The Perfect Rake (39 page)

Prudence folded her arms militantly. Her hands itched to box his pompous ears. Had she been totally blind at sixteen? It was a frightening thought, to realize one could delude oneself so completely.

“In addition, there are serious doubts about this duke your sister is supposed to be betrothed to,” Phillip declared. “One of my hosts is second cousin to the aunt of a duke, and is in a position to know such things. They are acquainted with all the most important members of London society and they know that while a Duke of Dinstable is listed in Debretts, he actually lives in the far north of Scotland and never sees a soul. I think that shows you.” He sat back and regarded her smugly, but when she didn’t respond, he added, “Your so-called duke must be a fraud.”

“No, he was a hermi—”

“You have led Charity into a pretty pickle. I’ll lay odds her betrothed is a nameless adventurer after your sister’s inheritance.”

“Poppycock!” snapped Prudence. “Your hosts are mistaken.”

“They are extremely respectable, extremely well-connected, well-to-do people,” Phillip rebuked her. “And as for Lord Carradice, my hosts
have
heard of him—and it’s all to his discredit, believe you me! He is
notorious
, Prudence! He is a rake, a rogue, and a libertine—”

“Nonsense!” Prudence retorted. “He
was
a rake, I know, but to us he has been nothing but kind and generous and I will not have him slandered in this—”

“You cannot be expected to understand. No doubt he has exerted his fatal charm on your feminine sensibilities.”

Prudence had had enough. “Well, yes, actually he has! So much so that I am going to marry him.”

Phillip’s jaw dropped. He rallied quickly. “So this is at the core of it. You poor, deluded creature! Rakes like Carradice don’t marry girls, they seduce them and then abandon them.”

His blatant hypocrisy took her breath away. Prudence raised her eyebrows and stared at him in silent indignation.

Phillip reddened as he made the connection. “That was different. I gave you a ring.”

“That made it all right, did it? Well, now I’m giving the ring back.”

“To marry Carradice?” he scoffed and put the ring on the table.

“Yes. As a matter of fact, he proposed to me not an hour ago, in this very room.”

“Proposed or made you a proposition?”

“Proposed.”

Phillip snorted. “I did not hear the thunderclaps announcing that the world had changed. Did he actually say it, in so many words?”

“What do you mean? Of course he said it.”

“So he actually said, ‘Will you marry me?’ and used words like
marriage, settlements, wedding, church, banns, speak to your grandfather.
”

Prudence tossed her head. “No, but—”

“What words did he use?”

Prudence did not want to share Gideon’s tender words with Phillip, but she was determined to defend him, make Phillip understand. She said proudly, “He told me he wanted me. He begged me to let him take care of me, to protect me.” Nobody in her life had ever spoken such words to her.

“Protect you!” Phillip scoffed. “You know what that means, don’t you? To take a woman under your protection is another way of saying make her your mistress.”

“No, that’s not what he meant! He wants to marry me!”

“That’s what you think. It’s not what he said, though, is it?” Phillip shook his head. “You are such an innocent, Prue. How do you think rakes seduce good girls? By making them think a wedding is in the offing. Rake Carradice is too clever to say the words that will have him liable to a breach of promise case. If he did not say ‘marriage’ or ‘wedding,’ or discuss settlements, take it from me, he does not mean honestly by you.”

“He does,” Prudence argued. “He does mean honestly by me. I’m sure of it. You simply don’t understand.”

“I suppose you told him about the…the indiscretion.”

He meant her baby. Prudence held her head high. “Yes, I did.”

He nodded. “That explains it, then. Knows you’re used goods. No need to treat you like a virtuous girl.”

“That’s not how it is!” Prudence’s voice shook. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand, all right. Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?”

“You are vulgar and disgusting!” She stormed to the window and stared out, mastering her emotions. He was disgusting, of course. But his words shook her more than she wanted to admit. They echoed her earlier fears about Gideon’s intentions.

Outside, mist was beginning to gather, seeping up from the cold valleys.

The unvarnished truth was that Gideon hadn’t used the marriage words. He hadn’t said, “Will you marry me?” He’d said, “Come live with me and be my love.”

She pressed her hot cheek against the chilled glass of the window. Why had he put it that way? Why hadn’t he used the simple age-old words,
I love you, will you marry me?

Like acid, the questions slowly corroded away her earlier confidence.

She turned. Phillip sat, smug and righteous in his natty coat and over-ornate tie. Her self-confidence, never very high, plummeted. Here was a living example of her ability to judge men. It was very depressing.

All she could go on were her own feelings. She loved Gideon, she did. And he wanted her, she knew. But for what role?

Phillip had planted doubts deep enough to take root.

“This is what comes of running away from your grandfather. You should return there at once, where people respect you.”

“People here respect me more than I’ve ever been respected! I will never go back to the Court!”

“That man is out to seduce you!”

Prudence shrugged. “I don’t believe you.” She had no intention of letting him see his doubts had affected her in any way.

Phillip, annoyed with her refusal to be persuaded, marched several paces back and forth across the room. His brow was furrowed as he considered the situation.

“So, you are determined to jilt me—and for a man who is a known rake!”

“Yes, I’m sorry. But I must.”

“You realize it will make a total laughingstock of me?”

“I don’t know why it should, since our betrothal has been secret to all but a few.”

He paused, then shook his head. “I have my pride, Prudence. Besides, the people I am staying with must know there is some connection, since I have been making inquiries on your behalf.”

“You had no need to make any inquiries.”

“I disagree. Now, how to get through this mess with the least-possible unpleasantness? I have my pride to consider.”

“Yes, so you said, but—”

“And since you have jilted me, I think it’s only fair that you put my interests first in this. I don’t wish to be embroiled in any awkwardness. I am to stay in Bath only another week. Would it be too much to ask if you stayed away from all public engagements for the next week, in order that we not meet in public and thus cause awkward questions to be asked?”

“I do not see why there need be any awkwardness. The betrothal was secret.”

He waved her objection away. “Allow me to know what is best, Prudence. Besides, I have no wish to be associated in any way with the raffish and unsavory persons with whom you have become familiar. Even as neighbors from Norfolk, we would be forced into unwelcome contact, and I do not wish to embarrass my hosts with the connection.”

“Raffish and unsavory? How dare you insult the kindest—”

He cut her off. “Carradice is a man not fit for you or your sisters to associate with. And neither, I’m sure, is this bogus duke and his opera-dancer aunt.”

“Opera dancer, am I?” came a melodious voice from the doorway. “How delicious! I suspect I would have enjoyed being an opera dancer in my youth; they seem to have such fun.” Lady August sailed into the room, amusement writ large on her face. “Only that sort of dancing is very strenuous and sometimes painful, I believe. After my first marriage I found a much more agreeable outlet for my energy.” She smiled, her meaning as clear and shocking as it was unstated.

Phillip straightened, affronted. He took in the bright hair and the vivid face, which anyone could see was no stranger to the paint box. Manners got the better of him, however, and he gave a stiff little bow.

Lady Augusta looked him over, her gaze lingering on the complicated neckcloth, the extremely high, starched shirt points, the heavily embroidered waistcoat, and the tightly molded coat with its nipped-in waist. Her smile deepened, and she said, “I take it you are this Mr. Otterclogs we have heard so much about.”

Phillip glared. “My name is Otterbury, madam. I believe you have the advantage of me.”

“Oh, I’m certain I do,” said Lady Augusta with a soft chuckle. She sank onto the sofa in a languid swish of purple silk. “Sit down, Mr. Otterbanks, sit down.” She patted the sofa. “Miss Merridew’s long-lost betrothed need stand on no ceremony here.”

Clearly appalled by this friendly invitation, Phillip snapped at her, “As to that, madam, Miss Merridew and I have agreed to sever our erstwhile informal agreement.”

Lady Augusta clapped her hands in delight. “Well done, Prudence, my dear. My felicitations!”

Phillip stiffened further. He turned to Prudence. “This is no fit company for you.”

“I disagree,” Prudence said frostily.

He said in a low, angry tone, “You have become very willful, Prudence. It is not seemly in a lady.”

“Pshaw!” came a scornful voice from the sofa. “Absolute tosh, Mr. Otterbanks, and if this is the way you did your courting, I am not at all surprised that that you are still unwed.”

To Prudence’s amazement, a dull, red color flooded Phillip’s cheeks. “My marital status is none of your business, madam,” he snapped. “Be so good as to leave me alone with Miss Merridew, if you please.”

“I do not please,” Lady Augusta responded sweetly. “I am morally responsible for this young lady, and I can see it will do her no good at all to be alone in your company. In fact, Mr. Ottertosh”—she rose from the sofa—“I think it is high time you departed. Shoebridge shall show you the way out.” She reached for the bellpull and yanked hard.

Phillip drew himself up stiffly. “I shall go, madam, since you demonstrate so little understanding of the ways of polite society. Not that it surprises me in the least! And my name is Otterbury, not Otterbanks or Ottertosh.” He turned to Prudence and said in a low, angry voice, “Consider what you owe me. Your grandfather’s good will is vital to my future. I
insist
you return to Dereham Court.”

“Never!” Prudence grated through her teeth.

He set his jaw and considered her for a short moment. In a more conciliatory tone, he said, “Very well, I daresay you have your reasons. At the very least, will you refrain from making any public appearances in Bath?” He added in a low voice, “It can do you no good to be seen in public with this woman.”

“I assure you, Lady Augusta is of the utmost—”

“We shall not argue,” he interrupted. “Promise me not to attend any social events for the moment—your sisters, too. Will you make that small concession to me, at least? If you are determined to jilt me after all this time it is the least you can do.”

Prudence regarded him a moment as she considered his request. Not to go to public balls and routs for a week; it was little enough to ask, and if his pride was truly lacerated by her betrayal, it might help him. Besides, they were in the throes of preparing for Charity’s wedding. There would be little time for parties. She nodded. “Very well, I agree.”

“You promise? No public appearances for the next week?”

She nodded again and Phillip heaved a sigh of relief.

“Good. Then in that case I will take my leave.” He made a shallow, frosty bow in the direction of Lady August, “Good day to you, madam.” Then he allowed the waiting butler to show him out.

Lady Augusta watched him leave, her eyes narrowed. The moment the door closed behind him she said, “That man is hiding something, mark my words. He has his own reasons for not wanting you to to be seen abroad—and they have nothing to do with his being jilted or my so-called past as an opera dancer.”

Prudence picked up the ring Phillip had left behind. She was tempted to throw it out the window, but it was the traditional betrothal ring of the Otterbury brides. She might be furious with Phillip at the moment, but she had no quarrel with the women of his family. Mrs. Otterbury had once been very kind to Prudence and her sisters. She slipped the ring back on its chain and catching Lady Augusta’s eyes, explained, “I’ll give it back to him next time I see him. I’ve carried it like this all these years; a few more days won’t matter.”

Wednesday dawned fine and warm. Prudence woke early, having slept little through the night. She lay in bed, watching sun-kissed dust motes dancing in the air. The first Merridew girl would be wed this day.
Did Mama and Papa know?
she wondered.

“Prue, are you awake?” Charity pushed open the bedchamber door. She was barefoot and in her nightgown. “I’m too excited to sleep. Can I come in with you?”

“Of course, dearest.”

With one bound, Charity jumped onto the bed and snuggled down into the bedclothes. She hugged her sister exuberantly. “I thought I would be nervous but I find I cannot wait. And yet I am a little sad, too. This is the last time we shall be sisters in quite this way. I am about to become a married lady…Prue, can you believe it?”

Prudence laughed. “Not only a married lady, you will be a duchess.”

Charity pulled a wry face. “Now that part I am not at all sure of,” she confessed. “I don’t feel like a duchess.”

“But you are sure about the duke, aren’t you?”

“Oh yes,” she said raptly. “He is so wonderful, Prue. So strong and kind and…he is such a dear, gentle, lovely man.” She blinked suddenly as tears formed on her long lashes. “I cannot believe it. Prue. That such a man would care for me. I never thought…never believed I could be so happy.” She hugged her sister convulsively. “Thank you, dearest Prue, thank you! If it had not been for your bravery, I don’t know what would have become of us. And now, here we are, and the sun is shining, and I am so very much in love and happier than I could believe possible. You did it, Prue! You have brought me to that place you promised, and I thank you with all my heart.”