Chapter 15

"Men are most confusing."

Prudence could do naught but shake her head. Every bit of her agreed with Cora.

"And they are much better in fiction, don't you think?"

Again, Cora spoke words of wisdom, but…

"Perhaps," Prudence ventured, "men of flesh and blood possess some benefits over those of paper and ink."

"Oh? How so?"

The sun threw happy rays across Cora's face as they trudged back toward Norton Hall. It had sunk lower than Prudence liked as they'd walked. Her schedule a catastrophe now. But then, she'd not had ravishment by Mr. Bailey on her list of items to accomplish that day, and she… could not regret it.

"A man of ink and paper, for instance," Prudence said, "cannot keep one warm." Or jump into a lake to save one. When one did not need saving in the least. The thought mattered more than the reality, though.

"Not in the conventional sense, perhaps, but when I am abed at night with a book in hand and the blankets heavy over my legs, my imagination is quite warmed by the men I read about."

"Yes, but…" Wouldn't it be better with such a man beneath the covers with you? Couldn't say that. Had never really thought it until…

Mr. Benjamin Bailey had ravaged her. Most thoroughly. An unplanned event that quite rearranged her schedules from henceforward. Now it seemed every hour called for ravishment.

"But?" Cora elbowed Prudence's ribs.

"Don't you enjoy Lord Norton's attentions at night?"

Cora whipped her gaze to the grass beneath their boots, her cheeks flushing.

Prudence chuckled. "Answer enough."

"It is so very different from what I imagined. He's so very careful with me, so… accommodating."

Ben had been none of those things.

Ben? Not Mr. Bailey?

Apparently so.

Prudence wrung her bruised wrist with the other hand. Her gloves and the cuff of her spencer hid the marks Ben's passion had left her with. She enjoyed knowing they were there. Tender to the touch, yes, but the mere thought of them brought back memories she wanted to relive over and over again.

She swallowed, fanned her cheeks. "My, it's hot today."

"It's as if he does not wish to hurt me."

"Norton?"

"Yes. Who else but Norton?"

Prudence cleared her throat. "Do you wish you had not married him?"

"No. It's not that. It is merely that I wish he'd treat me as he did the night in the garden when we were caught."

No tenderness that night. Only mindless passion.

"Are you going to tell me about the boathouse?" Cora asked.

"What about the boathouse?"

"You were caught there a terribly long time. And Lady Templeton and the others are of the mind that something… happened."

Prudence shook her head. "Men are most confusing."

"So we've established. How, in particular, has Mr. Bailey confused you?"

"He didn't want me. I know he didn't. But now… it seems he does."

Cora rolled her eyes. "Of course he wanted you. He came here, all changed. And why wouldn't he want you?"

"Hm. Still, it's rather odd."

"You doubt him even now?"

She didn't want to. After that morning, her body begged her not to. Her heart begged, too.

"I don't. Yet, I can't imagine why he would want me."

Cora snorted. "Why wouldn't he? You're pretty and clever and do not tolerate fools."

"That sounds like Lottie."

"And you're kind and loving and protective of those you care for."

"That sounds like Andromeda."

Cora swept in front of Prudence and took her hands, shook them, squeezed them. "No, it's you. You are all those good things."

"Thank you." Prudence squeezed her friend's hands in return and locked their arms together. "We should return to the house. We're terribly late."

"Are you going to marry Mr. Bailey?" Cora asked as they set their steps more quickly toward Norton Hall.

"Marry him? He's not proposed."

"But if he does? You will say…"

Yes. No. Well… "I think I'm scared to answer that."

Cora laid her head on Prudence's shoulder. "Men are also most terrifying."

"No." She did not fear Ben. "What if I let myself hope?" Let herself love. "And then I was right all along, that he did not want me but wanted a dowry or a… a… something else. Whatever else he thinks he gets from marrying me."

"He gets you. And if that's not enough, I suggest we set Mrs. Garrison on him with a bow and arrow."

Prudence laughed as the hall came into view. Her steps quickened. Seeking out Ben was not on any schedule she'd contrived. But her schedule had given way to chaos during the storm.

"Look," Cora said, pointing toward the front of the house, "there's Mr. Bailey now. And… how odd… the ladies as well. All of them."

Ben and the others marched toward them through the grass, and as the two parties grew closer, Prudence walked faster, the grim set of Ben's jaw enough to make her heart race.

"Something's happened," Prudence whispered.

They were almost running when they met the others, and Ben's hands swallowed Prudence's shoulders as his gaze flew to Cora.

"Lady Norton," he said, "there's been a bit of a change in circumstances."

"What do you mean?" Cora asked, breathless.

Lady Templeton stepped forward. "It's my fault, I'm afraid. I thought he knew, thought Mr. Bailey knew."

"Never assume," Mrs. Garrison snapped.

"Assume what?" Cora looked, grim-eyed, toward the hall.

"I know about the books," Ben said, his gaze finding Prudence, softening. "And so does Norton."

The world went still. Even the birds seemed to have silenced their song.

Prudence shrugged out of his hold, her gaze flying to Lady Templeton. "You told them?"

"Why?" Cora demanded.

"It was a mistake." Lady Templeton pulled herself up tall, refusing to be cowed even in such an hour. "I blame you young ones, gadding about, falling in love—"

"I'm not falling in love," Prudence protested.

"Not even a little?" Ben asked. She waved him away, but he caught her hand and held it tight. "Norton has left."

"Left?" Cora's voice came out as a squawk. "To go where?"

More silence.

"Where?" she demanded.

"London," Ben said. "We only tell you now to prepare you. He left in a hurry. And with a bit of a fuss. You may want to prepare a story to tell the servants."

"And we didn't want you to make a fuss in front of everyone inside," Lady Macintosh said. "It wouldn't be dignified, and in a case such as this, it's imperative to retain your dignity."

Cora's face paled. "Where in London has my husband gone?"

"I wouldn't tell her that," Ben mumbled.

"Tell her." Prudence ripped her hand away from his.

"Mother Circe's Nunnery," Lady Templeton said, her gaze going far into the distance over Cora's shoulder. "In the West End."

Cora lifted her face to the sky with closed eyes and straightened her shoulders. Then, as if she were a ghost, she glided forward toward the house.

They walked behind her, gathered close enough to whisper and still hear.

"What will she do?" Lady Templeton asked.

"She should tell everyone Norton received a letter concerning some difficulty in London," Mrs. Garrison said.

Ben snorted. "What difficulty?"

Lady Macintosh snorted right back. "Anything. That's not for servants to know."

"And who do you think you are, Mr. Bailey?" Mrs. Garrison asked.

Ben blinked. "You seem to know my name well enough."

"But we are not familiar enough with one another to allow teasing. And this is no time."

"My grandfather says bleak times are the best times for teasing."

"You used to be a growly, monosyllabic sort of man." Lady Macintosh tsked. "What happened?"

Ben shrugged. "Must have been the beard. Quite itchy. Entirely pickles one's temperament."

"And who is this impertinent man, your grandfather?" Lady Templeton demanded.

Still, Cora floated before them, a wraith under the dimming sky.

"Baron Brightly," Ben mumbled.

The three older women stopped, stared at him, then stared at one another. They seemed to speak all at once.

"Did we know that?"

"A baron."

"We should have known that."

"Yes, but the way he used to look."

"And speaks."

"Never even crossed my mind to consider…"

"And he's the baron's heir," Prudence said.

Now they all looked at her.

Ben groaned. "Did you really have to do that, Lady P?"

Prudence nodded.

"Benjamin Bailey," Lady Templeton said.

"Baron Brightly," Mrs. Garrison mumbled.

"Heavens." Lady Macintosh's lips twitched.

"Don't laugh," he warned.

Lady Macintosh tempered her twitching lip. "Never. Unlike your dear baron of a grandfather, I know now is no time for teasing."

They entered the house and watched Cora ascend the stairs, melt into the shadows at the top without a single word.

"The girl always did have a flair for the dramatic," Lady Templeton said.

"My friends." Cora reappeared, standing like a queen at the top of the steps. "I thank you for your support, but I am afraid I must call an end to this house party." She held up a hand to stop any disagreement. "I will instruct the staff to help you with preparations for leaving." Then she turned and left once more.

They stood in the entryway, staring upward for several moments at the spot where she'd been, as if they all waited for her to return. She did not, and the ladies, grumbling and whispering amongst themselves, followed Cora upstairs.

Leaving Prudence alone. With Ben. But she could not turn toward him. She seemed stuck, her gaze riveted to that spot where her friend—pale and tall—had stood, had sent her away without a tear.

A brush on her arm, up and down. His fingertips. "Prudence, are you unwell?"

"I do not think Cora will speak with me."

"She appears to need a moment alone. But I am not asking about her. How are you, Lady P?"

"I… I am… shocked, I suppose. You, ahem, know then?"

His fingers landed just above her elbow, traced circles there, the touch as light and gentle as a whisper. "Yes."

"And you think…"

"No, actually. Haven't had time to think about it, what with Norton stomping off like a child denied his favorite toy."

She winced. "He was very angry, then? At Cora?"

"Hm. Maybe angrier at himself."

"Will he… you think… tell others? About us? About the books?"

He stepped in front of her, forcing her to look into his face. She found the same gentleness there that she found in his touch. "I don't think so, no. What purpose would that serve?"

"And you? You'll tell—"

"No, I most decidedly will not."

Did she trust him?

He ran his knuckles down the curve of her face. "I will not. I swear."

Yes, she did.

"Is that a smile, Lady P? Finally?"

"Not at all." She tangled her hand in his, knowing she shouldn't, incapable of stopping when the comfort he offered warmed better than a fire. She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. Another unlikely, inadvisable action. A kiss so quick, it seemed her lips barely grazed the rough hair on the back of his large, strong hand.

"Prudence." Her name, a sound as warm as his comfort, a heat that promised to be scorching if tended right.

She dropped his hands and made for the stairs. "I must, I suppose, prepare to leave. And so must you, Mr. Bailey."

"Ben," he called from down below.

"Ben," she whispered, sinking into the same shadows that had swallowed Cora.

She wanted to stay with him, to let him tease her into gladness. But she could not take such a blessing. Not yet. Not with her friend brought so low.

Something woke Prudence before the sun rose. The smallest squeak, or the softest shush of two objects brushing together. The sound, whatever it was, echoed a small, raw feeling through her. What? She turned on her side in the bed and peered out the sliver between the closed curtains at the window.

Loneliness?

Perhaps.

Her friends had left yesterday, and today she would leave, too. But she had no right to feel this way. Only Cora, abandoned and silent. She'd not even come down for dinner, and not even the ladies' teasing of Ben over fish and wine had been able to liven the mood. Not even the kisses he'd put on the tip of her nose, the top of her head, had filled in the hollow space inside her. Because of Cora.

No use sleeping. She felt wide awake, jittery even. Ben had insisted on traveling with her, accompanying her back to her brother's door as a protector. She'd be confined with him all day in a traveling coach. Not entirely inappropriate. Her maid would travel with them. Still…

She jumped out of bed and splashed water from the basin on her face. It did not calm her. Perhaps she should speak with him alone before they left. She had this terrible itch all across her skin that seemed to think… seemed to suggest…

Once they got to London, she'd never see him again.

Silliness. Everything he did and said showed he wanted her. He'd not proposed marriage yet, but… surely that was not far behind, and—

Her hands flew up to her mouth on a gasp. She wanted to marry him. She'd never wanted to marry anyone. Never once felt tempted. But now… oh what a temptation Ben Bailey proved to be. She could imagine it, actually imagine seeing his scruffy face every day, hearing his teasing tones every morning, aching for his rough touch every night. The face, the tones, the touch… of a friend. A friend her heart could curl up against and start to purr.

She flung her wrapper over her shoulders and made for the door. He'd be asleep, but she needed to talk to him, to know if he felt the same. Right this instant. No better time on the schedule for certainty than now.

At the door, she paused. Beneath her foot, the floor felt different, uneven, smooth in one place, worn in another. A pale square peeked out from under her toes, and she knelt to retrieve it. She went to the window to inspect it, found her name scrawled in Cora's hand across one side. A note. She unfolded it and read.

"Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no!" She ran. All the way to Ben's room and banged on the door. "Ben! Ben!"

Fumbling and curses from inside, then the door flew open. Ben stood in the moonlight, his startled eyes wide. He reached for her, grasped her shoulders. "Prudence? What is wrong? What's happened?"

"This!" She waved the note before his face.

He snatched it and strode to the window, dragging her along with him. "Hell," he said after he read it. "She's gone to London?"

Prudence nodded. Words? What were words? They'd all quite flown away. Because Ben stood in the moonlight naked from the waist up, his breeches slung low on narrow hips, every inch of skin on show. Her mouth went dry. So much skin, so much muscle. She reached out, poked the slab of muscle that he likely called chest. Everyone else called it that, but if his did not look like other chests, could it use the same moniker? She poked it again. Then laid her hand flat against it.

"Prudence." His voice gravelly.

"Hm?" She trailed her hand downward, over the hard ridges of his abdomen.

"I don't think you should touch me right now, love."

"Oh?"

"Yes." His hand cupped the back of her neck, and his thumb rubbed gentle lines into the skin at her nape. "Not only because it seems your friend has run away to a brothel, but because you woke me from a particularly scandalous dream in which you wore even less than you're wearing now. Me as well." He leaned close until his lips brushed against her ear. "Nothing, love. We were wearing nothing. And we're so close to wearing nothing now, I find it difficult to focus on priorities."

"Which are?" Her hand stopped at the band of his breeches, her gaze riveted on the large bulge straining there.

"Difficult to remember, but… hell." He crashed his lips to hers and stole her breath, gave her a hard, needy kiss in return. Tongue and teeth and lips and warm breath until she clung to him, fingers finding nothing but skin to hold on to, the back of his neck to wrap around, the hair there to tug.

"Hell," he cursed again and set her from him. "Priorities." He marched her to the empty fireside. "Stay there." Then he marched all the way to the other side of the room, grabbing his shirt as he did and throwing it over his head. "And I'll stay here. Now." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Are we to do something about this?"

This. Yes, this. Cora.

"She's gone to London alone," Prudence said. "How could she? It's much too dangerous. On horseback? Alone!"

"She'll make good time."

"That is not the point, Mr. Bailey."

"You're right. The point is that she intends to march right up to the front door of a well-known brothel and demand they relinquish her husband."

"Fool notion," Prudence bit out.

"She's a married woman."

"Still! It is not done."

"And you're overly concerned about what is done and what is not?"

She took several steps closer to him. "You have no idea how much I do to keep everything a secret. Cora can enjoy her evenings, and the ladies can enjoy their books because I oil the clockwork. No one sees me, but—"

"I see you." He demolished the distance between them, gathering her into his arms.

"You are supposed to stay over there."

"I promise not to ravish you." He nudged her temple with the tip of his nose. "What do you wish to do about Lady Norton?"

"Go after her." She rested her fists and her cheek against his chest as his arms tightened round her. "Stop her from making a mistake."

"Her life is not yours to organize."

She stiffened, pushed away. "I must leave."

He looked out the window, at the moon spilling through the glass. "Now? No."

"Yes. It's the only way to possibly catch her."

"No."

"I will." She tugged out of his arms.

He pulled her back, crashed her against him. "I'll stop you."

Laughing, she narrowed her eyes. "You may try, Mr. Bailey. You may try." She ducked then, quick as she could, out of the circle of his embrace, and darted for the door.

"Hell." He lunged for her, missed. "At least wait for morning." She slipped back into the hallway, and he followed. "Wait for sunlight, Prudence. Your brother will dissect me if I let you travel at night."

"It will be too late, then. I go now." She returned to her room and threw open the wardrobe, found a serviceable carriage gown of pale blue and her stays. "Help me."

Surprisingly, he played lady's maid without a single objection, his strong fingers tightening the stays and securing the gown as she held her hair back. "I thought I'd undress you before I ever had a chance to dress you, but here we are." He sighed. "I'm not complaining. Entirely. Now wait here. I'll be right back."

"I'm not waiting." She sat to pull on boots.

"Not forever, Lady P. Less than a quarter hour. I can't ride about the English countryside in breeches only."

"I'm not asking you to come with me."

He gathered her into his arms once more. Why was it so easy to let him do so?

"Why else did you come to me, then?" He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "No, if you insist on going, then I'm coming with you. And"—he tilted her chin up—"if you leave before I return, I will catch up with you, do you understand?"

The heat in his eye promised far more benefits than consequences of upsetting him.

"What will you do?" Her voice breathy.

"Throw you over my knee," he hissed near her ear, "and make sure you never endanger yourself again. Mainly by keeping you in my bed and under my body at all hours of the day and night." His teeth tugged on her earlobe, and she almost melted into the floorboards. Only determination kept her upright. What had Ben called it? Priorities. Yes, those. Cora.

He left, and she plaited her hair and set it in a simple coiffure at her nape. She pinned her hat on and shoved a full coin bag down into her stays between her breasts. Then she donned her spencer and waited.

She intended to hie off into the night alone with a single man of questionable reputation. She intended to risk her own reputation to save her friend's. Quite the to-do list. And it had never been more pressing to get it all done on time.