dabbing at her tears, Prudence said, “But a duel? Nothing really bad happened. Can't we just forget it?"

Neil looked at her in surprise. Didn't she realize how serious her position was at this moment? “Pru, you were seen in a state of
dishabille
in a public house with a well-known peer. This story will be all over England in no time. If I don't defend your honor, everyone will assume you are nothing more than a lightskirt. In fact, no matter what happens to me, you must insist Malvern forced his attentions on you."

A visible tremor ran through her body. He put a consoling arm around her shoulders. “Don't be frightened, dear sister. I'm really quite handy with a pistol."

With a small cry of horror, she buried her tear-streaked face against his shoulder. He disliked frightening her with all this nonsense about a duel, but for now, it was the only way to impress upon her the desperate nature of their situation.

As a woman, she'd been cared for by others all her life. She didn't understand how difficult it was to make your own way in the world. A night of worry about the duel's outcome would make her eager to accept an alternative: Malvern's offer of marriage.