The Pleasure of Bedding a Baroness Page 23

Jumping out of bed, she ran to the wardrobe to look at her dresses. “Tomorrow morning! I can hardly believe it! What am I going to wear?” Turning away from the sight of her clothes, she went for the calf-bound fashion plates she had carelessly tossed in the window seat. “Really, Pay, I must have more time. Madame Devy can make me a gown in four days, if I pay double.”

  “Absolutely not!”

  “But ... I want Westminster Abbey! I want a golden coach drawn by four snow-white horses! I want a new gown—satin! It will take weeks to arrange everything properly.”

  “You will be married tomorrow morning, at St. Bride’s Church,” Patience snapped. “No! Not another word of this nonsense, Pru! If you are determined to marry this—this libertine, it should not be delayed. The world will know soon enough that you have been in the man’s bed—the servants at Sunderland House know all about it already, and I don’t expect they’ll keep it to themselves.”

  With a sigh Pru closed her book of fashion plates. “Was Max very angry with me for peaching on him? Did he rage and deny it all?”

  “I didn’t see him. I spoke to his uncle. But don’t worry—he will marry you. I mean, he shall marry you. It’s all arranged. Try to get some sleep; I’ll wake you in plenty of time. We should leave here at dawn for St. Bride’s.”

  Pru gave a shriek of dismay. “Sleep? I don’t have time to sleep. If I don’t start my hair now, I’ll never be ready in time. Oh, where is my maid!”

  Frantically, she rang the bell, then dashed to her dressing table. “Pass me the candlestick,” she ordered Patience as she peered anxiously into the mirror. “Oh, I look a fright!”

  Patience brought the candle, set it down on the table, and took up Pru’s hairbrush.

  “Which dress should I wear?” Pru fretted as Patience went to work on her tangles. “My court dress, do you think? Too much pomp and circumstance?”

  “Your yellow sarcenet would seem more appropriate,” Patience murmured.

  Opening a jar, Pru rubbed cream on her face. “Married in yellow? Oh, no! There’s a rhyme against that. Married in yellow, ashamed of your fellow.”

  “That’s just what I was thinking,” said Patience.

  “That isn’t helpful, Patience,” Pru chided her, before rushing on. “There’s no rhyme against being married in pink, is there?”

  “Married in pink: no time to think.”

  “You made that up,” Pru accused her, laughing.

  Mrs. Drabble hurried into the room. “You rang, my dears?”

  “Not for you,” Pru said rudely. “I want my maid.”

  “But you should be in bed, Miss Prudence.”

  “No, indeed,” said Pru. “I’m getting married in the morning. You can go home, Mrs. Drabble. I shan’t need you anymore.”

  “Married!” Mrs. Drabble cried in astonishment.

  “I have seen the duke,” said Patience. “He acknowledges his nephew’s guilt.”

  Mrs. Drabble pressed her lips together. “Oh, he does, does he? Well, I don’t acknowledge his guilt! Max is innocent!”

  Pru laughed. “Who cares what you think? You’re nothing but a servant—and an old discarded servant, too.”

  “Pru!” Patience laid a restraining hand on her sister’s shoulder. “The duke is making the arrangements, Mrs. Drabble. Mr. Purefoy and Pru are to be married tomorrow morning at St. Bride’s Church.”

  “That cannot be,” Mrs. Drabble fretted, her face contorted. “Poor Max!”

  “Poor Max!” Pru said indignantly. “He’s lucky I’ve agreed to marry him at all. He don’t deserve me.”

  “We agree on that much!” Mrs. Drabble said hotly. “You are lying about my dear boy. He never touched you. He wouldn’t!”

  “Did too!”

  Almost in tears, Mrs. Drabble turned to Patience. “Lady Waverly, I beg of you! Don’t listen to these wicked, wicked lies!”

  Patience was trembling. “How dare you accuse my sister of lying!”

  Mrs. Drabble bit her lip. “So that’s how it is?” she said quietly. “Ah, well! They say blood is thicker than water. But we are friends no more, Lady Waverly, understand that.”

  “Oh, no!” Pru said sarcastically. “You mean her ladyship will be welcome no more at your pathetic little sewing circle hen parties?”

  “Hush, Pru! I am sorry, Mrs. Drabble.”

  “So am I,” Mrs. Drabble said, looking at Pru with loathing. Shaking her head, she stalked out of the room.

  “Ring for that lazy maid, will you?” Pru said, supremely unconcerned.

  As Mrs. Drabble was leaving Clarges Street, Max was pacing the rug in his uncle’s bedroom. “She said I did what? That lying little minx.”

  The duke was propped up among the pillows. “Oh, I knew at once she was a liar.”

  Max dug his heels into the rug. “Not Patience. Patience is as honest as the day is long. Prudence! But how on earth did she convince Patience that I was a villain?”

  “She had proof,” the duke told him. “Some beastly note you’d written.”

  “I never wrote any letter!” Max snarled. “It was that lying little vixen! She wrote to me, pretending to be her sister! She bade me to stay at home today, which I did. But it was Prudence who showed up, not Patience. We had a nice little chat—”

  “Nice little chat? She says you ravished her!”

  “Rot!” Max said simply. “You don’t believe it, do you, Uncle?”

  “Dear boy! Of course not. You’re a Purefoy.”

  “Could you not persuade her of my innocence?”

  The duke shifted uncomfortably in his bed. “You know I hate talking to crazy people. I told her what she wanted to hear, and I sent her on her way. Good riddance to the pair of them, say I.”

  “My God!” Max muttered, shaking his head. “When I drove the girl home, I truly believed she was ready to accept me as her brother. I must go to Clarges Street at once. Patience must be brought to reason.”

  “Go to Clarges Street!” the duke repeated in alarm. “No, no, dear boy! Lady Waverly expects you to meet her and her sister at St. Bride’s Church in the morning. You are on the chopping block, sir! You will have to run away.”

  “Run away?” Max said scornfully.

  “You must, dear boy. Lady Waverly will have your balls in a vise. I even threatened to disown you, and still she wanted marriage!”

  Max’s mouth twitched. “Not for herself, though.”

  “She swears her sister cares nothing for titles and money. She is in love with you. Lady Waverly will not be satisfied until there is a wedding.”

  “Then perhaps we should give her one,” Max suggested.

  “No,” said the duke, when Max had explained what he had in mind. “You are my brother’s son. I shan’t disown you. I shan’t call you a bastard.”

  “Let the Times do it for you. And the Morning Post. Oh, yes! We must have it in the Morning Post, too. And the marriage license. It should bear my mother’s name, and not my father’s, on the license. That will complete the charade. I’ll send for your man of business.”

  “What if she marries you anyway?” the duke objected. “A fine mess you’ll be in then!”

  “We always said this is what we’d do if I got into trouble with some adventuress,” Max reminded him.

  “I’m telling you, she didn’t bat an eye! She says her sister will marry a nameless, penniless bastard.”

  Max grinned. “She may believe it. I don’t.”

  The duke shook his head. “You should run away, just in case. Join Freddie in St. Petersburg. Meet a nice Russian girl.”

  “I think you should join Freddie in St. Petersburg, Uncle.”

  “There’s no need to be rude!”

  “Not at all. When you disown me, Freddie becomes your heir. I hear St. Petersburg is lovely in the springtime.”

  “It’s the dead of winter, sir!”

  “All right. You needn’t actually go to St. Petersburg. We’ll just put it about that you’ve gone to Russia. You can go someplace sunny
. Come to think of it, that’s probably what Freddie’s done.”

  The duke sighed. “You know I don’t travel as well as I used to. Besides, you’ll need me if you get into trouble.”

  Max thought it over. “You could stay here, I suppose. Have the servants take the knocker off the door and tell everyone you’ve gone. No one will expect you to want company after my disgrace. No one will be surprised to hear you have left London.”

  “I don’t like it,” said the duke. “What would your father say? He went to a good deal of trouble, you know, to make sure you were not born a bastard.”

  “My father would understand,” Max assured him. “He was a great believer in marrying for love. That’s what I mean to do, Uncle. I’ve found the girl I love. Now all that remains is to find out if I am the man she loves.”

  “Do you mean you are in love with the lying little minx?” the duke said incredulously.

  “Of course not, you old fool,” said Mrs. Drabble, coming into the room two steps ahead of a very flustered Venable. “He’s in love with the lying minx’s sister!”

  “Julia!” the duke cried softly. “You’ve come back!”

  She glared at him. “Don’t think for a moment that I’ve forgiven you, old man,” she snapped. “I’m only here because our dear boy is in trouble.”

  “How did you hear of it?” Max asked her.

  “Miss Prudence made a holy show of killing herself,” Mrs. Drabble answered, huffing with indignation. “Pity she didn’t succeed.”

  “My poor Patience,” Max murmured. “Oh, I could murder that girl!”

  “So could I! Cheerfully!” Mrs. Drabble declared. “But it wouldn’t do you a bit of good. She won’t hear a word against her sister. As good as bit my head off when I called her a liar. But I’ll try again tomorrow, Max.”

  Max shook his head. “I’m afraid that will be too late, Drabble. Tomorrow, I’m getting married. Would you be good enough to give us the wedding breakfast at your house?”

  “Do something!” Mrs. Drabble said furiously to the duke. “Don’t just lie there!”

  “I lie here because my bones ache,” he told her coldly. “And for your information, I am doing something. As soon as my man of business gets here, I’m going to disown my nephew. Then nobody will want to marry him.”

  “Don’t say that,” Max said mildly. “I hope someone will want to marry me! You won’t forget gooseberry tarts for the groom, will you, Drabble? And cherry for the bride.”

  She looked at him, bewildered. “Cherry for the bride?” she repeated puzzled.

  Suddenly her expression changed. Her eyes lit up and her cheeks turned pink.

  “Oh!” she said.

  Chapter 16

  Prudence, her hair in curl papers, finally climbed into bed at one o’clock, falling asleep before her head hit the pillow. Patience ordered the exhausted maid to go to bed, then took up the candle and went to her own room.

  A figure was bent over the hearth, poking the dying fire. “Leave it,” she said wearily.

  The figure straightened up, and she saw at once that it was Max.

  “How dare you!” she gasped, the candlestick shaking in her hand.

  “Careful! You’ll burn yourself. Better put it down.”

  Patience was setting the candlestick on the table just as he suggested she do. She had to fight the childish impulse to pick it up again. “How did you get in here?” she asked coldly.

  “Freddie gave me his key,” he answered. “In case his tenants should need anything. I saw no reason to wake the servants. You look very tired,” he added with a gentleness that made her bristle.

  “I assume you have seen your uncle, Mr. Purefoy.”

  “Max! Please!” he protested. “We are to be brother and sister in just a few short hours.”

  “There is no such thing as a short hour,” she snapped.

  “What?”

  “I have always detested that figure of speech.”

  “In that case, I withdraw it, with abject apology,” he said glibly. “Where is the bride?”

  Her eyes flew swiftly to his face. “You are here to see Prudence?”

  “Of course. My blushing bride.”

  “Why? So you can rage against her for exposing you?” Patience snapped. “She is asleep, sir. I won’t permit you to wake her.”

  Max clucked his tongue. “Poor little thing! She must be exhausted; she’s been so very busy! Deceiving me, deceiving you, attempting suicide ...”

  “Prudence is not the deceiver, sir. You are!”

  Max sat down in the chair beside the fire. “Will you at least hear my side of things?” he said, crossing one leg over the other.

  “Save your breath. Prudence has already told me what you did to her!”

  He stared at her. “You won’t even listen to me?” he said incredulously. “What? Convicted without a trial?”

  “Your guilt has been proved,” she said. “There is not a shadow of a doubt.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. My uncle mentioned a letter. Obviously a forgery! I never touched Prudence! Even if I had, I would not be stupid enough to ’fess up to it in a letter! Why would I?”

  “Because it is all a game to you,” she said angrily. “You trifle with my sister, then you take up with me, then you trifle a bit more with my sister! But your trifling, sir, is at an end.”

  “Listen to me!” he said desperately, striding toward her. “She tricked me! She sent me a letter this morning. She asked to meet me alone at Sunderland House. She signed your name to it, then came to Sunderland House in your place.”

  “You lie,” said Patience. “I did write to you this morning. But I asked you to stay away.”

  He nodded eagerly. “The page was covered in blots.”

  “That was my letter. I wrote it in a hurry. I did not ask to meet you anywhere.”

  “But there was a postscript,” he insisted. “In the postscript, you wrote that you would come to me at Sunderland House.”

  “No,” said Patience, frowning. “There was no postscript!”

  “She must have added it when you weren’t looking,” he said.

  “Impossible! You are flailing like a drowning man. There was no opportunity for anyone to add a postscript. I sealed the letter myself, and it was still sealed when I wrote the direction and sent it.”

  “I don’t know how she did it,” he said. “I tell you, there was a postscript! If I had not burned the letter, I could show it to you now.”

  Patience gave a laugh. “You burned it, of course! How convenient, sir. Well, I did not burn your letter.” She took his crumpled note from her pocket and showed it to him. “You may call it a forgery until you are blue in the face—”

  “It is not a forgery,” he whispered, snatching it from her. “That little bitch! She is more devious than I thought.”

  “You admit you wrote it!” Patience exclaimed.

  “Yes. But I wrote it to you, not your sister. This, dear girl, is my apology to you for throwing you over the balcony at my birth-night. I sent you flowers the next day, along with this note. White roses by the score.”

  “I have no memory of that,” said Patience.

  He scowled. “Well, you were rather ill. Don’t you see?”

  He took a step toward her, but Patience stumbled back toward the door.

  “Prudence is jealous,” he went on doggedly. “She knows that I love you. She knows that you love me. She wanted me for herself, and now she can’t stand it.”

  Patience drew in her breath. “This conversation is futile. For my sister’s sake, I will try to be civil to you. We are going to be brother and sister, after all.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Brother and sister! I don’t think so, madam.”

  Dragging her into his arms, he kissed her mouth with desperate passion. Patience did not struggle against his superior strength. Instead, she remained unresponsive and turned her face away as soon as she could. “Fool!” he said, shaking her. “I am not going to marry
that—that reeking mantrap you call a sister! I love you. I am going to marry you. You know me, Patience! I would never betray you. It is all malice. Lies. Don’t let her come between us.”

  Patience broke away from him. Going to the bed, she felt under the pillow and pulled out a pistol. “My sister does not lie,” she said, pointing it at him. “And no man shall ever come between us. Least of all you.”

  Max lifted his brows. “You sleep with a pistol under your pillow, do you?”

  “One cannot be too careful,” she replied. “It’s loaded, by the way. Now get in the closet. Get in the closet, Mr. Purefoy, or I will shoot you.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” he said sharply. “I know you would never shoot me.”

  Her mouth curved into a smile, but her eyes remained cold. “Of course I wouldn’t,” she said. “Not on purpose. But accidents do happen. I suggest you do as I say; it is the best way to avoid an accident.”

  Max held up his hands. “All right. Stop waving it around or it will go off.”

  Crossing the room, he entered the water closet and closed the door.

  He heard the key turn in the lock. With no place else to sit, he closed the wooden lid of the privy seat and sat on top of it. “May I ask why you want me to go in the closet?”

  “I am going to keep you locked up overnight so you can’t run away,” she explained.

  “It’s very dark in here,” he complained. “May I have a candle, at least?”

  “No,” she answered.

  “You condemn me to darkness, then?”

  “I do.”

  “I think it very cruel of you,” he remarked. “I’m sure Prudence will think it very cruel, too. By the way, have you told her that my uncle has disowned me?”

  Patience made no reply. He thought, perhaps, she had withdrawn. But then he heard her moving about on the other side of the door.

  “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

  “It wouldn’t make any difference if I did,” she said. “If she loved you enough to—to—”

  “To what? Grant me the jewel of her innocence?” he said mockingly.

  “Oh! You’re disgusting.”

  “I was trying to be discreet. What I really wanted, of course, was the jewel of your innocence.”