Indecent, page 2
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” There wasn’t an ounce of sarcasm in his tone, but she gave him no credit.
When he didn’t move, she narrowed her eyes at him.
He straightened. “I’ll just leave you alone.” Turning, he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
What an absolute disaster. But it could have been so much worse. Hopefully, Prudence wouldn’t be missed by anyone other than Cassandra. In all likelihood, her reputation would be fine and her chances for future employment unhindered. That didn’t mean there wasn’t some amount of risk—if the truth of her situation ever got out.
The viscount’s behavior was shocking. She knew he was in need of funds, that this was the entire reason he’d courted Cassandra, but to be so incredibly desperate as to become a villain?
You can’t possibly understand.
His words echoed in her brain. He’d been shocked to see her—not just because she wasn’t Cassandra, but because of the way the brigands had handled her. He’d also apologized and seemed genuinely remorseful. What couldn’t she understand? Curiosity pushed her outrage aside, at least a little.
If he’d managed to kidnap Cassandra instead, this truly would have been a catastrophe. She would have been ruined, her reputation shredded. In truth, Cassandra had already risked it by rushing to Croydon to find Wexford. However, they would wed, and all would be well.
And where would that leave Prudence? Without a job and with a potentially reputation-killing disappearance hanging over her. The thought of losing her hard-won security shortened her breath. Not too long ago, she’d been completely alone in the world, an orphan with no prospects after having to leave her position at a school for young ladies when the father of one of those young ladies had propositioned her most grotesquely. She’d had no choice but to depart unless she wanted to accept his disgusting advances.
Driven to desperation, she’d embarked on a foolish errand to find employment, only to find luck when she’d met Lord Lucien Westbrook, Cassandra’s brother. He’d rescued her from certain doom when he’d offered to help her find a position as a governess or a companion.
She would not allow Glastonbury to ruin her good fortune. She had to get back to London as soon as possible.
Bennet St. James, Viscount Glastonbury, jerked awake in a cold sweat despite the fact that he was sprawled in a chair near the warm hearth. Blinking, he saw that the first gray of dawn was just slipping over the chamber.
Glancing toward the bed, he detected the lump of Miss Lancaster and for the thousandth time berated himself for his stupidity. Not only had this turned into a horrible ordeal for the poor companion, he’d lost a pile of money for what amounted to total failure.
Rubbing his hand over his face, he forced himself to breathe. This was not the end of things. It was, however, one large step closer to defeat.
Unless he came up with a new stratagem. It could not, however, include marrying an heiress, since the Duke of Evesham would tell everyone that Bennet was a breath away from the poor house. Could viscounts even be admitted to workhouses?
Bennet shook his head. That wouldn’t happen. He would always have a place to live. Aberforth Place was entailed, and Bennet was stuck with it. Just as he was stuck with an abundance of female relatives to care for, some at Aberforth Place and others…elsewhere.
He could hope that Evesham—Cassandra’s father—wouldn’t tell anyone, but Bennet knew better than to expect that. Especially once everyone heard what Bennet had done, that he’d kidnapped Lady Cassandra’s companion and that he’d intended to abduct Lady Cassandra herself. His stomach folded over itself. If she went to Bow Street, there would be no stratagems and his family would be lost. What in the bloody hell had he been thinking?
He groaned softly, then sucked in a breath when he heard rustling in the bed. Leaning from the chair, he tried to discern if the companion had awakened. When she didn’t move again or make noise, he exhaled with relief. He wasn’t quite ready to face her furious disdain again. Though, he deserved nothing less.
What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t, and that was a terrible concern. People in his family sometimes acted impulsively, without concern for others, and, as with his behavior the previous night when he’d acted impulsively, bad things happened.
He’d been incredibly distraught upon receiving the note from Evesham in which the duke had informed Bennet that he was aware of his dire financial woes and would not allow him to wed his daughter. Frustration had turned to rage, and Bennet had lost sight of, well, everything. He’d been so close—the proposal was imminent, and Cassandra had given him every indication she was amenable to his offer.
Except she’d apparently been in love with Wexford instead. Not that Bennet had thought she loved him, nor did he love her. That might have come, however, since they liked each other at least.
All of it was moot now. And his chances of finding another heiress were slim. Once the ton learned of his destitution, he’d be labeled a fortune hunter, and no one would want to marry him. Save a wealthy merchant’s daughter in search of a title. He ought to consider that direction.
This was such a calamity! If only his father hadn’t lost every bit of money at the gaming tables, Bennet and the rest of his family wouldn’t be in this mess.
He glanced again toward the bed. He’d been livid after losing the chance to wed Lady Cassandra. He’d allowed his emotions to get the better of him, completely ruining the fight he was supposed to win and losing to Cassandra’s future husband of all people. That fight was supposed to change his fortune, just as marrying Cassandra would have done. If all had gone as planned, Bennet’s problems would have been solved.
Anger began to rise in him again. The boxing match had been his idea. He’d offered himself as a lure—a viscount fighting in a bout—to the owner of his boxing club. Frederick Dodd had immediately warmed to the idea and had even agreed to give Bennet a healthy portion of the ticket sales. If he won.
Instead, Bennet had lost—not only his pride, but a major source of income he’d been expecting. How in the hell was he going to meet his obligations? It wasn’t as if he could continue to let them lapse, especially where his relatives were concerned.
He began to shake as a familiar sensation of panic and desperation crept over him. His skin felt cold and clammy, and the room began to fade. This couldn’t be happening. He’d staved it off for so long, but he worried his collapse was inevitable. Last night’s criminal actions had proved that Bennet was no better than the most afflicted in his family…those who fought to keep themselves in check, to battle the darkness that threatened to overwhelm and drive them into inescapable despair and delusion.
Sitting up, he dropped his head between his legs and braced his palms on his thighs. He took deep, staggering breaths, willing himself to settle before his mind was completely out of his grasp. That had never happened—not yet. But it would. Someday.
Gradually, he began to calm, his pulse slowing and his breathing becoming more even. He could manage this. He would find an heiress. There was nothing wrong with marrying into the merchant class.
And what of Miss Lancaster? He looked toward her again, feeling weary. Was there a chance she wouldn’t tell what had happened? Surely, she’d want to protect her reputation.
He closed his eyes and silently cursed himself. Not only was he destitute and a scheming criminal, he was also an absolute scoundrel. The worst sort of gentleman.
But when he thought of those who would suffer because of his father’s actions, Bennet felt a renewed purpose. They were his responsibility, and he would ensure they were taken care of for the rest of their days.
Pushing himself up from the chair, Bennet caught the thin blanket before it slid to the floor. He set it on the cushion and stoked the fire, building it back into a low flame. Satisfied, he meandered toward the bed.
Miss Lancaster lay on her back, one hand resting beside her cheek against the pillow. Her features were barely visible with only the light from the kindled fire and the gray dawn to illuminate her. She was very beautiful, far more attractive than he’d ever noticed, truth be told. But then she’d always been a part of the background. Now she was in the center, her outrage demanding attention.
Her blonde hair was braided, but wispy curls had escaped, some brushing her temple and jaw. Long lashes curled against her cheek. Beneath them glittered moss-green eyes that had appeared almost jewellike in her well-justified fury. Pink bow lips had berated him with great effect, and her pert nose had wrinkled with her distaste of him.
He felt truly awful about what had happened to her. Hiring a trio of questionable fellows at the fight had been an abominable idea, one borne of abject desperation. But a part of him must have known Cassandra wouldn’t want to come. Why else would he have hired men like that or arranged to have them deliver her to him here, twenty miles from Croydon? He was a villain, deserving of Miss Lancaster’s outrage and much more.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’ll get you back to London first thing.”
And then what would happen? Would she tell everyone what he’d done?
Her employer was the Duke of Evesham, who was already inclined to at least dislike Bennet, if not loathe him. Perhaps the duke would prosecute him for kidnapping.
A ball of tension formed in Bennet’s gut, and he expected it to remain for quite some time.
Turning, Bennet fetched his boots and threw on his coat. He left the room, careful to close the door quietly behind him. He crept downstairs and was glad to find the innkeeper, Mr. Logan, already about. The man was old enough to be Bennet’s father, though he was far more helpful and caring than Bennet’s own had ever been.
“Morning, my lord,” Logan said with a smile. “I trust your betrothed arrived last night as planned?”
Bennet had informed Logan and his wife that his future viscountess would be joining him. It wasn’t as if he could have hidden her, and he wasn’t going to have her stay in another room, not by herself.
“She did, thank you,” Bennet lied. Logan didn’t need to know that Miss Lancaster wasn’t the woman he’d expected.
“Splendid. I’m sorry you won’t be able to leave today, but it’s just as well since the rain is so heavy.”
On his way to the table situated next to the hearth, Bennet snapped to attention. “What’s that? Why can’t we leave?”
Logan’s brow creased. “Begging your pardon, my lord, I thought you knew about the coach. The journey with her ladyship seems to have been rough, and the brake block is in dire need of replacement.”
“Can your stable master fix it?” Bennet asked. Riverview wasn’t a typical inn with a steady stream of travelers where problems like this could more easily be repaired. It was unfortunate that his own coachman, Tom, wasn’t with him on this trip. He’d been ill, so Bennet had hired someone to drive his coach to Croydon. Then he’d hired a horse to ride here on his own while the men he’d paid to take Lady Cassandra had driven his coach to the inn.
“Indeed, my lord. However, the stable master will need to send his lad into town to purchase a block when the rain settles down a bit. It’s unlikely he’ll be able to finish the repair and get you on the road before late afternoon or evening.”
Bennet had known they couldn’t leave until afternoon, at least, since the horses would need to rest, and he couldn’t afford to switch them. He’d already been struggling to afford to hire someone to drive to Aberforth Place, which wasn’t necessary now. Still, he needed someone to drive them to London, unless he wanted to add to his notoriety by playing coachman. Christ, this had been an incredibly short-sighted plan.
“What will that cost?” Bennet asked cautiously. “I don’t carry much blunt on me—don’t like to travel the road with a great deal of coin, you understand.”
Logan smiled. “Of course not, my lord. Never mind the cost. I know you’ll cover it on your next visit.”
Bennet had always done that. He did his best to pay his debts, and so far always had. Settling his father’s debts, however, was another matter entirely.
“Thank you, Logan, I appreciate you very much.” The innkeeper and his wife were unfailingly kind. Bennet had stayed at Riverview several times on his way to London from Aberforth Place. Their small inn, which was as much a farm, was outside Hersham and thus cheaper, which was why he’d chosen it the first time—everything Bennet did was based on economy. It was why he’d had ale last night and not the fortified wine Miss Lancaster would have preferred. And frankly should have had.
“I’ll let Mrs. Logan know you’re down. She’ll want to bring your coffee personally.” Logan gave Bennet a warm grin before bustling off. He was a small man, but bursting with energy and surprising strength. Bennet used to wonder how he and his wife managed everything, but after coming to know them, he understood completely. They worked hard and found joy in their toil. The innkeeper liked to tell Bennet that if one wasn’t bone-tired at the end of the day, he ought to redouble his efforts the next.
Bennet had taken that advice to heart when it came to finding a way out of his financial mess. He winced inwardly as he realized that had led him to make some very poor decisions. Such as kidnapping an heiress on a whim.
Sitting at the table in front of the cozy fire, Bennet vowed to indeed redouble his efforts. He had to. Too many people depended on him. His retainers, the tenants at Aberforth Place, and most of all, his family. He thought of his many aunts and cousin, especially Aunt Agatha, who relied on him the most. If he didn’t settle the payments owed for her care, he didn’t know what he would do. She’d have to come home, he supposed. And who would care for her there?
Hell, it was all so bloody complicated.
Frowning, he silently cursed his father. Though, Bennet supposed it wasn’t even really his fault. The man had tried to fulfill his duties and had even occasionally been successful. He hadn’t chosen to be afflicted in the way he was, nor had any of Bennet’s other relatives. Still, his father hadn’t made the best choices. A lack of self-awareness had been one of his greatest flaws. Along with his inability to manage his emotions, especially his terrifying rage and heartrending anguish. At least Bennet was aware that he carried the family curse and could very well end up like his father…
“Here you are, my lord.” Mrs. Logan brought him a steaming mug of coffee. “Just the way you like it.” She’d added a dollop of cream on his first visit, and he’d quite fancied the taste.
He smiled at her as she set the mug on the table. “You are too kind.”
“Mr. Logan says your bride arrived. I’m so looking forward to meeting her.” Mrs. Logan’s blue eyes moved to the corner where the stairs were located. “Good morning, my lady!”
Bennet leapt to his feet and turned to see the companion at the base of the staircase. Her blonde braid was coiled and pinned atop her head, and she was dressed in a plain blue traveling costume.
He hated to have to be the one to tell her that they wouldn’t be going anywhere.
Chapter 2
Prudence surveyed the common room, a cozy space with two small tables and a comfortable seating area, but her gaze was drawn to the tall, blond scoundrel staring in her direction. Yes, he was a scoundrel, even if he was devilishly attractive. Devilish, she decided, was the perfect word to describe him.
As was attractive. He looked handsome despite his somewhat rumpled state. She’d noticed the blanket on the chair in their chamber and deduced that was where he’d slept. While he wore a waistcoat, he hadn’t donned a cravat, leaving a bare triangle of skin from his upper chest to the hollow of his throat. She’d never imagined that view could be alluring, especially on a man she considered a villain. And yet it was. Disturbingly. Prudence averted her gaze.
A middle-aged woman with light hair and a welcoming smile stood near him. “Good morning, my lady,” she said.
“This is Mrs. Logan,” Glastonbury blurted as he took a step forward. “Allow me to present my betrothed, Lady Prudence.”
He knew her Christian name too? And apparently expected her to masquerade as his future wife. Well, she supposed she could do that for the short time they were here. She was anxious to leave.
Mrs. Logan dipped into a brief curtsey. “Can I fetch you some coffee, my lady? Breakfast will be ready soon.”
“I’d prefer tea, if you have it? With a bit of cream and sugar, please.”
“Certainly!” Mrs. Logan took herself off, and Prudence eyed the small round table that Glastonbury stood next to.
He gestured to a chair. “Care to join me?”
“I suppose I must if I’m your betrothed.” She slid into the chair.
He sat opposite her with a weak smile. “I hope you don’t mind pretending. It seemed easiest.”
“For you,” Prudence noted. “I’m eager to be on our way. Cassandra is going to be worried sick about me.”
“Ah, perhaps not,” he said, wincing in discomfort, his cheeks flushing.
Prudence pursed her lips in irritation, wondering what else he hadn’t told her. “Why wouldn’t she be?”
“Because you wrote her a note.” He glanced toward the fire. “Rather, Cassandra left a note explaining that she was eloping. That way, no one would come after her.”
She blinked at him. “Except Cassandra isn’t gone.”
“She was supposed to be, and the note was from her so others wouldn’t worry. I didn’t sign it since I have no idea how she writes her name.”
“How scheming of you,” she murmured. “I might think you planned this well, if not for the way your hirelings handled me.”
“It was a ridiculous plan from the start.” He sounded bitter. And even disgusted.
She had better descriptions for his stratagem. “Nefarious and ill-conceived.” She appreciated that he didn’t look affronted. In fact, he seemed to silently agree with her. “You were foolish to think no one would come after Cassandra. Of course they would—Wexford, her brothers, her father. You really didn’t think this through.”
