Chapter 2 CaptorCaptive #2
Edmund immediately closed his eyes, affecting the deep breathing of sleep. He heard her shift, the chains clinking softly, then a mortified whisper: “Oh, botheration.”
He waited a few more seconds before “waking” with a careful stretch, as if her movement had disturbed him. “Did you say something?”
“No! That is, I was just… adjusting.” Pink stained her cheeks in the growing dawn light. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
“Of course not. Neither was I.” He straightened his clothes to give her time to compose herself. “Merely resting my eyes while contemplating grain tariffs.”
“Precisely. Very restful, grain tariffs.” She delicately wiped the corners of her eyes, as if trying to hide it.
Edmund found himself studying her openly.
There was something compelling about her face, an animation that made conventional prettiness seem insipid by comparison.
Most of all, there was no artifice. No calculated glances or practiced smiles.
Just a woman who was trying to pretend she hadn’t been snoring.
Nothing excited him more in a woman than intellect and wit, and she possessed both in abundance. She could quote Ricardo and Milton with equal facility, argue economic theory while chained to marble, and maintain her sense of humor despite desperate circumstances.
Which made her absolutely forbidden.
He couldn’t dally with a lady—an unmarried one from a good family.
And marriage to a Dover? His ancestors would rise from their graves in protest. His great uncle Mortimer would definitely cut him from his will.
The old man still ranted about Dover’s grandfather’s theft of some prized mare in 1789.
His aunt Agatha would have palpitations.
His cousins would demand he be declared mentally incompetent.
Could they contest such a marriage? Edmund wasn’t certain of the legalities, but they could certainly make life miserable. He’d have to spend half his fortune in bribes just to get them to attend the wedding. The other half would go toward preventing active sabotage.
No, if he were to marry, it would be someone like Lady Penelope Kershaw—impeccable bloodlines, political connections through her father, and a dowry that included valuable railway shares.
She was also beautiful in that conventional way, and so tremendously dull that he’d once dozed off during her recitation of Italian poetry.
Lady Prudence’s head bobbed forward again, and another snort escaped before she jerked awake.
“Perhaps,” he said gently, “you should rest properly. It’s been a long night.”
She smiled sheepishly, and something twisted in his chest. “I can’t seem to keep my eyes open. It must be the tea. Very soothing tea.”
“My special blend. Guaranteed to make economic discussions fifty percent more bearable.”
“Only fifty?” she countered with a sleepy smile.
“I’m not a miracle worker.”
She laughed, then yawned, trying to hide it behind her hand and failing. The gesture was so artlessly charming that Edmund felt an unexpected urge to kiss her. The thought startled him enough that he sat up straight.
“Lady Prudence,” he said impulsively, “weren’t you frightened? Chaining yourself here?”
She tilted her head. “Frightened of what?”
“Of… me. You’re completely vulnerable, entirely at my mercy. It didn’t occur to you that I might… take advantage of the situation?”
“You mean ravish me?” She said it so matter-of-factly that he nearly choked on air. “Of course it occurred to me.”
“And yet you came anyway?”
“I researched you first.” She met his gaze directly.
“You’ve had three mistresses in the past five years.
All widows or actresses, all terminated with generous settlements.
You’ve never been linked to any scandal involving an innocent.
You once thrashed Lord Bentley for forcing his attentions on a maid. And you’ve never compromised anyone.”
Edmund stared at her. “You researched me?”
“I wasn’t going to chain myself to just any balcony. I have standards.”
“What are your standards?”
“My standards include choosing a gentleman who, despite his family’s feud with mine, has never acted dishonorably toward a woman.” She pulled the blanket tighter. “Though I did bring this, just in case.”
She produced a wicked looking hat pin from somewhere in her skirts.
“You thought a hat pin would protect you from a determined rake?”
“No, but it might have slowed you down long enough for me to scream.” She twirled the pin between her fingers. “Mrs. Lamberton’s balcony is just next door. She sleeps with her windows open for her health.”
“You planned escape routes?”
“I planned contingencies.”
Edmund shook his head in amazement. This woman had researched his romantic history, mapped neighboring balconies, and armed herself with millinery weapons. “You’re either brilliant or mad.”
“My governess always said the line was rather thin, especially where I was concerned.” She restored the hat pin to its hiding place.
“Besides, you wouldn’t ruin me. It would mean marrying me and imagine explaining that to your family.
‘Mother, meet my wife. We’re together because she chained herself to my balcony and I couldn’t help myself’. ”
“My aunt Agatha would demand an exorcism.”
“An exorcism?”
“She’s convinced only demonic possession could make a Cartwright ally with a Dover.” He found himself smiling. “When your father voted against my uncle’s canal bill, she burned sage for a week.”
Prudence laughed. “My grandmother threw a dinner party the same week to celebrate. She served canal water soup as the first course.”
“Canal water soup?”
“Water with weeds floating in it. Said it represented your uncle’s prospects.” She grimaced. “Grandmother wasn’t subtle.”
“Neither was Uncle Mark. He once had a fountain installed that spelled out ‘Dover Delenda Est.’”
“Dover must be destroyed? Rather dramatic.”
“Everything between our families is dramatic.” Edmund studied her face. “Your father never told you what started it all?”
“Something about a stolen horse? Or was it a woman? The stories vary.”
“Both, actually.” Edmund leaned back against the railing. “My great-great-grandfather and yours were friends once. Partners in a shipping venture.”
“Partners?” Prudence sat forward, chains rattling. “Our families were allies?”
“Until they both fell in love with the same woman. Lady Catherine Fairfax. Beautiful, wealthy, and apparently fond of playing them against each other.”
“Who won?”
“Neither. She married an Italian count and moved to Venice.” Edmund’s smile was wry. “But by then, your ancestor had sabotaged my ancestors’ ships, mine had seduced your ancestors’ mistresses, and they’d fought two duels. Both non-fatal but deeply embarrassing.”
“All that for a woman who chose neither of them?”
“Male pride is a peculiar thing. The shipping venture collapsed, both families lost fortunes, and they spent the rest of their lives trying to destroy each other.” He gestured between them. “And here we are, generations later, still fighting.”
Lady Prudence was quiet for a moment. “That’s remarkably stupid.”
“It is.” Edmund found himself moving closer, drawn by her honest indignation. No woman of his acquaintance had shown their emotions as plainly. He found her fascinating.
“And now the fate of our family rests on whether you can be better than they were.” She looked up at him, those cognac eyes bright with hope. “Can you?”
Edmund inwardly groaned. She wielded her sword so precisely when he’d let his guard down. He couldn’t help but admire her. She was exhausted, vulnerable, and still fighting for her family. The courage of it, the sheer passionate determination, made his heart stutter.
“Lady Prudence…”
“Yes?” She was looking at him with such hope, such trust.
He took a breath. “About the vote—”
A door slammed somewhere below, followed by the sound of boots on gravel. The servants were beginning their day.
Lady Prudence’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh no. If they find me…”
“Let us pray they don’t look up. Don’t move.” Edmund was already calculating risks, timing, possibilities. Dawn was breaking properly now, painting the sky rose and gold. In an hour, he’d need to leave for Parliament.
And he still didn’t know what he was going to do when he got there.
“I shall send a messenger to fetch a locksmith posthaste,” he said and hurried inside.