The Earl's Intimate Error (2 page)

“I had things well under control, Papa,” the young woman went on. “You just happened along at the wrong moment.”

“I’ll say I did, and it’s a damn good thing of it, too. Another minute or two later and he’d have been tearing your clothes off!”

By the devil, the rude little hussy snorted. “Oh, he’d have been long done by then, Papa. With all of it.”

“I beg your pardon, miss,” Woodleigh protested. “I’d have barely gotten to the goods at that point, thank you very much.”

She snorted again. This time she added an eye roll. The insulting hoyden!

“You’re going to talk this way, right here before me?” the older man growled. “Hellfire, Woodleigh. I thought you were a gentleman.”

“And I thought this was a groom,” Woodleigh explained. “A bloody boy, for God’s sake.”

“You thought you were doing that to a
boy
?” Canton gasped.

“Explains a few things,” the girl muttered.

“Damn it, you misunderstand!” Woodleigh shot. “I am a gentleman. I would never play fast and easy with another gentleman’s daughter. I thought she was, er…”

“You thought my father kept a stable full of prostitutes, apparently.”

“I am no pimp, sir!” Canton protested.

“Of course I didn’t think that. Mr. Canton, please, accept my apology. It was merely a misunderstanding. As you can see, your daughter is clearly unharmed.”

He wisely did not mention that if he had been successful in his so-called seduction of her, he had good reason to believe he sure as hell wouldn’t have been the first.

“That’s hardly the point,” Canton began. “Really, Woodleigh, to abuse my hospitality like that.”

He also wisely did not point out that it wasn’t exactly Canton’s hospitality he’d been planning to abuse. Not that anyone could call what he’d been doing abuse. The chit was most definitely agreeable to whatever he’d been about to do to her.

A feminine shrieking interrupted the discussion at this point. Woodleigh was rather glad for it, except that he realized the shrieking was coming their way. In a moment a middle-aged woman appeared around the corner of the stable. Her wild eyes settled on Canton, and she wagged a long, bony finger at him.

“Ned Canton! I should have known this is where I’d find you!”

Canton cringed. It seemed his finger twitched on the trigger of his gun, but after a moment he laid the lethal implement impotently in his lap. The woman marched toward him.

“The doctor is here and he is waiting to give you your treatment,” she railed. “You think he comes all the way out here just for his health?”

“No, I generally assume he comes all the way out here for
my
health,” Canton grumbled. “And he charges me a bloody fortune to do it.”

“All the more reason you should—”

The woman broke off when she noticed Woodleigh. Immediately her hand went to pat her hair into place and then to straighten her apron. Her cheeks turned a sickly shade vaguely reminiscent of wilted rose petals. Woodleigh smiled at her. The shade didn’t improve.

“Oh, we have a guest, I see!” she declared.

“Yes, damn him,” Canton replied. “He was out here manhandling Prudence.”

Now it was Woodleigh’s turn to snort. He turned to the young woman.

“Your name is Prudence?”

She curled her lip at him. “Yes. I had no say in the matter.”

But the woman didn’t seem to care about names. She’d latched right onto the more important matter.

“Manhandling? Good heavens, Pru! Are you quite unharmed?”

“Yes, Auntie. It’s all a misunderstanding.”

“I’ve worn coats that were farther from my body than this man was from yours,” Canton said. “Woodleigh, I’ve half a mind to call you out.”

“Papa, please. You’re making too much of this. I assure you, it’s a very small matter at best.”

Woodleigh frowned. Damn, but the chit knew how to wound. The older woman, however, seemed to have some respect for Woodleigh’s ability. Unfortunately she gave him far too much credit.

“Good gracious, Ned. I fear she’s been ruined!”

“That’s certainly what everyone will say about it, I fear,” Canton agreed.

“Papa, honestly, nothing much happened!”

“That’s not what I saw with my own eyes,” her father persisted. “No, something was most definitely happening. Would have likely continued!”

“Don’t be silly,” the girl argued. “As if I’d ever fall prey to his sort.”

“My sort? And what sort is that, Miss Canton?”

“I’ll ask you not to speak to her, Woodleigh,” her father ordered. “Unless, that is, you intend to do the honorable thing.”

“Yes, you must make him, Ned,” the auntie proclaimed. “That is exactly what you must do.”

Woodleigh didn’t think he much cared for the direction this discussion was taking.

“Er, I’m not sure that I’m following you,” he said. “When you mention the honorable thing, do you mean…”

“You’ll marry her, of course.”

Woodleigh wasn’t sure whose protests were louder, his or the hoyden’s.

“Papa, you cannot be serious!”

“Indeed, sir, that seems rather extreme.”

“You were pawing my daughter, sir! And licking her, I believe.”

The older woman gasped and held her forehead, going a bit wobbly.

“I had everything under control, Papa,” the girl insisted again.

So Woodleigh snorted again.

“Oh, it’s just as I feared,” the auntie wailed. “All these years with no mother, allowed to run about as any wild thing…she’s come to no good. Ruined and cast off to the side. Oh, it’s the end of us all!”

“Really, Auntie. It’s not as bad as all that.”

“It certainly looked as bad as all that,” her father said. “Woodleigh, I’m afraid I must insist. You will marry my daughter or be branded a blackguard.”

“But, sir, don’t you think—”

“I think she’s been sorely used and now you are trying to weasel out from your duty.”

“My duty? Truly, I only just kissed her and, well, yes, there may have been some licking involved, perhaps a bit of light fondling, but look at her, sir. Can you honestly blame me?”

Of course he regretted those words the moment he uttered them.

“I’m calling the vicar this moment!”

At least Miss Canton seemed to have some good sense about the matter. “Papa, no. You can’t be serious. I don’t want to marry this man.”

“Well, it’s obvious you need to marry someone. Oh no, don’t argue with me, Pru. Your aunt Idyll is correct. You’ve been left on your own for too long. You are too innocent, too uneducated in the ways of men, my dear.”

Woodleigh did
not
snort. He did, however, wonder at how little this man knew of his own child.

Mr. Canton continued. “I’ve been remiss in my obligations to you, I’m afraid. Now I must make it right. You will marry Lord Woodleigh, or you will marry someone else.”

“Well, of course I’ll marry someone else, Papa,” she said with a toss of her hair. “Someday.”

“No! I mean now, Prudence. At the earliest possible moment.”

“I’m sure some willing sap, er, gentleman could easily be found, sir,” Woodleigh said quickly. “To take a treasure like this for his wife? Certainly she has beaux aplenty.”

“Oddly enough, no,” her father said, shaking his head. But then his countenance brightened. “But you, sir. Yes, you run in the best circles, you have connections in London.
You
can find my daughter a husband.”

“I? Oh no, sir, I wouldn’t know the first thing about that.”

“Then you would rather marry her yourself?”

“Er, no. I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“Then you are a scoundrel and everyone shall hear of it.”

Hellfire and damnation! Woodleigh couldn’t very well have Canton drumming up scandal for him, not when he was just about to go back to London and get himself engaged to the most sought-after debutante of the season. That union had been planned for years; his finances had been arranged based on the dowry that was to come with her. He’d entered into business agreements with her father already, by God.

No, he could not stand a scandal just now. Especially not of this kind.

“What sort of husband would you need me to find for her?” he asked.

Her father must have given this some thought over the years. He answered immediately.

“Someone with a strong constitution and a great loss of hearing, I expect.”

Pru glanced at herself in the mirror.
Traveling clothes.
By heaven, how on earth did she let Papa talk her into this?

Surely this was a mistake. How could she leave Beldington? And Papa insisted she take Aunt Idyll with her. How was he to go on without them? Oh, their housekeeper insisted the staff would see to Papa’s needs, but really…would he be properly cared for without his sister and daughter?

And London. Gracious, but the very idea of visiting such a huge city was terrifying to Pru. Not that she’d ever in any millennium admit that, but it was true nonetheless. How could Papa be sending her off so easily? She’d be staying with Lord Woodleigh’s mother—a perfect stranger to her! How awkward would that be for all of them?

But Woodleigh had written to his mother some Banbury tale that Pru was the daughter of a close friend, and it would be a great personal favor to Woodleigh if his mother deigned to help give her a Season. As if she were some grand heiress! Oh, this was bound to be a disaster.

Perhaps a disaster is what it would take, however, to convince Papa to let her come home and give up this silly notion of finding a husband. She was perfectly happy without one. That silly event with Lord Woodleigh…well, it would never, ever happen again.

She adjusted her bonnet, tucking her hair carefully in. The last thing she needed was a repeat of that episode, him touching her hair, stroking her skin…Oh, the man was insufferable! But my, what he did to her insides.

Of course that was another thing she’d never admit in any millennium. She was used to the men who came around her father’s horses. They plied her with pretty words, with promises of grandeur, with brazenly false flattery, and she never once felt the least bit affected by any of it. Earnest glances, eager hands, lovelorn gazes—she’d been immune to them all. But this Woodleigh…

She’d been off her guard, apparently. He was the worst of them all with his sweet talk and Spanish coin. She recognized him for what he was the moment she saw him, all finery and dash without an ounce of conscience or brain. How on earth had she let him get to her, draw her into such a compromising situation? Perhaps she was getting desperate after all.

“The bags are loaded,” Aunt Idyll called from the doorway. “Are you ready to go?”

No, of course she wasn’t ready. How could she ever be ready?

“Yes, I’m ready.”

Her aunt smiled, then took her arm as they went down the steps and out to the carriage waiting in the yard. Papa was already there, wheeling his chair awkwardly around, ordering the servants to do this or to stow that. She knew, of course, it was just his way to avoid saying good-bye. As much as Pru hated leaving, she knew her father would hate losing her even more.

All the more reason for him to allow her back home after some weeks gone, proving that London was not for her and they were all better off with her here.

“Well, my dear,” he said, rolling up to her and finally meeting her eyes. “It seems all is in order. You should be on your way directly. An early start will get you there by nightfall.”

“Yes, Papa. Thank you.”

It was no use to beg him again or to put on a display here in front of their staff. She’d done that for two days now, to no avail. Papa was determined to see this through, so she could do nothing but pretend to be strong. She’d learned the art of that well, after years of living with no mother and an invalid father. Truly, how difficult would it be to pretend before all of London?

More difficult than it ought to be, she realized. Lord Woodleigh appeared from around the carriage. Her insides flip-flopped. Drat. That would not make anything easy.

“The horses are sound,” he said, which was quite an understatement, given that horseflesh was her father’s area of expertise. “We should make good time.”

“If the rain holds off,” Aunt Idyll said, studying the clouds. “I think perhaps you should ride in the carriage with us, my lord. You would not like to get rained on.”

The gentleman agreed, seating arrangements were settled, bonnets and shawls were adjusted, and at last the good-byes were said. Papa gave his lordship a stern warning of what behavior he expected, and they were loaded in and set off on the road. Pru wasn’t sure if the butterflies inside her were more from the idea of travel, or from having been seated directly next to the broad, solid form of Lord Woodleigh. She decided not to examine that question too closely.

Aunt Idyll chatted profusely, rescuing Pru from having to provide conversation herself. Lord Woodleigh responded in all the right ways, nodding in agreement when that was required, and expressing astonishment when Aunt Idyll announced some dastardly thing she’d heard about a local that she deemed gossip-worthy. After an hour of this, Pru was actually quite amazed at the man’s ability to feign interest for so long, and so convincingly. Perhaps stamina was one of his personal assets, after all.