Chapter Two
Prue sat in Lord Bain’s library, oddly numb, while the hum of convivial conversation flooded through the double doors. In the musty, book-filled room, she barely registered the noise as she slumped in a chair by the fire, staring into the flames.
After Lord Bain had eased the letter gently from her fingers, he’d poured her a tot of brandy and stood over her, insisting she drink it. The liquor almost scalded as it slipped down her throat, but it helped to ease the icy knot in her chest. She coughed. “I must return home,” she murmured.
At his desk, he broke the wax seal and opened the letter. Skimming it, his hazel eyes looked grave when he raised them to meet hers. “I am so sorry for your loss, Lady Prudence. Your father was a good friend. But let’s not be too hasty, shall we?”
Anxious, she shifted forward in her chair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her heart beating uncomfortably fast. “What does Papa say in his letter, Lord Bain?”
He hesitated. “Your father states that if something should happen to him, it’s his wish for you to remain here until something more permanent can be arranged. We don’t know who perpetrated this villainous act, so it may not be safe for you to return home as yet.”
Her father had said much the same. Was she in danger? It was impossible to comprehend. Surely, the villain would soon be arrested. “Lord Bain, Papa knew he was in danger. Does he give any clue as to who might have wished him dead?”
With a sad shake of his head, Lord Bain sat forward in his chair, resting his arms on the leather top of his desk “My dear young lady! I’m at a loss to understand why anyone would want a man of your father’s stature dead; he was a respected member of the House of Lords, and indeed, of this community. ”
A footman entered with a tray. He poured Prue a cup of tea and placed it on the side table at her elbow.
She made no attempt to drink it, fearing her hands shook so badly, she would spill it.
Papa is dead. A scoundrel had shot him down as a hunter would a buck.
There was no sense to be made of it. Despite Lord Bain’s warning, she must go home.
Perhaps the answer could be found there.
“It’s best you don’t mingle with my guests,” Lord Bain said, breaking into her thoughts. “My housekeeper will prepare a bedchamber for you.”
A bedchamber? “I cannot remain here. Our servants will be shocked. They need to be reassured.” She could imagine the upheaval taking place.
He straightened and strode to the door. “Please give me time to arrange something.” He left the room and shortly afterward, the housekeeper came in.
Mrs. Miller, a short, brusque woman, her brown hair pulled back in a bun, patted Prue’s shoulder and told her a bedchamber would soon be made ready.
Prue firmed her lips in protest. What good would it do?
Mrs. Miller had her orders. She sat quietly while the staff cleared away the tea things and stoked the fire.
Every time the door of the library opened to admit a servant, the laughter and chatter grew louder.
The mansion appeared to be crowded with guests for a house party.
When Prue’s carriage had driven onto the grounds earlier, a group of men and women had been engaged in blind man’s buff.
The women had squealed, and the manner in which the men had grabbed them had gone beyond the bounds of propriety, although they’d seemed not to object.
Despairing, Prue’s chest tightened. She had hoped to find sanctuary here.
Someone to help her discover the truth. But what sort of man was Lord Bain to hold such tawdry affairs? Had Papa known him that well?
Lord Bain had been gone for some time. Prue wished he would come and explain what this was all about.
He might not have known exactly what had happened, but he must have had some idea because her father had sought his help and the man hadn’t been surprised at the request to watch over her.
What was in that letter? A shiver passed down her spine, chilling her to her bones, despite the coal fire crackling in the grate.
She’d been aware her father had recently been involved in some kind of business that he’d never explained.
It hadn’t been her place to ask. Men, including Lord Bain, had come to see him, but as they were all obviously well-respected gentlemen, she’d put it down to some new investment.
Who was the man who had ridden up to the house? It had to have been him who’d killed her father. She wished she’d gotten a better look at him. Everything seemed a blur, and she feared the shock had pushed any recollection of him from her mind.
As Prue sat staring into the flames, the door opened. She turned, expecting Lord Bain, but a young housemaid in a mobcap came into the room. The small, slender girl bobbed, her wide, blue eyes like saucers. “I’m Annie, milady. I’m to take you to your bedchamber.”
“Thank you, Annie.” Prue could do nothing but rise and follow her from the room. It appeared that she would have to wait for Lord Bain to agree to arrange a carriage. She regretted having sent her father’s coach home in case it was needed. Please let it be soon.
Once the maid left her in a guest bedchamber, Prue collapsed, her knees weak, onto the bed.
Bowed down by sorrow, she closed her eyes as the image of her father’s anguished face as he’d breathed his last reappeared in her mind.
She moaned and rubbed her eyes. They felt raw and sore.
The dull throb in her chest was worse than the numbness his death had first caused.
With her fists clenched, she lay down and wailed, giving in to her tightly held grief, sobbing into the pillow.
Exhausted, she dragged herself up. Her throat raw, she sniffed and dried her eyes with the hem of her petticoat and then rolled off the bed. She refused to stay in this house for a moment longer than necessary. Lord Bain must allow her to go home. She would insist on it.
Prue did what she could to salvage her appearance, although her face was pale and her eyes red.
She shrugged her shoulders as she smoothed the skirts of her sage-green morning gown.
She was unsuitably dressed but couldn’t muster any concern for how she looked as she left the room and made her way to the stairs.
Descending, she was halfway down the stairs when a tall man walked into view in the hall below.
He carried himself with assurance and was immaculately dressed in a superfine dark-navy coat with gold buttons—which spoke of Bond Street tailoring—a cream waistcoat, fitted pale nankeen pantaloons and gleaming top boots.
He approached the staircase where she’d paused, hoping he’d continue on without seeing her.
Too late. He gazed up and spied her, his long-fingered hand resting on the newel post. “Where have you been hiding? I don’t recall seeing you here.” He raised his dark eyebrows. “And you are not a lady one would forget.”
He made no attempt to disguise what he was thinking as his gaze ran over her. Mentally, he already had her stripped, she suspected, her nerves on edge.
Prue didn’t trust her voice and deigned not to reply.
She continued down the stairs. When she reached the hall carpet, he made no attempt to move aside and make way for her.
Prevented by a solid male body, Prue was forced to stop and look up into his assessing gray eyes.
A smile lurked in their depths. She recoiled with horror as a thought struck her.
Did he believe her to be one of the women she’d seen behaving so shamefully?
He was every inch a rake and no doubt enjoyed the freedom the house party offered.
She took a nervous breath and moved to walk around him. As she attempted to pass, he reached out and placed a hand on her arm. “Don’t hurry away. Whoever he is will wait awhile.”
Astonished, Prue tried to pull away. “Do I know you, sir?”
“We can become better acquainted, but first, I’ll have a kiss, madam.”
Before she could even think much about what he’d said, or how a strange part of her was excited at the idea, he spun her around, and with a hand palming the back of her neck and the other at her waist drawing her against the hard planes of his body, he pressed his lips to hers.
Startled, she struggled, breathing in his masculine scent, and clutched his coat, overwhelmed by his insistent mouth.
Coming to her senses, she put a hand on his chest and shoved at him with all her strength.
“Just as sweet as I expected.” Holding up his hands, he backed off with a grin.
Prue’s experience of fumbled kisses from young men had never remotely been like this practiced kiss.
When his tongue had traced the seam of her lips, she’d been stunned by the rush of desire to open her mouth to him.
Anger at herself as well as him surged through her. “Touch me again and I’ll…shoot you!”
He made a pointed examination of her, from her neck to her toes. “Would I find a gun hidden somewhere if I were to search for it?”
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You’ll be sorry should you try.”
His laugh made her blood boil. Prue went up on her toes and slapped him across the face with such force, her fingers tingled.
She resisted shaking them, pleased to see he no longer smiled.
He held a hand to his reddened cheek, his eyebrows raised.
“Am I wrong to assume that you are one of the lady, er…guests?”
“Indeed, you are, sir.” She glared at him; her hands clenched. “I am here to see Lord Bain.”
“Then I must beg your pardon.” He bowed. “Viscount Hereford.” But his eyes gleamed, clearly more amused than sorry. “Allow me to escort you safely to him.”
In her disheveled condition, would he believe her to be Lord Bain’s lady love? The firm touch of his lips still lingered, distracting her. “I know where to find him,” she said stiffly, resisting licking her bottom lip.