All I Want (5 page)

He started to nod, then whirled back to hang out the window again.

“I guess not,” Prudence muttered, wondering how to help. Were she home and he Charlotte, she would have wiped her younger sister’s forehead with damp cloths and murmured soothing sounds. Her gaze moved to the office door, and she had an idea. She left him and hurried out to the kitchens. There had to be water and cloths somewhere. This was a kitchen.

Unfortunately it was a rather large kitchen, and empty again, so that there was no one to direct her to find what she sought. She searched for several minutes before coming up with a cloth clean enough to suit her, then wasted several more looking for water. She was wringing out the damp cloth when she became aware of the assorted sounds coming from the next room.

There came a rather loud screeching of chair legs on the wooden floor and the panicky shuffling of feet, and it drew her to the door. Cracking it open, she peered out curiously. Nearly every single man in the club was on his feet, darting madly about—some rushing this way, some rushing that. Prudence gaped at the madness briefly; then a noise behind her made her turn. Lord Stockton stood leaning weakly against the doorway to his office.

“Are you feeling any better?” Pru asked with concern.

“I thought you left” was his answer, and there was no mistaking his relief that she hadn’t. Prudence smiled softly and held up the bit of wadded material in her hand.

“Nay. I thought to find you a damp cloth,” she explained, then glanced toward the door as the sounds in the next room changed to guttural noises.

“What the devil is that?”

Prudence stepped aside as Stephen moved to the door and tugged it open. She didn’t bother to look out. She had finally deduced what the mad behavior she had been watching was about. The sound she was now listening to was the almost symphonic noise of nearly a hundred men being sick. The club was full of vomiting patrons.

“Dear God!” Stephen said faintly, then shouted, “Stop, man! What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know, milord,” someone answered—probably a servant, Prudence decided, since the voice sounded hale and heave-free. “Everyone is tossing their innards out. Bad batch of ale’d be my guess.”

“Well, find out, damn it!” Stephen said in what was probably supposed to be a roar, but came out too weak to be considered one. Prudence bit her lip guiltily as she watched him sag against the doorjamb. Then he turned and gestured for her to follow him as he staggered back toward his office.

Pru hesitated, her gaze going to the door to the gaming room, then to the barrel of ale. She understood what had happened, of course. The bottle of emetic had not fallen on the floor or been stolen by the male servant who slapped her behind. It must have fallen
into
the ale, probably knocked there when she crashed against the barrel.
She
was what had happened to Ballard’s patrons. Fortunately Lord Stockton didn’t appear to be aware of that. He was putting it down to a bad batch of ale. She was relatively safe if she stayed for a
bit. Which she wanted to do—purely to be of assistance while he felt so poorly, she assured herself. After all, she was the reason he was sick. She really should do what she could for him.

Having reasoned the matter out thusly, Prudence gave up her position by the door to the gaming room and followed Lord Stockton. He was slumped in the chair behind his desk when she stepped into the office. Moving to his side, she peered down at his closed eyes, then gently began to mop his face with her now warm, but still damp cloth, cooing soothing noises as she did.

His eyes flickered briefly at her touch, but they remained closed, his face slowly relaxing. She was beginning to think he had fallen asleep when he suddenly caught her hand in his. Prudence found herself blushing when his eyes opened and peered into hers.

She tugged her hand free after a moment of silence had passed, then turned away. “I shall fetch you a drink.”

“Not from out there.”

Pru hesitated at the door and glanced uncertainly back to see him gesture to the cupboard along the wall. “There is whiskey in there.”

After a moment, Prudence nodded and moved to the cupboard. Opening the door she found a bottle of whiskey and two glasses inside. She took one and filled it, then carried it carefully back to the desk.

“Thank you.” Stephen accepted the glass, took a mouthful of the golden liquid, swished it around, then stood and moved to the window to spit. He did that twice more before allowing himself to swallow the next drink. Then he glanced at Prudence and smiled.

“Thank you.” His voice was raspy, but still soft as he raised a hand to caress her cheek. “I appreciate your care.”

Prudence felt her face flush. She was not sure herself whether it was with pleasure at his touch, or with embarrassment at being praised when she had been the cause of his ailment. She
did
know she was disappointed when his hand slipped away from her cheek and he turned to pick up his glass again. He had just taken another swig when a knock sounded at the door.

Swallowing, he set the glass back on his desk, then moved around her to shield Prudence from view. “Enter,” he called out.

Prudence heard the door open; then a male voice announced, “This was found floating in the ale barrel.”

By lifting up on her tiptoes, Pru was able to just see over Stephen’s shoulder and glimpse what was held out by the man in the doorway. Her bottle, she saw with a wince. The man added, “It looks a deliberate attempt to poison our patrons.”

“What?” There was no mistaking the shock in Stephen’s voice. “Why would anyone wish to poison our—”

Prudence backed away as he suddenly spun to glare at her. Forcing a smile, she exclaimed, “I am
sure
whomever it was had no intention of poisoning your patrons. They most likely meant to—”

“To poison one particular patron?” he asked coldly. “Such as your father, perhaps? That mug I drank from was meant for him, after all. You poisoned my ale!”

He moved toward her, his repressed fury evident, and Prudence did the only thing she could think to do; she made a run for it.

“Do not let her get away!” she heard Stephen shout, but at that point the devil himself couldn’t have caught her. Propelled by fear, Pru was running so fast she wasn’t even sure her feet were touching the floor. She was out the door
and racing along the alley to the front of the building in a trice. Jamison, bless his heart, either heard the rapid
tap-tap
of her feet, or saw her approaching. Whatever the case, he was off his seat and had the door open when she got there.

“Get us away from here, Jamison. Quickly!” she cried as she lunged into the carriage. The door was closed behind her before she even landed on the seat.

“What happened? Ye haven’t lost me my job, have ye?” Lizzy cried as the carriage shifted under the weight of Jamison remounting the driver’s bench.

Prudence grabbed at the seat and waited until the carriage had lurched forward before answering.

“P
oisoning the punch, are we?”

Dropping the dipper in the punch bowl, Prudence whirled to find the owner of that silky voice, eyes wary as she met Lord Stockton’s mocking gaze. She hadn’t seen the man since the night of the little accident at his club. Well, all right, the night she had poisoned his patrons. Which had been two nights ago. Pru had considered sending him a letter of apology explaining the situation, but had decided against it, thinking that such an apology really should be given in person. But here was her chance, and she wished she had sent him a letter. Or that she had refused to allow Eleanore to talk her into coming tonight. Forcing Prudence to attend her mother’s ball had been Ellie’s attempt to cheer her friend and distract her from the Prescott family’s mounting bills.

Prudence was neither distracted nor cheered. She was terribly conscious of the fact that she was wearing a borrowed
gown, and nothing could make her forget the subtle snubs she was receiving, or the fact that no one had asked her to dance.

“You have yet to answer my question,” Stephen said, drawing her attention back to him. “Are you poisoning the punch? I ask only because I should like to know if you are out to torment
all
of the
ton
for your father’s misdeeds, or are concentrating solely on ruining
me
.”

Catching the startled glances being cast at them and the way people around the punch bowl were suddenly setting down their empty glasses, Prudence forced a stiff chuckle. “Oh, my lord, you are such a wit. But you should not jest like that or people might truly believe that I would do such a thing.”

“The ones who suffered so foully at my club the other night, thanks to your poisoning, would have no trouble believing—”

Prudence cut him off by grabbing his arm, jerking him away from the table of refreshments and toward the balcony doors. She had no delusions about her strength. The only reason she managed to drag him out of the ballroom was because he let her. Since it suited her needs at the moment, she could only be grateful for his docility.

Prudence pulled him outside, shivered as the winter chill struck her skin, then led him along the wall of glass doors until they reached those leading into Lord Kindersley’s office. Ellie’s father didn’t like anyone in there, but it was too cold to stay outside, and she needed privacy for this confrontation.

“So, what plans have you for tonight?” Stephen asked as she entered the gloomy room and turned to face him. “You have already both started a riot and poisoned a large crowd. Perhaps you intend to start a fire to roast all of—”

“Please stop,” Prudence said wearily. She was not surprised by his irritation, but with all the troubles plaguing her, did not have the energy to fend it off. “I did not intend to start that riot. I was attempting to protect one of your serving women from a rather nasty client of yours.”

“I know.” Stockton’s mouth was a bit tight, but some of the tension had left his body. Prudence felt some relief at that. She was even happier to see the last of that tension leave him as she explained, “Neither did I intend to poison your patrons. The bottle of emetic must have fallen into the barrel while I was searching about for the lid on the floor. I did not realize that it had or I would have warned someone… Probably,” she added, because she wasn’t at all sure she would have. She had been so determined to see her father out of Ballard’s. She still was, for that matter.

“Emetic?” He grimaced with distaste at the realization of what had forced him to hang out his office window. “I take it the emetic was meant for your father?”

“Aye. Ellie suggested that perhaps getting him to refrain from imbibing would put an end to his gambling as well. It seemed plausible, so…” She shrugged.

“Ellie? Eleanore Kindersley?”

“Aye.” She brightened slightly. “Do you know her?”

“She is the daughter of our host,” he pointed out gently. “And I do know that she is your friend.”

“Oh.” Prudence accepted the information, then, recalling a suggestion Eleanore had made earlier that day, managed a pleasant smile and raised her hand. “Well, I vow here and now, my lord, that you need no longer fear my disrupting the workings of Ballard’s. I will not attempt to gain entrance again.”

“Hmmm.” He considered her doubtfully. “Never again, eh?”

“Never
ever
,” Prudence teased lightly, mimicking Plunkett’s deep voice, and felt optimism rise within her when a reluctant smile began to pull at the corners of his mouth. Then he forced it away, a scowl coming in its place.

“You do realize that you have caused me a good deal of trouble?”

“I am sorry for that.”

“That may be, but my clientele has taken a dip.”

She peered repentantly down at her feet and waited, relieved when at last he sighed.

“Well, I am sure business will pick up again soon enough. And I realize that you did not mean the harm you caused. At least not on the scale you managed. Besides, I tried a similar trick or two on my own father when he was gambling us to ruin. But I feel I should tell you that such tricks will not work. Your energy would be better spent picketing to get the laws changed and all gambling establishments closed dow—”

“Your father?” Prudence interrupted him.

His mouth turned down in displeasure and he moved away. Realizing that it was likely a sensitive issue, Prudence gave him a moment to compose his thoughts and glanced around the darkened room. The remains of a dying fire smoldered in the fireplace. That was the only light. Obviously guests were not intended to be here, and she felt slightly guilty. She knew Lord Kindersley was so jealous of his privacy that he did not even allow servants in here to clean. Had Ellie not told her that, the layer of dust and many cobwebs would have. Thinking of spiders and shuddering, she followed Stephen to a large statue in the corner of the room. It was in the Greek style, a seven-foot woman in a toga reaching toward the sky, her arms turning into the branches of a tree over their heads. Deciding that Lord Kindersley had atrocious taste, Prudence turned her attention
to Stephen as he brushed at a spiderweb spun between two of the marble branches and finally spoke.

“My father did the same thing your father is now doing. He drove us to the edge of ruin with his gambling. He did not drink, however. Just gambled. And he did not start suddenly, as a tonic to distract himself from the death of his son and heir; he was always a gambler—but the longer he did it, the worse it got. I used to—” He paused abruptly, and Prudence moved a step closer, laying her hand gently over his now fisted one in a silent effort to soothe him. He glanced down with surprise; then his expression softened and his hand opened under hers, moving to gently clasp it.

“How did you convince him to stop?” Prudence asked after a moment of silence.

A harsh laugh burst from his lips, and his fingers tightened around hers. She didn’t think he realized that he was crushing her hand, but she hesitated to draw his attention to the fact, because she desperately wanted to hear the answer to her question. If he had managed to make his father stop, perhaps she could save her father the same way.

Those hopes were shattered when he said, “He stopped himself. He gambled everything away but the Stockton estate. He could not touch that. So he came home that night, after gambling the last of everything else away, and shot himself.”

Prudence flinched at his cold admission, horrified. She had a sudden vision of her father taking one of grandfather’s old dueling pistols and—

“Do not look like that. I should not have told you. I am sorry.”

Prudence focused on his troubled expression, only then becoming aware of his hand on her cheek. “I—”

He smothered whatever she would have said by covering
her mouth with his lips. Prudence stayed still for a moment under the assault—a variety of unexpected responses rushing through her—then kissed him back. She told herself that she was doing so just because she was eager to erase the image of his father’s death from her mind, but she knew she was lying to herself. She had wanted him to kiss her again ever since that first time in his office. Perhaps she had wanted him to kiss her even before that. She had fantasized about him sweeping her up at some ball and rescuing her from her troubled life since that first time he had saved her from being a complete wallflower. Since the first time she had seen him, really. He was terribly handsome, and his basic kindness showed through his dissolute air. That, she was sure, was only a defense against the cold cuts society directed his way. She had always seen him as some sort of martyr, for she had never seen anything truly wrong with the fact that he chose to run a gambling establishment…well, until she had seen how the vice affected her family.

“Oh, Pru,” he breathed against her cheek.

Surprised by his familiarity, but warmed by it, Prudence moaned as his lips trailed down her throat, leaving a blistering trail. She leaned in to him, her hands sliding over his shoulders, then into his hair. It felt so good to be held like this. To let go of the constant tension of her worries and let passion carry her away. For a few moments, to just feel. His hands clasped her breasts through her gown, squeezing gently, and for a moment it felt as if all the air had left her lungs. She was left gasping and arching, little sounds of excitement slipping through her lips, until he muffled them again with his mouth. He kissed her almost violently, and slid a knee between her legs, drawing the material of her borrowed gown with it.

Borrowed gown. Eleanore’s gown. Eleanore’s advice. As
quickly as that, Prudence’s troubles crashed back down around her, abruptly dampening her ardor. Recalling what she had intended to do, she clenched her fingers in his hair and tugged urgently at it, trying to pull him away. “Wait. Wait, my lord, I—”

His soft chuckle made her hesitate and peer at him uncertainly as he eased their embrace enough for her to slip her arms between them.

“I think you can call me Stephen now, my lady.” His voice was husky with passion as he peered down at her through the dim light. “I believe we are beyond formality.”

Prudence offered him a strained smile. “Aye. Well.” Reluctant to escape his embrace, she began to play with the front of his shirt, keeping him near, yet far enough away that he couldn’t kiss her again and muddle her thinking. “I…”

His eyebrows rose at her hesitation. “Aye?”

“I wished to ask you…” She got further that time before faltering, then forced herself to continue. “To ask if you would please refuse him admittal?”

She said the last with her eyes shut, horrified at how the request sounded. It had not seemed a bad suggestion when Eleanore had made it.
If
you cannot keep him from going to Ballard’s the owner can. Mayhap if you ask nicely, Lord Stockton would do that for you
, she had said. Of course, Prudence supposed her friend hadn’t imagined Prudence being in his arms when she made the request. Stephen certainly didn’t appear as if he was reacting well. His arms tightened around her, his face becoming expressionless. She could feel his emotional withdrawal from her like a physical tearing.

“I see. Well, I imagine it could be arranged. It depends.”

Prudence swallowed at the unpleasant undertone to his voice. “Depends on what?”

“How much more of this might I get should I do so?”

Her first reaction was a backward jerk of her head, as if he had slapped her. It couldn’t have hurt her more had he actually done so. But her second reaction was chagrin. What could she expect him to think? She had certainly done everything else she could to save her family, much of it likely illegal. Unquestionably it was all improper behavior for a well-bred young lady of the
ton
. And she had also never made any attempt to hide her desperation. She shouldn’t be surprised that he had jumped to such a conclusion.

“My allowing you to kiss me has nothing to do with this,” she said with quiet dignity. “As a point of fact, I brought a halt to the kiss because I was becoming rather…er…distracted and feared forgetting to make the request at all.” She could feel her face burning with embarrassment as she made the admission, and was grateful for the concealing darkness.

Stephen considered her through the gloom, then said, “So you like my kisses? This is not some new scheme? This is not some way to pay me back because your father loses money in my establishment?”

Prudence frowned, trying to find an argument in her mind to prove that she enjoyed Lord Stockton’s kisses, then brightened. “Surely you can tell if a woman is enjoying your kiss? Does it not show?”

“Aye. Unfortunately I was rather distracted with my own enjoyment and did not—” His words broke off on a surprised gasp when Prudence suddenly stepped closer, reached up on tiptoe, and pressed her lips against his.

He did nothing at first to make the kiss easier for her, but as she felt the tension in his arms ease, his hands began to move over her back and his lips moved with true passion. Prudence let a little sigh slip out as her mouth opened under his, her toes curling in her slippers as she arched into him, putting all she had into the kiss. Following his lead, she ran her own hands
over his back, enjoying the solid feel of him beneath her fingers. She gasped and lifted further up on her toes when his hands slid up over her rib cage to cup her breasts; then he broke away and trailed his lips over her cheek.

“I believe you,” he said softly after several heated moments.

“Aye.” Prudence kissed his ear eagerly when it came within reach.

“We should stop, else I cannot promise—”

“Nay.” Prudence moaned, biting his chin at the very suggestion.

“Nay?”

“Aye.”

A chuckle rumbled from his mouth, reverberating against her throat and making her squeeze her legs together in excitement. “Aye or nay?” he asked, sounding both amused and concerned.

“Oh.” She opened her eyes reluctantly, then stilled as a shadow moved into the periphery of her vision. It wasn’t a very large shadow, really, a darker blotch in the darkness that surrounded them, but it was moving. Dropping, actually, straight for Stephen’s unsuspecting head. A spider! Lowering itself on its silken thread! Knowing she was overreacting, but helpless to do otherwise, she jerked in his arms and opened her mouth to warn him, but suddenly the arachnid dropped the last of the way at lightning speed. Prudence instinctively lifted the fan that had been dangling from her wrist all evening and brought it down atop the spider…and on top of Stephen’s head.