Bessie’s mouth grew rounded.
“Aye, and there’s more. I have promised the town house and the hunting lodge to Argyle Clairmonte, and there’s naught to be done about it. All I have left is Derry House, and I intend to travel down to Dorset before the end of the week, for I’ve given the gossips as tasty a treat as the king’s mistress.”
“But, madam, ye hate the place.”
“Aye, I do. The need is on me though, and so I’ll have to return to it, at least until the talk dies down.” Perhaps because she loathed Derry House to such a degree, she’d not bothered to offer it to Argyle. He’d probably have turned the ramshackle place down, knowing it as well as she did. Blast the man to hell and back twice. She’d been foolish beyond any ordinary folly to become entangled with him at the tables.
Eyes closed to take in the night’s losses, she kicked off her shoes as she sat. Her maid removed the powdered wig, unpinned the coiled hair beneath it and peeled off the small black silk half-moon patch from below her eye. Once unlaced, the extravagant gown sagged about her.
Bessie helped her out of the folds of satin with great care.
She opened her eyes. Bess was shaking out the foamy lace trim. Once the glossy panels were slipped into the armoire, the maid undid the frame which held out the panels of the wide skirt, then the stays.
Thanks to Argyle, she’d not wear such a confection again. She dropped the petticoats to the floor with a sigh, and peeled off her shift. The despair of the tables rose, rank from the fabric. The lace-trimmed shift landed with the petticoats.
Giving her a tiny encouraging smile, Bess smoothed a clean shift over her shoulders, laced up the lavender ribbons and scooped up the linen to be sent to the laundry woman.
Bess bid her a soft, “Goodnight, madam, I’m sure all will be well on the morrow,” and left the room.
She slid between the sheets, burning with the consequences of Argyle’s deliberate attack on her financial freedom.
Last year he’d set out to tempt her to marriage and she’d refused. Now he’d netted her goods, taken enough to near beggar her, and made her look a real fool in the bargain. But no matter how desperate her circumstances might become she had no need of him. Aye, he’d thought to take all she had, but she still owned the two things he wanted. The sapphire he gave her so long ago and the body he desired. A tiny smile of satisfaction spread across her face, a kernel of warmth lodged in her chest. He’d done near his worst tonight, yet she held onto all he truly wanted.
* * * *
At eleven the next morning, she sat before her mirror in her shift and sipped well-sweetened chocolate. Bessie hurried into the bedroom. “Madam, there is a Mr. Clairmonte to see you. I told him you weren’t ready for company, but he said...” Bessie’s voice dropped lower. “...he said he didn’t care. I was to tell you to be down the stairs straight away, or he’ll come up and it won’t matter should you lock the door.”
A laugh she couldn’t still broke from her. “Pass me my robe, Bessie, and yes, I know the man has the manners of a stray hound.” She bundled her hair up under a small lace house cap, pulled on a petticoat, the flowered robe and her embroidered, painted heeled slippers. Bending, she checked her appearance in the dressing mirror. A sigh escaped her.
She was getting too old for such late nights at the tables. Ah well, Argyle had his own set of wrinkles to think about. Shoulders squared to meet him, she went down to the drawing room, where Bessie had bid him wait.
* * * *
Argyle stood before the fire blazing in the hearth. One hand lay on the new, elaborate painted mantle, a polished boot on the fender. Damn the man. He was early, and looked as rested as if he’d slept through the night like a saint.
His green coat, the best cut in town, enhanced his shoulders. The open gilded buttons displayed an extravagant ornate waistcoat. His neck cloth gleamed, spotless. The tight buff breeches emphasized he’d not gained a waistline to worry about in the years since she’d first known him.
He gave her a bow. “Are you well this morn, Prudence? Did you rest easy?”
She ignored the mockery in his tone. “Have you come to collect this early, Argyle? I’ve not yet sent for the notary. You could have waited at least until after I dined.”
“Aye, but I didn’t.”
“Would you care for port wine or madeira?”
“Neither. You know what I’ve come for.” He held her gaze.
The same shiver of exquisite sensation this man’s direct stare always gave her traced like a splash of iced water down her spine.
“Well, it all will be yours once I’ve informed the notary. Or do you want me out of the house before I’ve even dressed?”
“You know it’s not the bloody house I’m here for.” He stepped forward, and at once she backed away, put the small rosewood card table between them.
“No, I’ll not,” she said.
“By the devil, you will if you wish to stay in town.” His arm coiled ’round her, and the table rolled sideways as he nudged it out of the way with his knee. The heat of his hand on her waist warmed her through her dress.
“I will scream,” she said as he pulled her closer still.
“Bawl your bloody head off for all I care. I’ve waited long enough for you.”
Before she could even whimper, his mouth covered hers.
Dear God, he smelled as wonderful as he had when he was the first man to kiss her.
She tried to pull away, but he held her tight, slid his tongue with aching slowness into her mouth. All the need for him she’d ever known washed through her like a wave. This wasn’t going to happen today, or tomorrow. Not ever!
She yanked her head back and slapped him as hard as she could. Breathing swiftly, she gasped, “Get out. I mean it, or I’ll have the servants throw you out.” She pulled backward so she rocked on her heels, but his embrace didn’t break.
“Be damned you will. I am here for you. If I have to strip everything you own, Prudence, I’ll make sure you fulfill the promise you made me.”
She shook her head. “What? Hold me to the words of a green girl who knew no better?”
“You said you loved me, and I hold the words a promise. As I have done all these years.”
“You’re a fool. I never loved you, never.”
A spark lit his blue eyes and his arms dropped from her. She took another step back from the heat in his gaze.
“I am going to hound you until you admit you do. I’ll take this place, the hunting lodge too, and follow you down to Derry House, where I know you’ll run. Thomas has been dead over a year. ’Tis time you wed again.”
“Hound away. I care not for it, and know this. I’ll not wed you.” The choke in her voice could not be disguised. She hoped he’d think it from temper, not the sorrow for all she’d lost.
A slow smile spread where the reddened tracery of her finger marks faded. “Prudence, which of us is the best huntsman?” She remained silent. “Who lost the most when you wed Thomas?” Again she didn’t answer. She could not own those truths. “You love me. I know it, and if you tell yourself you don’t twenty times a day, you will still love me. I have the fortune now I didn’t have when we met. There is only one thing I want that I don’t have.”
She narrowed her eyes, tried to ignore the desire of her foolish body to have his arms around her again. “You will not have me. I swear it.”
He shook his head, and his smile widened. “M’dear, you have been foresworn on more