His eyes were open, somber and muted like the dawn.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he lay two fingers across her lips and smiled tenderly. “I’ve always wanted someone to take care of.”
He leaned forward, and his lips touched hers. His kiss was achingly tender, laced with the bittersweet tang of the whisky on his tongue. Her fingers nestled in the soft hair of his chest.
A rooster gave a rusty crow.
Prudence pulled away with a panicked glance at the brightening sky. “You must go.”
His mouth took on the sulky tilt that would have seemed petulant on any other man, but only made him look more dangerous. “Oh, I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be amusing to see Tricia’s expression when she found us this way?”
Struggling to hide how badly his illicit kiss had shaken her, Prudence unwrapped the plaid with brisk motions. “It would not be amusing to see the hangman’s expression when he came to take you to the gibbet.”
Sebastian’s face closed as if his mask had fallen over it. “Very well. Jamie’s loft then. It’s where we hide booty. The surly imp’s threatened to cut off the toes of any groom who ventures there.”
Prudence readjusted her wrapper around herself, and draped the remains of his shirt across his shoulders. Then they slipped through the silent house. For once, she was thankful for Tricia’s indolent habits. Most of the servants did not bother to leave their beds until well after sunrise. As they stepped through the terrace doors, she felt Sebastian’s arm tighten around her shoulders.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“Could you get me the whisky? If I’m going to be holed up with only Jamie for company, I might have need of it.”
She propped him in the garden against a statue of Zeus and raced back for the whisky. Sebastian’s tiny dagger lay forgotten on her nightstand. She dropped it in the pocket of her wrapper before flying back down the steps, driven by the first clink of activity from the kitchens.
Prudence and Sebastian ducked into the shadowy stables. A horse nickered in sleepy curiosity. Sebastian leaned against a feed bin while Prudence climbed the splintered ladder to Jamie’s lair.
Jamie awoke with a snarl, jerked a loaded pistol out from under his head, and leveled it at Prudence’s chest.
She backed away, hands in the air. “Sebastian needs your help. He’s been shot.”
Jamie jumped up with a curse that pinkened Prudence’s ears. Too late, she realized he was naked. To her bleary eyes, he appeared to be one large, annoyed freckle. She swung around, clapping her hands over her eyes in mortification.
“I warned the silly fool not to go alone,” Jamie muttered.
She peeped between her fingers. He had pulled on a pair of worn knee-breeches.
“It’s yer own bloody fault, ye know,” he added.
“My fault?” she squeaked. “I didn’t shoot him.”
“Ye might as well have.” He grabbed her hand in his bony paw and jerked her down the ladder. “Tiny was right. He ain’t had any wits about him since he met ye. If he’d have taken me with him, I’d have nailed the bastard that shot him.”
Sebastian’s velvety burr came out of the musty darkness. “Then Tricia wouldn’t have had an even number for her supper parties.”
Jamie spat in the hay. “I should have known. It was Tugbert, weren’t it? Cursed sheriffs. I hate the bloody lot of them.”
Prudence once more wrapped Sebastian’s arm around her shoulders. Jamie took his other side. Bearing his weight between them, they soon had him up the ladder and settled in the narrow heap of straw that served as Jamie’s bed.
Jamie loomed over them like a jealous bulldog, his thin lips pursed in a childish pout as Prudence tucked the plaid around Sebastian’s shoulders. “Keep him warm, won’t you?” she said.
“Have ye given him any opium?”
“Of course I have,” she retorted. “I keep some under the bed next to my hookah pipe.”
Jamie muttered something unintelligible.
Feeling a sharp poking against her thigh, she fished the skean dhu from her pocket. “I almost forgot to give you your dagger.”
Jamie snorted. “Why don’t ye cut out his heart while ye’ve got it so handy?”
Sebastian’s icy glare was enough to make Prudence glad he was incapacitated at the moment. She did not care to mop up after two wounded men. Jamie stomped down the ladder in disgust. Prudence stood, knowing she should go, but reluctant to abandon Sebastian to the churlish gremlin’s care.
Sleep and whisky had dulled Sebastian’s pain and restored the sparkle to his eyes. The snowy white bandages deepened the golden hue of his skin. Grinning, he lifted the decanter to her.
She laughed. “You look quite the rogue.”
“If you could have pilfered a cigar, I’d be a happy man.”
A new mist claimed his smoky eyes. She sensed that it would take more than a cigar to make him a happy man. Within the frame of the open hayloft behind him, the sky took on a buttery cast.
A soft breeze ruffled Sebastian’s hair. “You haven’t even asked about your devoted beau.”
“Beau?” she echoed stupidly. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Good Lord, did you kill Sir Arlo?”
He sighed. “No. Though I’ll probably live to regret it. I could have killed him.”
She peered into his face, fascinated by his matter-of-fact tone. “Why didn’t you?”
He toyed with the pleats of his kilt. “I was afraid you’d think poorly of me.”
“Why, that’s a silly reason for not killing someone!”
He arched an eyebrow.
She hastened to explain. “I’m not suggesting you should have killed him. You should have not killed him for a better reason. Because he was a nice man. Or because his mother would have grieved. Or simply because you’re not the sort of man who goes about killing people.”
“Or robbing them? Or marrying them for their wealth? Or lusting after their virgin nieces?” He stared into the whisky decanter. The cut glass splintered the first rays of the sun into amber crystals. His low tones mesmerized Prudence. “The sort of man I am wishes he had taken you that night in the crofter’s hut. He wishes he had put his child in you so all of our choices would have been made for us.” He swirled the whisky, took a large swig, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “That’s the kind of man I am.”
A piping voice floated up through the hayloft. “Fish, you’ve gone quite insane. I do believe you drank the whisky yourself.”
Prudence met Sebastian’s eyes, horror-struck. “Good Lord, it’s Auntie Tricia.”
Ten
Old Fish’s whine was borne on the morning wind. “You insult me, Countess. I never indulge in spirits. You should have seen the girl. It was scandalous. Creeping about in her nightclothes. Why, she wasn’t even wearing a nightcap!” Indignation trembled in his voice. He might as well have pronounced Prudence naked. “She snatched the whisky and went skipping across the lawn like some sort of wanton—” The rest of his speech was mercifully muffled.
“I never dreamed the old lech had such a vivid imagination,” Sebastian whispered.
They stared at each other, paralyzed by the approaching voices.
Jamie popped up the ladder like a wild-eyed jack-in-the-box. He captured Prudence’s arm and started back down, jerking to a halt when he realized the rest of her wasn’t following.
“Get down there, ye silly chit. Do ye want them to come up here?”
“No, of course not. But what shall I tell her?”
Jamie didn’t give Prudence time to ponder. He shoved her across the loft and stuffed her down the ladder. She missed the last three rungs, scraping her shins and landing in the hay as Tricia and Old Fish entered the musty stable.
Prudence stumbled around to face them, disheveled and wide-eyed with guilt. Untidy wisps of hair escaped her braid. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Sebastian’s cool confession was still thundering through her brain. The sort of man I am wishes he had t
aken you that night in the crofter’s hut. He wishes he had put his child in you … Her hand flew to her abdomen. Why couldn’t she be the sort of girl who fainted?
She would have thought it impossible, but as she stared at her aunt and Old Fish, the butler’s eyes bugged out farther. Another half inch and they would surely pop out and roll across the hay. Prudence realized too late the reason for his shock.
Jamie swung off the ladder, landing on the balls of his feet like a cat. “Where’d ye go, luv? The fun was just beginnin’.”
He laid his wiry arm across her shoulders. Old Fish cleared his throat. Jamie looked up as if seeing them for the first time.
“Shame on ye, pet. Ye didn’t tell me we had guests.”
His copper hair was ruffled, as if he had run his fingers through it. His chest was bare, and the first three buttons of his breeches were unfastened. A mortified heat swept up Prudence’s throat, and she seriously reconsidered swooning.
Jamie swaggered forward, sloshing whisky over the rim of the decanter. His gaze traveled boldly over Tricia’s jade green negligee. She closed it at the throat with a demure hand, blushing prettily. Prudence gaped, so amazed at Jamie’s transformation that she forgot her own embarrassment. Ugly or not, he exuded a smug sexuality that was almost palpable.
Tricia’s eyes were all for Jamie. Prudence felt invisible. She wondered if anyone would notice if she dropped to her stomach and buried herself in the hay.
“You realize,” Tricia said, fluttering her lashes, “I shall have to speak to your master about this little … indiscretion.”
To Prudence’s amazement, Jamie dropped to one knee at Tricia’s feet and brought her hand to his lips. “I’m a poor lad, me lady. I ain’t got no other post. Would ye have my lord send me away penniless”—Prudence would have sworn his tongue flicked out to touch Tricia’s hand—“and hungry? I am humbly sorry.” He looked about as remorseful as a freckled Lucifer.
Tricia gave a breathless cluck. The bows on her towering satin mob-cap trembled becomingly. Prudence had always suspected she slept in her wig. “We shall have to give it some thought, won’t we? Perhaps I can persuade Lord Kerr to be merciful when he decides your fate.”
A muffled snort from the loft reminded Prudence that Lord Kerr was already deciding Jamie’s fate. She blushed anew.
Tricia swept across the stable like a regal queen and stopped in front of Prudence. Prudence stared at the flounces of lace on her aunt’s bosom, unable to meet her eyes. Shame flooded her as she realized for the first time that she was guilty of a crime far worse than dallying with Jamie. She was in love with her aunt’s fiancé. In another month, even God would have a name for a woman like her—adulteress.
She waited for Tricia to scream at her or box her ears or send her packing. She was acutely aware of Jamie leaning against a splintered post, arms crossed over his bare chest, a smirk on his thin lips. He was enjoying her discomfiture almost as much as Old Fish. The loft above held its waiting silence.
Tricia gently cupped Prudence’s chin, tilting her face upward. Her soft, tinkling laugh filled the stable. “Why, you cunning little creature! Who would have thought it? My Prudence and the coachman!”
Tricia’s eyes danced with warmth and delight. She pulled Prudence into her arms. Prudence hung limply in her aunt’s embrace, her eyes wide circles of shock. Jamie lifted his hands in a baffled shrug. Old Fish opened and closed his mouth like a beached herring.
There was no mistaking the bemused pride in Tricia’s voice as she led Prudence toward the door. “Come, you naughty child, we have much to discuss. You should have come to your aunt sooner. I thought all you were interested in were those dusty old books of yours.” As they ambled into the awakening morning, Tricia cast Jamie a coquettish look over her shoulder. “Men can teach you what pleases men, but it takes a woman to teach you what will please you.”
Prudence dared a glance back. Sebastian was leaning out of the hayloft, listening with interest.
“Don’t think I’m judging you, darling,” Tricia went on. “Most of the women I know cut their proverbial teeth on groomsmen and houseboys. But you should learn to protect yourself from mishaps. It would be exceedingly awkward to explain away—”
As Prudence’s cheeks flamed bright red, Tricia mercifully became aware of Old Fish following behind them, ears perked to their conversation.
She gave the butler an airy wave. “Bring a tray of chocolate to my chamber, Fish.” Prudence cringed as Tricia gave her a motherly squeeze. “It’s just as well my Sebastian is in Edinburgh. I shall have time to prepare him for this. He’s quite protective of you, you know. I believe he thinks of you as far more than a niece.”
A cold shiver raked Prudence’s spine. Tricia knew, she thought. Oh, dear sweet Lord, she knew.
A frown furrowed her aunt’s brow. “I do believe he thinks of you as a daughter.”
Behind them a pained yelp was muffled to a strangled cough. Tricia spun around as the door of the hayloft swung shut with a bang.
Prudence was reading in her room two nights later when a knock came on her door. It was followed by an aristocratic sniff. “Lord Kerr wishes your presence in the study.”
“Very well, Fish.”
Prudence smoothed the skirt of her pale green watered silk gown and slipped on her spectacles. She studied her reflection in the mirror, then dropped the spectacles back in her pocket. Tugging two strands of hair free from her tight chignon, she fluffed them around her face, then sighed. Her nose was still too pointy, her eyes too big.
“ ‘Vanity of vanities; all is vanity,’ ” she murmured to her reflection.
She waited at the door for Old Fish’s doddering steps to recede before slipping into the hall. As she approached the study, the door opened and her aunt emerged. Tricia hastily shut the door behind her.
She captured Prudence’s hands and brought them to her rouged lips. “Courage, my child,” she whispered. “I begged him to go gently with you.”
Then Tricia was gone in a cloud of musky gardenia and Prudence was left to face the heavy door alone. Sebastian’s gentleness was the last thing she needed. She pushed open the door.
Nothing was visible of Sebastian but a thatch of sandy hair, a cloud of smoke, and a pair of polished top boots resting on the windowsill. She cleared her throat.
He scraped the chair around and jerked the thin cheroot out of his mouth. “Good evening, Miss Walker.”
She bobbed a curtsy. “Good evening, Uncle Sebastian.”
His lips twitched. He took a long drag of the cigar, and a thin wisp of blue smoke wafted out the window. He indicated the leather chair in front of the desk. Prudence sat.
Sebastian thumbed through a sheaf of papers, his heavy brows drawn together in a stern line. “Miss Walker, your aunt has asked me to speak to you about a certain breach of propriety that occurred at Lindentree during my recent absence.”
“What might that be, sir?”
He kept his gaze on the papers. “I am referring to a pilfered decanter of Scotch whisky. In the future, if you care to supply either yourself or your male companions with spirits, you are to come to me and I will dole it out to you.” He looked up at her then, and his eyes were sparkling. He seemed to have difficulty catching his breath. “Your aunt is deeply concerned about a moral decline which has led you to become a thief in your own home.”
Sebastian’s attempt at sternness failed as he blew a cloud of cigar smoke up his nose and collapsed in a wheezing, sputtering heap. His muscular shoulders heaved. He threw back his head, mopping tears of laughter from his eyes as Prudence flew out of her chair in an indignant fury.
“Isn’t that just like her! She chastises me for stealing the whisky, but not for dallying with the coachman!”
She paced the study in long, swishing strides. “That’s the first time Tricia has ever looked at me with anything resembling pride.” Sebastian hiccuped. Prudence turned on him, planting both hands on the desk. “Go ahead and laugh. It’s not your r
eputation in shreds. You don’t have Old Fish looking down his nose at you as if you were Jezebel and the whore of Babylon rolled into one.”
Sebastian clapped a hand over his mouth in mock dismay. “Miss Walker, your language. You shock me!”
“After a morning of Tricia’s tutelage, I could shock you even more.”
He sat up with interest. “Was it bad?”
“Horrid. Not even Papa’s Icones Anatomicae prepared me for that.” She lowered her voice to a husky whisper. “She taught me things that would make your toes curl.”
He fanned himself with the papers. “You don’t say? Do go on. You know, you should get angry more often. It’s enchanting. Your eyes snap, your cheeks pinken. Quite an amazing transformation from my meek little niece.”
Prudence dared to sit on the edge of the desk. “Niece? You wound me. Tricia swore you thought of me—”
They shouted in unison, “—more as a daughter!”
Prudence snatched the papers from Sebastian and beat him about the head as her own fury dissolved in mirth.
“Careful, careful,” he said. “Take pity on a wounded man, won’t you?” He raised a hand, too weak with laughter to defend himself.
She dropped the papers. “I forgot. How is your shoulder?”
“Much better. The butter and eggs did the trick. I’d be fine if Boris didn’t think me a scone. He keeps sniffing me and licking his chops. Of course, after three days of Jamie’s company, even Boris has his charms.”
One of the papers had slid off the desk. Prudence stooped to pick it up.
Her smile faded as she glanced at it. “A masked ball prior to your wedding.” She handed him the invitation. “How quaint.”
He smoothed the creamy vellum. “And original. How did Tricia ever think of it? Perhaps the ten masked balls we attended last month inspired her.”