‘Yes,’ Prudence answered, not having told Molly of her secret fondness for Adam Lingard. ‘I shouldn’t think it will be long before he comes along.’
‘Have you ever seen such a sight and so many gorgeous men? These bluebloods certainly know how to dress and are so exciting to look at,’ Molly enthused, her eyes devouring each Cavalier who rode past, positively melting beneath the smiles they bestowed on her. ‘There won’t be a girl in London safe tonight.’
Prudence smiled at her friend. With her full mouth, pert nose and vivid green eyes, Molly was extremely pretty. She was taller than Prudence, and had a superb figure, admirably displayed in a yellow-and-white striped dress with a tight waist and low bodice. Molly positively exuded good humour and a jaunty self-confidence Prudence couldn’t help but admire. Turning from her, she allowed her gaze to wander. That was the moment when something compelled her eyes to look at a Cavalier astride a tetchy, splendid black thoroughbred advancing slowly towards them, his dark-skinned, Oriental-garbed servant riding by his side.
The man’s tall figure, powerful and perfect in symmetry, commanded everyone’s eyes and admiration. He was dressed in sombre black, his doublet slashed with scarlet, and his black curls tumbling to his white lace collar beneath his plumed hat. Exuding an animal magnetism, his face was swarthy, lean and devilishly handsome, with a long aristocratic nose, wide forehead and well-chiselled lips. His chin was firm and strong and indented with a small cleft. On the whole it was an arresting face, the face of a knave, a scamp, but it was also an arrogant face, a face stamped with pride and centuries of good breeding.
‘Who is that man?’ Prudence breathed, mesmerised by him.
‘Why, don’t you know?’ Molly said excitedly, who was unashamedly knowledgeable in most things concerning the opposite sex. ‘It has to be Lord Fox. I thought you of all people would know that since he comes from your part of the world. Handsome, isn’t he?’
‘And he knows it,’ Prudence remarked drily when she saw him flash a smile at the crowd, his teeth brilliant white in his dark, attractive features. ‘But how do you know who he is?’
‘It can’t be anyone else—not with those looks. He’s reputed to be as dark and as tall, if not taller, than King Charles himself; his skin is burned almost as brown as a Moor’s from his time spent travelling far and wide—in the East and in Africa. He’s a man of mystery, and I heard tell that he’s learned all manner of things and strange practices. It’s also said that he’s managed to acquire great wealth from his travels.’ Molly became dreamy eyed as she devoured the swarthy, handsome man on horseback. ‘He looks like a bloomin’ prince to me.’
Prudence listened in thrall as Molly went on to tell her of Lord Fox’s exploits and the reputation he had acquired abroad. She was amazed to learn that behind his easy façade lay a man of great intellect, of tremendous courage, daring and fierce determination. There also lay a ruthlessness and dedication to duty that made his enemies fear him. He was branded ‘The Fox’, so named because of his craft and cunning and the bloodshed he left in his wake. To his enemies he appeared like some black and terrifying malevolent spectre on the field of battle, outwitting and defeating all those who dared oppose him. Some even believed him to be under the personal protection of the Devil.
Prudence doubted the authenticity of what Molly had been told, reminding herself that her friend was easily taken in. Nevertheless, she was unable to repress a shudder as she dragged her eyes away from that particular gentleman and glanced at the two following in his wake. She suddenly felt her heart skip a beat on vague recognition of her brother. His face was older and leaner than she remembered, but it was him. Her eyes shifted to the man riding beside him, and a gasp of delight escaped her lips when she recognised Adam’s smiling face.
Impulsively and recklessly—her two greatest faults—she closed in on the riders until Adam was almost level, lifting her arm to throw her posy, but at that moment the crowd around her surged forward, forcing the posy out of her hand prematurely, and she watched in dismay as it went soaring through the air, before coming to rest on Lord Fox’s horse in front of him.
Chapter Two
F ocusing his eyes on the posy, Lord Fox’s lips parted in a lazy white smile. Withdrawing one of his gloves, he picked it up and held it to his nose. A ring of gold-and-ruby splendour flashed when it caught the sun. Turning his head and seeing so many smiling faces, he searched them all until his eyes alighted on Prudence, his instinct telling him that she was the one who had thrown the posy. He swept off his wide-brimmed plumed hat to her, revealing a shock of collar-length jet black curling hair, which shone beneath the sun’s rays.
Replacing his hat, he stared at her long and unashamedly hard, his eyes boldly impudent, interest flickering in their depths. Treating those around her with another smile, this one even more dazzling than the one before, becoming caught up in the heat of the moment and with laughter rumbling in his chest and a roguish gleam in his eyes—the kind of gleam that must have charmed every female along the royal route from Dover to London—he suddenly reached down and plucked Prudence off the ground as if she weighed nothing at all, settling her in front of him, facing him, on his horse, his iron-thewed arms encircling her and holding her close.
Looking down at the delectable bundle of nubile flesh, her glorious hair in wild confusion, he allowed his gaze to linger on the entrancing perfection of her flawless skin, tanned to the colour of pale honey. Meeting her startled eyes and noting that they were the glorious colour of two huge saturated purple pansies beneath the heavy sweep of her sooty black lashes, Lucas thought she had the face of an angel.
‘Dear Lord!’ he breathed, completely enchanted. ‘I truly think I must have died and gone to heaven—and, if that be the case, then I must tell St Peter to lock the gates and keep me in.’
Prudence should have anticipated his next move but, so taken aback by what he was doing, and unaccustomed to men of Lord Fox’s calibre, she was totally unprepared and left with no time to protest when he lowered his head and captured her lips with his own.
His kiss was slow and deliberate, his lips warm and skilled. Placing his hand behind her neck, he splayed his fingers through her soft hair, holding her head firm. Lucas knew that she was frozen with pure surprise. Her lips were like ice for the first few seconds, then slowly they warmed under his, warmed and softened, parting a little so that her breath sighed through. Feeling her yield, he tightened his arms to support her. She was like a flower, fragrant and sweet.
Never having been kissed before, Prudence didn’t know what to expect or how to respond, but as his mouth boldly courted hers, his tongue savouring and parting her lips to probe and explore, she became lost in a sea of sensation. In that moment she felt the hardness of his body under the velvet doublet. She breathed in the essence of him, the scent of him, hardly able to grasp what he was doing.
When he finally withdrew his lips from hers, she stared into his eyes—gypsy’s eyes, green and brown and flecked with gold, eyes that made her think of brandy, ripe golden corn at harvest time—and the dark glow in their depths was as mysterious and deep as a rushing mountain stream. Her senses swirled and she felt a tremulous frisson of excitement, of danger, as primeval as time itself. She was vaguely aware that they were still moving slowly along with the procession and that they had drawn everyone’s attention. Molly’s face was a distant blur, her mouth agape, her eyes as big as saucers.
When someone came from behind and rode alongside she came to her senses, feeling a slow, painful blush rise up and stain her cheeks crimson. Anger and indignation at the audacity of Lord Fox flared inside her. If she hadn’t been imprisoned against his chest and unable to move her arms, she would have slapped his face good and hard for his impertinence.
‘Oh! How dare you? You are outrageously bold, sir. Too bold.’
He smiled, his eyes scorching hers. ‘Not as bold as I would like to be, sweetheart,’ he murmured, his voice reminding Prudence of thick, soft velvet.
Suddenly a voice rang out beside them. ‘You, Lucas, run true to form.