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Lord Fox's Pleasure
Helen Dickson


MARRIAGE IN MINDWith the restoration of King Charles II to the throne, his exiled supporters were jubilantly returning home, wealthy landowner Lucas Fox among them. Once a notorious pleasure seeker, Lord Fox now found himself ready to settle down to a quiet life on his estate. All that was missing was a wife….Proud and impulsive Prudence Fairworthy captured his interest–and made his blood run hot. Pru was suspicious of his true motives and the mystery surrounding his past, and Lucas knew she would not be won over easily. But there was untold pleasure to be found in the art of persuasion….









Prudence Fairworthy was a natural temptress.


Alluring and lovely, entrancing—and untouched. Lucas Fox found her innocence strangely disturbing. The appeal of this young woman who was a virtual stranger to him was hard to explain. Since returning to Marlden Hall he had seriously begun to consider marriage. Whenever he tried to think of a suitable candidate it was Prudence’s image that lingered the longest in his mind’s eye. Proud, willful and undisciplined she might be, but she was also too lovely for comfort.

Lucas did not understand the reasons for what he was about to do. He wanted her, and that was reason enough. But he realized he would have to tread with caution.

Paying court to Prudence would be like paying court to a powder keg.




Lord Fox’s Pleasure

Helen Dickson







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




HELEN DICKSON


was born and still lives in south Yorkshire with her husband on a busy arable farm where she combines writing with keeping a chaotic farmhouse. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure, owing much of her inspiration to the beauty of the surrounding countryside. She enjoys reading and music. History has always captivated her, and she likes travel and visiting ancient buildings.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen




Chapter One


May—1660

‘P rudence! Prudence! Oh—where is that girl?’

Arabella’s voice travelled along the narrow passageway from the busy kitchen and out into the square courtyard, where a girl was tending flowering plants in clay tubs of various shapes and sizes, an absorbed, preoccupied expression on her face. In the corner a leafy elm towered upright, its outstretched boughs offering welcome shade as she worked at teasing out the weeds from between a bed of gaily coloured pansies.

‘Prudence! Why don’t you answer me when I call you?’ Arabella said crossly, coming out of the house and descending a narrow flight of stone steps to the courtyard, knowing perfectly well that this was where she would find her sister. Honeysuckle climbing in profusion up the walls scented the air and flowers spilled from pots and tubs in a vibrant blaze of glory. Prudence’s enduring love of gardening never failed to amaze Arabella, and she felt a momentary stab of pride. Her sister’s knowledge of plants and creativity, and the way flowers seemed to bloom around her, was quite remarkable.

Lively and full of energies she found hard to repress, Prudence had a sweet disposition and a soft heart, but she was also in possession of a stubborn, wilful streak and tended to ignore every rule of propriety. When her mind wasn’t occupied with gardening matters, her conduct was often reprehensible, and she was the despair of Arabella and Aunt Julia. Arabella put it down to an absence of male influence in her sister’s life, and wondered what their brother, Sir Thomas Fairworthy, would make of her now he had returned from political exile in France.

Hearing Arabella’s voice and that she sounded testy—clearly not at all pleased that she’d had to come looking for her—the girl immediately stopped what she was doing. Putting down her small spade, she turned towards her sister, absently wiping her soiled fingers on her skirt. ‘I am here, Arabella,’ she called, crossing the yard, a smile on her pretty, heart-shaped face with its halo of rich chestnut curls, her large jewel-bright amethyst eyes fringed with long sooty lashes. ‘What is it? What is wrong?’

‘Wrong! Everything is wrong. Upon my soul, Prudence, just look at the state of you,’ Arabella reproached in exasperation, plunking her hands in the small of her waist as her eyes passed over her sister’s soiled skirt and blouse and the smudges of dirt on her cheeks. ‘I’ve been shouting fit to wake the dead, wondering where you could be. You know how much we have to do for tonight’s supper party—and here you are, tending plants. Your hands would be better employed helping Aunt Julia and Goodwife Gilbey in the kitchen preparing the food.’

Prudence combed her hair behind her ears with her fingers, looking up at her sister. ‘Where did you think I would be?’

‘With Molly Rowan. You know how much I dislike you spending so much time with that girl. She’s too forward by far, and that young man who works for her father and follows you around making sheep’s eyes at you all the time is no better. He’s both surly and rude. It would not do to encourage him, Prudence. I do not want you to be influenced by either of them.’

Molly was the same age as Prudence and the daughter of a nurseryman. The two had become friends when Prudence had come to London a year ago and she had paid a visit to Molly’s father’s nursery to purchase some plants. The fact that Will Price was always around when she went either to visit Molly or to seek advice from her father couldn’t be helped since he worked there.

‘I hope I have more sense than to be influenced by anybody, Arabella. And I have never encouraged Will Price,’ she said, which was true, since she didn’t like the way he looked at her. In fact, she always went out of her way to avoid him. ‘I don’t like him in the way you imply—and you’re right. He is rude and coarse. He is also conceited and has little imagination. He is also silly and always showing off—and he’s not going to like the competition one bit when London is once again teeming with swaggering Cavaliers. His looks are reasonable, I suppose, and he thinks he’s God’s gift just because he has the body of Adonis.’

Arabella peered at her sister intently with narrowed eyes. ‘And what do you know about that, pray?’

Prudence shrugged, coolly unconcerned. ‘I’ve seen him with his shirt off when he’s working, that’s all.’

‘As long as you don’t go falling for him like an Aphrodite. That would never do. Prudence, you are quite incorrigible,’ Arabella scolded. ‘I wish I understood you—and that you wouldn’t visit Mr Rowan’s nursery quite so often. I shudder to think what Thomas is going to make of you and your wild ways.’

Prudence’s eyes registered alarm on being reminded that after nine years they were to be reunited with their brother that very day. ‘I don’t mean to be like that, Arabella. You won’t tell him, will you?’

‘You know I never tittle-tattle—but I just might if you don’t clean yourself up and behave yourself when he arrives.’

Arabella still looked testy, but Prudence knew she wouldn’t make things difficult for her with Thomas. Arabella was almost five years her senior, and tired of trying to discipline her. She always treated her imprudent behaviour with anxious forbearance. Her tongue was often sharp, but she was genuinely fond of her young sister, and more often than not treated her with warm affection.

‘Come. There’s no time for prattling. You must have heard the noise of the cannon from the Tower announcing that the King has crossed London Bridge. I want you on the balcony before the procession reaches the Strand.’

Like the whole of London the Maitland household was gripped by the excitement of King Charles’s restoration to his throne; in fact, no one could remain immune from the fever that gripped London at this time. Ever since a move had been made towards the Restoration, London had begun to wake as if from a deep sleep. Effigies of Charles Stuart adorned with flowers were carried through the streets, where people paraded in Cavalier garb trimmed with frills and bows, and places of entertainment, closed during the Commonwealth years, were re-opening daily.

As soon as the King’s ship, the Royal Charles, along with the rest of the fleet, had arrived at Dover, where the King had been received with obeisance and honour by General Monck—commander-in-chief of all the forces in England and Scotland, the man who had played the most crucial part in his restoration—the thunder of guns and cannon had spread all the way from Dover to London.

The procession had passed through Kent, the acclamation of the people along the way extremely moving for the returning Royalists. Church bells were rung, bonfires lit the length and breadth of the Kingdom, and the ways strewn with flowers. Greeted at Blackheath by the army drawn up by General Monck—that very army that had rebelled against him in the past—the King proceeded on his way to his capital.

Prudence moved towards the house to do her sister’s bidding. She had been nine years old when she had last seen her brother, and now he was just a dim shadow of her past. But she was excited and looking forward to his homecoming. In his last letter he had told them the joyous news that he had taken a wife, a young woman by the name of Verity Ludlow. Having lost both their parents, Verity and her sister Lucy were taken to The Hague by their uncle after the Battle of Worcester. Unfortunately Verity would not be returning to England with Thomas. Her uncle had been taken ill and was unable to travel, so Verity and Lucy had remained at The Hague to care for him.

There was also another face Prudence dearly wanted to see in the King’s procession—that of Adam Lingard, a young man with the fairest hair and the bluest eyes this side of heaven. Adam was five years older than her own eighteen years. Even in childhood days she had been drawn to him and had adored him ever since in secret, but he had never seemed so attractive as when he had ridden off from their village of Marlden Green in Surrey like some romantic, dashing hero to join his father in exile across the water in France three years ago.

‘Arabella, do I have to stay on the balcony? Can’t I go down to the street and watch with Molly?’

‘No,’ Arabella replied firmly. ‘How many times do I have to tell you that you must watch the procession from the balcony along with everyone else?’

‘But it’s too far away,’ Prudence complained.

‘Goodness me! Don’t argue. You will do as I say. Despite your reprehensible behaviour you are supposed to be a lady, and it would be most unbecoming for you to be seen mingling with the crowd. Already people are filling the street in readiness for the procession. By the time it arrives, the Strand will be so crowded you will be in danger of being trampled underfoot,’ Arabella snapped. Then, as if ashamed of her irritation, with a tired smile she said more gently, ‘Forgive me, Prudence, but I’m in such a state with our brother coming home after so long—and with so much to do. And to make matters worse, cousin Mary and her husband, accompanied by their tiresome offspring, have just arrived.’

With her usual sensitivity, Prudence noticed the sudden darkening of her sister’s mood and strove to lighten it, knowing how much she had been dreading Mary’s arrival for days. ‘Take heart, Arabella. Now Thomas is home, things can only get better and you won’t have to endure Mary’s unpleasant temper for much longer.’

‘Alleluia to that,’ Arabella sighed. As they entered the house, she turned her head and studied her sister. With thick curly hair the colour of ripe chestnuts, her small chin and pert nose, Prudence was lovely to look at. Her face was golden from spending much of her time outdoors, and her flashing, amethyst-coloured eyes were a truly remarkable feature. Small and slender, loving and warm, vanity was beyond her visual sphere of things, but already she was openly admired by all who saw her, and Arabella felt a rush of concern for her sister’s future. It was time Thomas came home, she thought. Perhaps he would be able to take her in hand.

And maybe then Arabella would have more time to spend with her betrothed, Robert Armstrong, who was as eager as she was for their wedding to take place now the King had returned. On finishing his law studies at Lincoln’s Inn and unable to live any longer under the harsh regime of the Protectorate, Robert had gone to join his brothers in exile three years ago. Eager to be reunited with Arabella, he had returned to England a month ahead of the royal party, and had travelled to Dover to bear witness when the King stepped on to English soil.

‘I can’t help feeling sad for Aunt Julia, Arabella. She must be feeling quite wretched, knowing Uncle James will not be coming home from France with our brother. When Thomas wrote telling her of how he’d fallen ill with the smallpox and did not recover, it affected her deeply. She’s going to so much trouble to welcome Thomas home.’

Sadness clouded Arabella’s blue eyes. ‘It’s no trouble for Aunt Julia. After all, he is the head of the family now—now that both Father and Uncle James are dead. You know how devoted she’s always been to Thomas—more so, perhaps, since her own two sons were stillborn. Not even cousin Mary could compensate for their loss.’

Hearing children’s voices and Mary’s strident tones coming from within the house, Arabella glanced down at her sister. ‘You’d best go to your chamber and change your clothes before Mary sees you, Prudence. You know how she disapproves of you reading your gardening books and tending plants, when in her opinion your time could be best employed learning the skills that will enable you to find a husband.’

Prudence wrinkled her nose, the mere thought of having to endure the company and criticisms of cousin Mary indefinitely filling her with distaste. ‘Mary resents us both, Arabella, and sometimes I think she would disapprove of whatever I do. Still, I don’t suppose either of us can complain. After all, it was good of Aunt Julia to take us in when Father died. Being her brother, it was a difficult time for her, as well—and her sadness doubled when it was followed so soon by the death of Uncle James. I’m glad we were here to console her in her grief. But I only hope that, now Thomas has returned to England, we can all go home.’

‘So do I, Prudence. So do I—although I shudder to think what state the house will be in after all this time.’

Their house in Marlden Green had withstood the might of Cromwell’s forces throughout the long years of the Civil War, but, refusing to declare for Parliament and being unable to avoid the fines and sequestrations imposed on him by the Protectorate, their father had been unable to stave off poverty. When he had died a year ago, unable to support themselves, Aunt Julia had insisted that Arabella and Prudence close the house and come to live with her in London, until the time when Thomas returned from political exile in France.

‘When we left it was in a sorry state of disrepair,’ Arabella went on. ‘The roof leaked and the garden will be so overgrown by now that I won’t be at all surprised to find a tribe of savages living in it.’

Prudence’s eyes brightened. ‘Where the house is concerned I won’t be of much use, but the garden is another matter entirely. Mr Rowan has given me lots of advice, and I’ve spent time sketching a reconstruction and planning what to plant and where.’

Prudence’s enthusiasm brought a smile to Arabella’s lips. ‘I’m sure you have, but don’t forget it will take money, Prudence, and as you know we are as impoverished now as we were after the Civil War. Thomas may not be able to afford a gardener until the house has been made habitable once more.’

‘I’ve thought of that, which is why I’ve been collecting seedlings and taking cuttings from the gardens of Aunt Julia’s friends and neighbours.’

‘With their permission, I hope.’

‘But of course. I’ve collected enough to plant a whole park.’

Prudence followed Arabella into the huge kitchen, where Aunt Julia and Goodwife Gilbey had been preparing that evening’s gargantuan feast to celebrate the return of King Charles for the past week. At one time ladies of Lady Julia Maitland’s station would not have involved themselves in this kind of menial work, but ladies did all manner of things they had not done before the Civil War. With the day-today realities and hardships of such bitter conflict had come the discovery that there was more to living than the turn of a phrase, a beautifully coiffured head and pretty clothes.

To Prudence, the smell in the kitchen was mouth-watering, the combined heat of the cooking range and the summer day intense as finishing touches were put to the many wonderful dishes to be served later. Every surface in the kitchen and the adjoining pantries was covered with elaborate pies, a fricassee of rabbits and chicken, dishes of lobster, carp and cheeses, and a banquet of sweetmeats. The last of the joints of meat and small birds were being roasted on spits in front of the fire, a red-faced, dreamy-eyed kitchen maid—wiping the sweat from her brow with her sleeve—constantly basting them with spiced and seasoned sauce, which dripped off the turning joints into a dish on the hearth to be reused.

Sneaking a delectable-looking mince tart, fresh out of the oven when Goodwife Gilbey’s back was turned, Prudence was about to go to her room, when suddenly cousin Mary appeared in the doorway like a spectre of doom, obstructing her path of escape.

Mary lifted her brows and stared disapprovingly at her young cousin’s attire, her cold grey eyes lingering overlong on a rip in her skirt, caused when it had become snagged on a rose bush. ‘You haven’t changed, Prudence. Still tending your pots I see. There are some young ladies who care about how they look. Go and tidy yourself before you join us on the balcony for the procession.’

Prudence accepted that ill-intentioned rebuke with cheerful indifference. ‘It will take more than soap and water to make a lady out of me, I fear, Mary, but I will do my best. In fact, I’m going to my room right this minute to do just that,’ she smiled, an extremely fetching dimple marking her cheek. Popping the hot mince tart into her mouth she walked away, licking her sugared fingers as she went, her chestnut curls bouncing impudently.

Mary watched her go with profound irritation. Turning to find Arabella watching her, she raised her eyes heavenward and gave one of her exasperated sighs. ‘The sooner that girl is married and under the influence of a husband the better it will be for all of us,’ she retorted acidly, turning haughtily and going to her children, who were already securing their places on the balcony.

Mary was thirty years old, though the plain clothes she wore and unflattering hairstyle made her look much older. In Prudence’s opinion, she was as plain and devoid of warmth and vivacity as it was possible for a human being to be. In the middle of her fourth pregnancy, she had two boys and a girl to her draper husband Philip, who had a shop in the New Exchange in the Strand. They lived in a three-storied house in Bishopsgate, and Mary visited her mother with the children several times most weeks.

Before the Civil War, Sir James Maitland and his wife Lady Julia had cherished hopes that their daughter would make a grand match, but with friends and families on opposing sides, and later the young men who were left fleeing into exile, the choice of eligible young bachelors had been severely curtailed. There were few males with their own royalist beliefs left to marry—only enfeebled youths and old men. Desperate for a husband and fearing that she would go through life as a spinster, poor Mary had finally settled for an ageing, cadaverous-looking widower, Philip Tresswell.

Prudence climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, thinking of her meeting with Adam and wondering what he would think of her now she was grown to womanhood. Her bedchamber was at the back of Maitland House, snug and cosy under the eaves. Built outside the city walls—along with others of well-to-do citizens—it was a fine house, secured from the city’s teeming humanity, pollution and noise by a high wall. The front overlooked the Strand, the windows at the back of the house offering a splendid view of the lively River Thames. Prudence spent a good deal of her time watching small boats and barges of grandees making their colourful way up and down the busy waterway.

After taking a sponge bath she put on a hyacinth-blue, low-necked, full-sleeved dress with a pointed bodice and full skirt, open down the front to show a snow-white underskirt. In her meagre wardrobe this was her finest dress—and would best set off her charms and make her irresistible to Adam, she hoped. It was the first time she had worn it, even though Arabella had made it for her a year ago. She had saved it for today, wanting to look her very best when Adam came home.

Sitting in front of her mirror she combed her hair until it fell about her shoulders in thick, glossy curls. When she had finished she stood up and twisted herself about to get a better view, assessing herself with someone else’s eyes— Adam’s eyes. She wasn’t tall, but she was slender and pleasingly curved and not skinny. She would never be a great beauty, but her face was quite pretty, she supposed—at least Molly told her it was—and Will Price certainly seemed to think so. Involuntarily she shuddered with distaste when that objectionable young man intruded into her thoughts. Dismissing him at once, she bent forward to assess her eyes. They were a curious shade between violet and purple, her eyelids etched with faint mauve shadows.

She frowned when she looked at her hair, for this she considered a problem. The fashionable colour was dark—her own was an odd shade of chestnut with coppery lights, and in her opinion there was far too much of it and it curled all over the place. Some women found they had to purchase extra locks and ringlets to fill out their hairstyles, but she had no need of such artefacts.

When she was satisfied that nothing else could be done to improve her appearance, she left her chamber, meeting Aunt Julia on her way to the balcony on the second storey. Aunt Julia’s round face was still red from the heat of the kitchen, her fading hair escaping its pins.

Julia was pleasantly surprised when she saw her niece and stood and watched as she did a little twirl to show off her dress, laughing gaily. This freshly scrubbed young woman with glowing cheeks and shining hair was in stark contrast to the young ruffian she had become used to seeing—dressed in her old skirt and blouse, stained with dirt and with scratches on her hands from pruning shrubs.

‘Why, Prudence!’ she said, obviously moved. ‘You look lovely. And that colour blue is so becoming on you. Why, you’ll stun every gentleman in the procession.’

Julia remembered when Arabella had purchased the material from Philip to make the dress for her sister, Prudence never having accomplished the skills of dressmaking. They had all been somewhat surprised when Prudence had declared that she wouldn’t wear it until the day King Charles came back to England to reclaim his throne, and Julia had thought it such a shame at the time when it looked so fetching on her.

But on closer inspection she suddenly realised that during the time Prudence had been at Maitland House, she had a figure that had evolved well across the frontier from girl to woman, and that perhaps she should have taken to wearing it sooner, for despite the stiffened bodice it was already a bit snug at the waist, and the neckline lower than she remembered—or was it that her niece’s bosom was fuller?

‘I think you had best go and secure yourself a good vantage point on the balcony, Prudence. My three grandchildren did just that the moment they arrived. The shouting and cheering I hear tells me that the procession will be here at any minute. Word has reached us that it’s moving slowly and is so long that it will be nightfall before we see the end of it. It may be some time before we see Thomas, and he will more than likely be riding close to Lord Fox and Adam Lingard. That young man saw active service with your brother in Europe, I believe.’

Already occupying a special place in Prudence’s mind, it wasn’t the mention of Adam that caused her to look curiously at her aunt, but Lord Fox. ‘Lord Fox? You mean the same Lord Fox whose estate adjoins our own in Surrey?’

‘The same. If you recall, my dear, Thomas often mentioned him in his letters.’

‘I know very little of Lord Fox or his family, Aunt Julia—only that his uncle has occupied Marlden Hall in his absence. I was too young to take in everything that was happening when Thomas left. All I was concerned about was that by supporting the King at that terrible time, if he had not escaped to France he would have been hunted down and hanged.’

‘You are right, Prudence. We must thank God that he got away and that things have turned out the way they have. After being absent for so long, no doubt all three gentlemen will be eager to return to Surrey to pick up the threads of their lives,’ the older woman said. ‘Especially Thomas, now he has a wife. Now—enough gossiping,’ she said, shooing her niece away. ‘Away with you to the balcony.’

Prudence did as she was told, looking forward to being reunited with her brother. During his absence she had awaited his letters eagerly. They had been frequent, telling them of his life in exile. Practical and talented and not content to spend his time in idleness and debauchery, which was the case of many of the King’s entourage seeking succour in Paris, Thomas and the energetic Lord Fox had left the capital to serve in the French army, embarking on what would turn out to be several years of active military service.

The whole of Europe was in a tangled web of international politics at that time. France was unsettled due to a struggle for power between Louis XIV and the French nobles. With the French King eager to be on good terms with the new English Republic under Oliver Cromwell, the exiled King Charles, who was politically unwelcome in France, was told to leave the French Court—a step that was a necessary preparation for an English alliance. Eventually he was invited to the Spanish Netherlands. After crucial negotiations, which were on the surface successful, and with his eyes fixed on his restoration and believing Spain could help him achieve this, King Charles had formed a Spanish alliance.

In Bruges where King Charles had founded his own regiment of guards, Thomas had transferred his allegiance and enlisted in one regiment of English guards that was placed under the Earl of Rochester, and went into service under the Spanish flag. Adam Lingard had joined him.

Lord Fox, having parted company with Thomas long before that, had become something of a mystery figure. According to Thomas’s letters, he had embarked on a tour of the East to seek adventure and wealth as a soldier of fortune, and was not seen or heard of again until King Charles was preparing to return to England. Lord Fox had arrived in the Spanish Netherlands accompanied by his personal servant, a native from the Dark Continent he had acquired on his travels.

Rumour had it that he had amassed great wealth. However, in his absence his estate had been confiscated. If he were impatient to return home, no doubt he would succeed in securing his estate sooner rather than later for a price. Having fought with the King at Worcester, Lord Fox would have claims on his gratitude and may already be assured of a promise of favour from His Majesty, who was not returning to England a wealthy man.

Before going to join the others on the balcony, Prudence went to the courtyard and picked a sprig of May blossom which she secured behind her ear. She then picked a small bunch of sweet-scented flowers she intended throwing to Adam when he passed by. Securing the colourful blooms with a thin band of blue ribbon she went back inside, disappointed when she reached the balcony to find that the crush of family and servants was so great she had difficulty in seeing anything at all.

Pushing against Goodwife Gilbey’s ample form and careful not to crush her posy, Prudence looked down on to the royal route to Whitehall, her heart uplifted by the sight that met her eyes. The whole of London was poised in pulsating anticipation. Tapestries, banners and garlands of flowers hung from buildings, and a giant maypole—forbidden during the long and miserable years of the Protectorate—had been erected further along the Strand.

The music the people danced to with their partners as they wound the colourful ribbons round the pole had to compete with the many church bells being rung all over London, the thundering of guns and cannon and trumpets blowing. Mingled with shouts of inexpressible joy from the people lining the route, it all became a cacophony of sound, and the merry jingle of Morris dancers’ bells and the thwack of their sticks as they pranced along performing their ancient steps, not seen or heard for many a long year, gladdened the heart.

And then, at last, the procession came into view amid cheers of jubilation—a procession glittering with gold and silver and silken pennants fluttering in the breeze. Holding her breath, Prudence was spellbound as heralds blowing long slender trumpets passed by, followed by soldiers, the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of the city in scarlet gowns and gold chains. Then came the darkly handsome King Charles II, his cloak heavy with gold lace. Today was his thirtieth birthday. He was flanked on either side by his two brothers, all three attired in silver doublets.

The populace pressed forward the better to see, and they were not disappointed, for a sea of colour passed before their eyes. The slowly passing cortège consisted of noble-men and gentlemen displaying a style of dress and colour such as England had not seen in many years. Doublets in cloth of silver and gold, rich velvets, wide-brimmed hats with curling, dancing, impudent plumes, footmen and lackeys in liveries of scarlet, purple and gold. The people responded like a starving mass. Why, they asked themselves, had they waited so long in calling their King home? For that day every man, woman and child in England was a Royalist.

The procession went on and on, moving at a snail’s pace down the Strand, past Charing Cross and on to the sprawling palace of Whitehall. For what seemed an eternity, Prudence stood waiting for Adam to appear, all the time growing more and more irritated by Mary’s three young children either standing on her toes or knocking against her legs. Looking down into the heaving mass of people lining the street her eyes suddenly alighted on Molly, recognising her by her long blonde hair that fell about her shoulders. Miraculously she had managed to secure a place in front of the rest. Impulsively Prudence turned and slipped unseen back into the house and out into the street.

Unfortunately she was unable to penetrate the heaving crowd. She tried shoving and squeezing her way through, but it was no use, and she was too small to see over the heads. Dismayed, she was about to return to the house, when a man on the fringe of the crowd chose that moment to look round. Observing her plight, he took her hand, his face forming a semblance of a smile, his eyes glinting in his tanned features.

‘Allow me. It is treacherous for a young woman to try and push her way through this crowd. In the time it takes you to reach the front you will be trampled.’

He nodded to the man he was with—a burly fellow with a small beard and watery, bulbous eyes. In amazement Prudence watched as between them they parted the heaving bodies like Moses dividing the waters of the Red Sea, and she walked through the parting of the waves like the children of Israel passing into the wilderness of Shur.

She turned to the gentleman to express her gratitude. Although he was not strikingly tall he was above medium height and reasonably attractive. He had dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders, a tanned complexion and a thin brutal mouth. Meeting his eyes she saw they held no shyness whatsoever. They were piercing, pale blue and bold and nakedly appraising. His gaze was very steady, giving him a peculiar intent expression, and there was some element of cruelty in their depths and in his presence which commanded the attention. Prudence was unable to interpret what she saw. It was of a dark and sinister nature and beyond the realms of her understanding, but she was repulsed by it and shuddered beneath his stare, drawing back, feeling distinctly uneasy and wanting to get away from him.

‘Thank you so much.’

He bowed. ‘For a lady as lovely as you, it is an honour, mademoiselle,’ he said, smiling into her eyes in a way that made her feel even more uncomfortable.

When the crowd had swallowed up the gentleman and his companion, Prudence shivered as if a cold wind had just blown over her. He had addressed her as mademoiselle but his voice wasn’t accented so she doubted he was French. Perhaps he was much travelled. Finding herself beside Molly, the man who had made it possible was forgotten as she became caught up with excitement of the occasion.

Molly welcomed her with a wide, cheeky grin. ‘Hello, love,’ she said. ‘Glad to see you’ve come down from the balcony. It’s much more fun down here among the crowd. Things are positively humming today. Come to look for your brother, have you?’

‘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. Allow me to point out that this is no common doxy—so now if you will be so kind as to release my baby sister…’

Lucas looked quite taken aback, then he loosed his laughter, his white teeth gleaming like a pirate’s in his swarthy face. ‘Sister? Good Lord, Thomas. You are not serious?’

‘I am deadly serious. Now, unhand her, you reprobate. Prudence is still a child and very impressionable.’

Prudence stared at the elegant figure of her brother, not at all pleased at being referred to as a baby or an impressionable child. Thomas’s features were tight and she knew he was trying to make light of the situation, but she could sense his displeasure on finding her out on the street with the common folk.

Her eyes shifted to Lord Fox. With as much disdain as she could muster in her humiliated confusion, she raised her chin a notch. His eyes narrowed and gleamed, and a strange, unfathomable smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his gaze dipped lingeringly to her soft lips.

‘Why, Thomas, I think I’m going to enjoy getting better acquainted with your little sister.’

Prudence, who had been paralysed into inaction by the unexpected arrival of her brother, wriggled out of Lord Fox’s embrace and off his horse—exposing more than was decent of her slender, stockinged legs, almost choking on her ire while dozens of scathing remarks became tangled in her mouth. She glowered up at him, her cheeks stung with indignation. ‘Why, you arrogant, insufferable beast—not if I can help it you won’t. You can go straight to the devil for all I care. Now be so kind as to return my posy,’ she demanded, holding out her hand.

‘But you gave it to me,’ he said soothingly, his imperturbable, dancing gaze studying her stormy amethyst eyes. ‘Do you make a habit of bestowing gifts and then asking for them back?’

‘The flowers were not meant for you.’

Lucas raised a quizzical brow, reluctant to relinquish the small posy of fragrant blooms. As quick as a flash Prudence snatched them out of his grasp, but not before Lucas had plucked the sprig of May blossom from behind her ear and secured it to the front of his doublet with a diamond-and-pearl encrusted stick pin. His eyes snapping with amusement, he reached down and with his fingers gave her a light, suggestive chuck under the chin.

Swallowing her outrage, Prudence turned from him and went to Adam, wishing he would snatch her off the ground on to his horse and kiss her the way Lord Fox had just done. But she knew he wouldn’t. Adam wasn’t like that, unless his years on the Continent had changed him. Secretly she hoped he hadn’t changed. She couldn’t bear to think of him kissing anyone but her.

Adam was clad in green and gold, his hair beneath his plumed hat as fair as Lord Fox’s was dark. Gazing up at him with adoration and pleasure, Prudence handed him the posy. For three years she had been rehearsing what she would say to him when this moment finally arrived, and now all she could say was, ‘Welcome home, Adam. I’ve missed you—we…we all have.’

A slow, appreciative smile worked its way across Adam’s fair features. Touched by her simple gift, reaching down he took the posy out of her hand and tweaked her cheek fondly between his finger and thumb, as he would have done to a child. ‘Thank you, Prudence. I’m looking forward to seeing you and your family later.’

The procession was moving past Maitland House and the crowd thickened about them. Prudence was forced to step back. Thomas nudged his horse towards her.

‘I do not know the meaning of this, Prudence,’ he said, his tone leaving her in no doubt of his deep displeasure, his eyes observing the creamy swell of her breasts, telling him that his sister was no longer the little girl he remembered, ‘nor do I care to know. However, it will not do. Go and join Arabella and Aunt Julia on the balcony and watch the procession from there. I will see you later.’ His curt nod dismissed her.

Mortified by everything that had happened to her in the last few minutes, and knowing that her indiscretion would not go unpunished, Prudence didn’t look up to the balcony before entering the house, so she wasn’t aware that the laughter had faded from Arabella’s eyes, or how pale her face had become when she had watched the spectacle of Lord Fox kissing her sister, or how the colour had intensified when she had taken the posy from Lord Fox and given it to Adam.

Arabella felt physically sick with the force of the pain that attacked her, realising how blind she had been where her sister and her thoughts and feelings were concerned. Recalling the times over the past three years when Prudence often disappeared into a daydream, she now knew why and was deeply troubled and saddened by it—saddened because she knew Adam had quietly married Lucy Ludlow, their brother’s sister-in-law, at The Hague.



Arabella was not alone in her disappointment. With his huge hands clenched into tight fists, Will Price’s face had worked with fury as he had watched the powerful and infuriatingly handsome Lord Fox sweep Prudence off the ground and kiss her soundly in front of the entire population lining the Strand. When Lord Fox had done with her and she had taken her posy and given it to the flaxen-haired Cavalier following in his wake, Will had felt a rush of bitterness like he had never known before.

Will was obsessed by Prudence Fairworthy. Still in his early twenties, his face was already showing signs of debauchery and overindulgence in every vice. His lusts were easily satisfied by whores, but Prudence was different. She was the sister of a gentleman and not to be tumbled like a strumpet. Throughout the twelve months he had known her, he had oft anticipated not only the gratification of sampling the delights of her supple young body, but the time he would take over it. He had trailed after her like a besotted fool while she had kept him at arm’s length, behaving like a prim little Puritan. And now he had watched her behaving like a brazen hussy, throwing herself at the preening Cavaliers like a shameless harlot.

‘The bitch! The deceitful bitch!’ he ground out between clenched teeth, his fury turning to cold, hard resolve. Her obvious indifference to him and his lowly station in life had made him keep his distance but, after what he had just witnessed, he’d be damned if he would do so any longer. When next they met he wouldn’t show any consideration for her finer feelings—if the slut had any.

With rage burning inside him like acid, Will turned on his heel and headed away from the Strand, sickened by the spectacle of the arrogant, pompous, returning Royalists—silently damning each and every one of them to perdition, but somehow his curses proved less than satisfying.



With King Charles established in his palace at Whitehall, accompanied by Robert Armstrong, Thomas arrived at Maitland House to be reunited with his family. Having hoped that Adam would accompany them and awaiting his arrival with eager anticipation, Prudence was swamped with disappointment not to see him with her brother.

Thomas’s meeting with his sisters was warm and emotional. After embracing Arabella, who wept copious tears of happiness and relief that he was home with them at last, he then enfolded Prudence in his arms, pressing his lips to her hair and infusing into her all the affection he had yearned to bestow on her since the day he had left England after the disastrous Battle of Worcester. The moment was deeply moving for them both, and Prudence was relieved that he was no longer angry with her for making a spectacle of herself earlier.

Thomas then drew Aunt Julia aside, carefully wording the circumstances of her husband’s death, then helplessly watching while she dabbed at her tears before shoving her handkerchief into her pocket and smiling. Embracing her nephew, she then ushered him into the grand salon where a lavish banquet had been laid for an occasion never to be forgotten, glad that they were together as a family again at last.

With so much to celebrate the feasting began. With a desire to get to know Prudence, and better to keep an eye on her, Thomas insisted that she sit beside him. At the candle-lit banquet table he studied the young girl with a frown, her earlier misdemeanour not forgotten. The way she looked troubled him. All the other ladies seated at the table appeared muted and overshadowed by her vivid beauty. Though small of stature, she was miraculously lovely, her body ripe and perfectly proportioned.

Sensing the restlessness of her spirit, and letting his eyes linger on the stubborn, wilful thrust of her small chin, Thomas suspected that she had been given her own way in most things and allowed too much freedom for too long. Feeling that she was in need of firm discipline, he was determined to curb this wild young hoyden, although what Verity would make of her he shuddered to think.



When the gentleman seated across from her enquired as to the whereabouts of Lord Fox, Prudence was relieved when she heard Thomas explain that his friend was busy settling himself into his quarters at Whitehall. Having no desire to lay eyes on that particular gentleman ever again, she sent up a silent prayer of thankfulness that she was to be spared his presence. Still trying to overcome her disappointment that Adam had not accompanied Thomas, she stole a glance with a touch of envy at Arabella seated beside her betrothed on the opposite side further along the table. She noted that her sister’s spirits were uncommonly high, her face flushed and her light blue eyes as clear as crystal.

There was much revelry as everyone made merry. The air was sweetened with scented candles lighted in the chandeliers suspended above the table, casting their rosy glow on the assembled company, some invited, some not, but no one seemed to care. With free-flowing wine the atmosphere was loaded with gaiety and emotion. A couple of fiddlers were plucked from the street to perform, and endless toasts to King Charles were the order of the night.

Despite the disappointment caused by Adam’s absence, Prudence joined in with the festivities, too happy to eat very much and content to gaze at her handsome brother as she drank her wine. Laughing and relaxed, with his dark good looks, he looked so noble, she thought, with a surge of pride.

As the evening wore on her cheeks became flushed, her eyes dark with wine. When Thomas became engaged in conversation with the gentleman next to him, she turned and looked at Robert at the moment when he gently took Arabella’s hand resting on the table between them. Prudence saw him place it to his lips and look deep into her sister’s eyes—as lovers do. She watched as Arabella responded with a smile of piercing sweetness, graciously inclining her shining head.

At that moment Adam’s absence seemed all the more profound. Feeling a constriction in her throat and unable to stem her curiosity as to why he had not come a moment longer, she placed her hand on her brother’s arm to claim his attention. ‘What is it that keeps Adam away, Thomas? I expected him to accompany you.’

‘Adam is staying at Whitehall tonight. He intends leaving at first light for Marlden Green.’

‘But—why the haste?’

‘To put his house in order for when his wife arrives from The Hague.’

As if from afar Prudence stared at her brother, unable to comprehend what he was saying. ‘His wife?’ she uttered, tonelessly.

‘Yes,’ he replied, his sister’s sudden pallor escaping his notice as he carefully dissected an apple on his plate. ‘Didn’t you know? I’m surprised Arabella didn’t mention it. Still, their marriage was only recent, and so much has been happening that she obviously forgot to mention it.’

‘Who—who is she?’ Prudence asked, trying not to sound too concerned.

‘My own dear wife’s younger sister, Lucy—which makes Adam my brother-in-law. She has remained at The Hague with Verity to take care of their uncle. Hopefully, when he is well enough to travel, we will all be reunited very soon.’

All Prudence’s cherished illusions were destroyed in that instant. She stared at Thomas, unable to believe what he was telling her, that God was actually letting this happen to her. Clutching her wineglass, she looked around her in a dazed panic. The room began to spin and the world tilted crazily. Adam had married someone else! No. It couldn’t happen. But it had. Oh, how foolish she had been to hope he would notice her when so many Court beauties surrounded him.

Thomas saw her white face. ‘Why, what ails you, Prudence? Are you unwell?’

She forced a smile to her lips. ‘It’s nothing. Nothing at all, Thomas. I think I must have drunk a drop too much wine, that’s all. If you don’t mind, I’ll step outside for a moment. Perhaps a little air will help clear my head.’

She left the house and escaped to the sanctuary and solace of the courtyard without any intention just then of returning to the party. She left just as a latecomer arrived, his sharp eye catching a swirl of petticoats and hyacinth-blue skirt disappearing down a passage.

It was dark when Prudence emerged into the courtyard, the only illumination coming from the lighted windows and a couple of lanterns. Feeling disconsolate, she crossed to the elm tree, which was the furthest point away from the house. Leaning against the stout trunk, she was oblivious to the din coming from the revellers in the street and of dozens of voices dining and drinking in the house. She felt so unhappy and miserable that she was sure she would die of it.

Suddenly her heart almost stopped when a dark silhouette appeared in the doorway, pausing for a moment and looking about. At first she thought it was Thomas come to look for her, but then she realised that this man was taller and broader than her brother. Suddenly she knew who it was, and in that moment of recognition all her senses seemed to be heightened almost beyond endurance. It was Lord Fox, looking just as sinister in the dark as he had looked carefree and relaxed astride his horse in the King’s procession earlier. Praying he wouldn’t see her and go away, she shrank beneath the tree’s leafy canopy, but her dress must have caught the glow of the lantern light, because he descended the steps and began to advance towards her.

The haunting horror of his sharp footsteps when his feet struck the cobbles congealed her heart with dread. The light behind him obscured the front part of his body and she stared at him transfixed, his features all planes and shadows. Dwarfed by his presence, darkness closed about her, stifling her breath.

When he finally stopped in front of her, Prudence felt his gaze glide leisurely over her, taking in every detail of her appearance. Her heart refused to obey her command to stop hammering in her chest, and as he drew even closer it became a test of nerve. She longed to dart past him and return to the safety of the house, but her legs refused to move. Looking up at him, she met the shining glimmer of his eyes.

He towered over her, tall, silent and mysterious, boldly masculine, his mane of jet-black hair falling to his collar. Gradually his features became clearer, his jaw lean and firm and stamped with iron determination and implacable authority, and Prudence was frighteningly aware of those brownish-green eyes above prominent cheekbones glowing down at her. Her instinct told her that everything Molly had revealed about his exploits and prowess in battle, of how he was feared by his enemies and admired by his friends, was true.

There was something attractive and almost compelling about his strong features, and certainly dangerous. She faced him boldly, his presence rekindling her anger when she recalled how he had outrageously singled her out from the crowd earlier and made a public spectacle of her.

‘So, it is you,’ she said ungraciously.

‘As you see, Mistress Fairworthy,’ he replied, his voice richly deep. ‘And well met, yet again.’

‘If you don’t mind, Lord Fox, I came out here to seek solitude, and if you were any sort of a gentleman you would leave me in peace. Please go away,’ she said, lifting her chin primly. ‘Your company is not welcome.’ More than anything she wanted him to leave. At the same time she wanted to conceal how deeply his kiss had affected her, how it had made her feel. And he had known exactly how she felt. Lucas Fox was undoubtedly an expert in making women desire him.

Lucas grinned lazily as his perusal swept over her upturned face. It was like a pale cameo in the dim light, her eyes huge and dark, the warm, gentle breeze flirting with her hair. She was a truly fascinating creature. Proud, wilful and undisciplined she might be, but she also emanated a subtle quality that made him think of hot, sensual, tumbling love. Prudence Fairworthy was a fetching sight for any man, and the fact that she was Thomas’s sister spiced his interest.

‘No one should be alone tonight,’ he murmured. ‘The King’s homecoming is an occasion for rejoicing, don’t you agree?’

‘Absolutely. And I was doing just that until you arrived. I am out here because it has grown exceedingly hot inside and I felt the need of some fresh air. I would have thought there would be enough celebration taking place at Whitehall to keep you there,’ she said tartly, trying to ignore his powerful, animal-like masculinity, which was an assault on her senses. But it was impossible to ignore the aura of absolute power that surrounded him, and it was more than the mere confidence of a soldier. Lord Fox was used to having things his own way, on every kind of battlefield.

‘You are right. Celebrations are well under way, but I grew bored with viewing the ladies at Court,’ he replied smoothly.

‘So you came to see if the sights are any better at Maitland House.’

‘Precisely,’ he said, the corners of his mouth twitching with humour. ‘And I am happy to report that they are.’

‘Can’t you find anything better to do with your time than lust after women, Lord Fox?’ Prudence said, her tone one of reproach.

Lucas grinned leisurely as his perusal swept her face. ‘Forgive me if I appear forward, Mistress Fairworthy, but a man needs a diversion, and I’ve been a long time away from England.’

‘Are you telling me there was a shortage of ladies at the Court in The Hague, Lord Fox?’ she scoffed, knowing to her cost that this had not been the case, for hadn’t Adam become smitten and married one Lucy Ludlow?

‘My time was not spent at Court.’

‘I see,’ she replied, her interest pricked and sorely tempted to ask about his travels in the East. But she thought better of it, not wishing to become too friendly with this man who had publicly embarrassed her and disconcerted her in a way no other man had done before. ‘Kindly say what you have to say and then go.’

Coolly ignoring her request, Lucas turned sideways so that the lantern light fell full on his features; with one shoulder propped negligently on the trunk of the tree, his arms crossed loosely across his chest, his gaze captured hers.

Prudence could not help but admire the way he looked. Clad in midnight blue velvet overlaid with silver lace, his appearance from the jewelled buckles on his shoes to his black hair was impeccable. Broad shouldered, narrow of waist and with long muscular legs, he gave the appearance of an athlete and, judging by his bronzed skin, of a man who had seen active service in some foreign land, a man who rode and fenced and hunted.

‘I want to apologise for my behaviour this afternoon. It was highly reprehensible and I beg your pardon. I had no idea you were Thomas’s sister.’

‘And if you had, no doubt you would have forced your attentions on some other poor unsuspecting woman in the crowd,’ Prudence said, averting her gaze, in danger of becoming entrapped by the compelling, incredible glow in his eyes.

Her chilled contempt hit Lucas in the face, and he answered with slow deliberation. ‘I have never forced my attentions on any woman, and I am not in the habit of taking that which is not freely given. I assure you, Mistress Fairworthy, that when you threw your posy of flowers and it landed in my lap, when I looked and saw you, it was a temptation that I could not resist. You were by far the prettiest maid in the crowd.’

Prudence felt her cheeks grow hot and she was glad the darkness did much to hide her blush. There was an aggressive vitality in Lord Fox’s bold gaze and an assertive arrogance in the set of his jaw that was not to her liking. ‘I imagine you’ve said that to many women, Lord Fox. How many have you said it to and been sincere?’

Lucas’s white teeth gleamed behind a lopsided grin. ‘Only those I have a fancy for—and I never lie. I was hoping that since we are to be neighbours and you are Thomas’s sister, when we return home you and I can be friends.’

Prudence gasped at his arrogance. ‘I don’t think we can ever be that,’ she retorted ungraciously. ‘Being my brother’s friend does not give you some kind of claim on me.’ Mutinously she glared up at him. ‘The harm you did to my reputation today stands between us, Lord Fox.’

‘I have no doubt that Thomas will take me to account over it, and he will be justified in doing so. There was a time when, for a gentleman to make a public spectacle of a young lady, he would have been obliged to marry her, but on such a day as this—with passions and emotions running out of control, and because we are about to embark on a more liberal age—I don’t think your brother will demand that I do.’

‘I shall see to it personally that he does not,’ Prudence bit back.

Lucas relinquished his stance against the tree and edged towards her. His grin became wolfish, and he raised an eyebrow with an amusement that exasperated Prudence.

‘Would you care for a repeat performance—without an audience this time?’ he drawled softly.

Prudence saw the look in his eyes, and her heart began to beat uncontrollably, while a warning screamed inside her head. ‘Don’t you dare come near me,’ she whispered desperately, trying to deny the traitorous warmth seeping through her. ‘I haven’t forgiven you for the last time. If you kiss me again, I’ll never forgive you,’ she responded, panic rising inside her like a fluttering, trapped butterfly. She felt her face grow hot, the heat spreading at his nakedly desirous look. It was a look to assess her feelings and thoughts, an invitation, a need, and a certainty, and Prudence, who never had any perception of anyone else’s thoughts, found herself floundering inside.

Her threat only seemed to please Lucas more. ‘What a bloodthirsty little wench you are,’ he chuckled. ‘No matter. I can see I’m going to have my work cut out getting you to change your opinion of me.’

‘Don’t put yourself out. I have no opinion of you, Lord Fox.’

‘Yes, you have. Tell me—didn’t you like kissing me, Mistress Fairworthy?’ he asked, his gypsy eyes observing her with frank interest, his gaze dipping to the rounded fullness of her breasts.

‘I didn’t kiss you,’ she countered, crossing her arms protectively over her bosom, yearning to say or do something that would penetrate his imperturbable exterior.

Lucas’s smile widened knowingly. ‘You responded. Tell me, was that your first kiss?’

Prudence’s cheeks burned even hotter and her eyes flamed. ‘That is none of your business. Damn you for your conceit, sir. And I most certainly did not respond.’

‘Yes, you did.’

‘I—I was surprised, that’s all,’ she faltered.

The sound of Thomas’s footfall was so soft that Lucas had the impression that he’d imagined it, but when he turned he was there.



Realising how insensitive and thoughtless he had been to tell Prudence of Adam’s marriage after observing her deathly pallor when he had delivered the words and recalling how she had given him a posy of flowers in the procession earlier, Thomas had suddenly recognized that she might have been nurturing a fondness for Adam throughout his years in exile. It was his concern that this might be so that had caused him to seek her out. However, on seeing her alone with Lucas, he felt dismay rise inside him. What mischief was the man up to now?

But his quick glance allowed him some understanding of the situation, for he could see contempt in the dark eyes of his sister staring defiantly into those of his friend, which told him she was most unwilling to accept his attentions, for which Thomas thanked God.

‘Am I intruding?’ he asked quietly, looking from one to the other.

‘No. Your timing is perfect, Thomas,’ said Prudence. ‘Lord Fox and I have nothing further to say to each other. I was just about to return to the house.’

Lucas contemplated her with a half-smile. ‘You don’t have to. You came to take the air, as I recall. Besides, there is to be a celebratory firework display to welcome the King’s homecoming. It would be a pity to miss that.’

Prudence bristled like an outraged hedgehog. ‘The air is no longer to my liking,’ she replied, with so much contempt that his lids narrowed, his eyes gleaming with an expression she could not define. ‘And I can watch the firework display just as well from the balcony.’

When she turned and flounced across the yard, Lucas’s admiring eyes followed her. He tossed a wide grin at Thomas when she disappeared into the house. ‘Ye gods, Thomas! Your sister has the makings of a shrew and is a natural-born rebel. Had King Charles a regiment of soldiers such as she, Cromwell’s forces would not have routed him at Worcester.’

Thomas sent him a sardonic look. ‘There are few things that are beyond you, Lucas. And my little sister damned sure isn’t one of them. It was shameful of you to kiss her like that earlier. Little wonder she is still bristling and angry with you.’

Lucas grinned. ‘’Tis nothing but a minor skirmish—besides, I found kissing her downright nice.’

Thomas saw a flash of the roguish charm that he knew was his friend’s stock-in-trade. ‘I’m sure you did. You seem to regard all women as objects for your pleasure.’

Lucas laughed, a rich, rolling sound deep in his chest. ‘Perhaps you are right, Thomas. Why complicate life by thinking of them as anything else? Why confine myself to just one when I can make a whole lot happy?’

‘Lucas,’ said Thomas, the formality of his tone wiping the grin from his friend’s lips, ‘Prudence is a naïve eighteen-year-old. Do you comprehend that? You can’t blame me for being concerned for her well being—with your hellhound reputation. Under normal circumstances the pressures of society would have dictated that I demand you marry her—so you can consider yourself fortunate that, in all the confusion of the King’s homecoming, I have no wish to play the heavy brother and will overlook your public indiscretion. But mark me well, Lucas—I have no wish to see her become just another of your conquests.’

Until he and Lucas had parted company five years ago, when Lucas had left him to seek adventure and to savour the excitement of the East, his name had been linked with every beautiful female at the King’s Court, but marriage had not been among the things he offered. Exactly where he had gone when they had parted company was as much a mystery to Thomas as it was to everyone else, and whatever had happened to his friend during those years of absence he kept to himself. His easy charm and his quick and sparkling eyes attracted as much attention as ever, but behind the sparkle they were forever watchful. However, despite their friendship, his unrestrained reputation made Lucas the last man Thomas wanted to show interest in Prudence.

Lucas grinned at him mercilessly. ‘Small chance of that,’ he mocked, ‘since your little sister seems to loath the very air I breath.’

‘She scarcely knows you. However, you can be relied upon to change her mind,’ Thomas replied drily. ‘I know how adept you are at persuasion.’

‘I like and respect you too much, Thomas. I won’t abuse your friendship and trust by seducing your sister.’

‘Then what are you doing out here with her—alone in the dark?’

‘Apologising.’

‘Good Lord! I’m happy to discover that there are some redeeming qualities in you after all. I did wonder.’ Thomas spoke with a smile on his lips, but his voice held a hint of sarcasm that did not go undetected by Lucas. ‘Did she accept your apology?’

‘No—but I dare say she would have, had you not chosen that moment to come looking for her. Why did you?’

‘Because of something I told her earlier, which I think may have upset her.’ He frowned, clearly troubled. ‘I strongly suspect she has a fondness for Adam Lingard.’

‘But Adam’s a respectable married man.’

‘Unfortunately Prudence didn’t know that. I suspect she’s been carrying a candle for him since he left for The Hague—that she has feelings for him. To be told they will not be reciprocated—which I have just done—I sense has hit her hard and was her reason for coming out here. So go easy with her, Lucas.’

‘You’re asking me to behave myself. Is that it, Thomas?’

‘That’s it.’

Lucas looked at his friend hard for a long time and suddenly, to his own surprise, he said, ‘You have my word.’

Thomas hesitated, searching Lucas’s face. ‘Then in that I am thankful. Of all the things you have been accused of, not even your worst enemy would dare imply that you were guilty of breaking your pledged word. I hope the same will apply when you finally take a wife. Will prayers and rings make a difference to how you conduct your life, Lucas?’

‘When I marry I shall have a complete and abiding love for the woman whose life I share,’ Lucas said calmly, his expression grave. ‘I admit that I’ve done things over the years I’m not proud of, things that make me ashamed to think about, but somewhere along the way I began to see things differently. I’m home now, like every other Royalist who has been plotting towards this end, and there are many things that need to be done. I’m tired of wandering, Thomas. From this day I intend to live out the rest of my life at Marlden Hall.’

‘And marriage?’

Lucas gave Thomas a rueful smile. ‘I have given the matter considerable thought. Should I die childless, my estate will pass to my cousin Jeffrey—who, to my reckoning, is wealthy enough,’ he said, his voice laced with dislike when he spoke of his cousin. ‘Consequently I must provide myself with an heir, which is why I must take a wife. But I have no intention of adhering to custom by chaining myself to any woman I might only have a passing fancy for, in order to beget one.’

This came as no surprise to Thomas. Over the years Lucas’s name had been linked to a long chain of beautiful women. He attracted them effortlessly, leaving a trail of shattered hearts and a host of furious parents of discarded and ruined daughters in his wake. Because his life so far had been one long adventure, the only part women had played had been to satisfy his sexual appetite. In Lucas’s opinion they were irrelevant, dispensable and replaceable, and when a woman became too possessive he quickly became unobtainable. Thomas had begun to think that his friend would never marry, so he was pleasantly surprised by what he had just confided.

‘Then whoever you choose will have to be quite exceptional to capture the heart of the elusive and extremely desirable Lucas Fox. But what of your uncle, George Fox? Does he still reside at Marlden Hall?’

‘Unfortunately that is so. Like ourselves, many families were divided during the war years. For those who had faith, believing that the things they fought for were right, then they deserve our respect. They were our enemies—but honourable enemies. I fear the same cannot be said of my uncle or his son. Unlike my father, who believed in the principles of the war, and that the King is the defender of the true church and his majesty sacrosanct, Uncle George had no such noble beliefs. Having no deep convictions for either side, he declared for Parliament because it was expedient for him to do so. By so doing he avoided the sequestrations imposed on Royalists, so I suppose Marlden Hall has fared better than most.’

‘Knowing there is no love lost between the two of you, I don’t suppose you will allow him to remain living at Marlden Hall when the property is returned to you.’

‘No. In any case his position is threatened now the King has returned. It is almost certain that all Royalist properties gained by the regicides will be rescinded. My uncle may not have signed that notorious death warrant for the execution of Charles I, but it is widely known that he actively supported it. He will be lucky to escape with his neck intact. It is the reason why my estate, if I should die before him, would pass to Jeffrey. Uncle George believes I am dead, so I imagine my return will come as something of a shock.’

‘I see,’ Thomas murmured, curious to know more about those few missing years in his friend’s life he knew nothing about, but something in Lucas’s shuttered eyes warned him against it. It was something of a dark and sinister nature that had been there ever since they had become reunited at Breda before sailing for England. ‘I’m not about to badger you into telling me what you got up to when you left me in France five years ago, but I have the feeling that the adventure you embarked upon was not all you hoped it would be.’

Lucas’s jaw tensed and a hard glitter entered his eyes. ‘You’re right. It wasn’t. Although I dare say there are those who would find it a vastly amusing tale,’ he said with much irony. ‘My cousin Jeffrey in particular, with whom I have a score to settle when next we meet. You were right when you said there is no love lost between my uncle and I, but there are no words to describe what my feelings are for Jeffrey.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Lucas was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on some unseen image in the dark shadows of the high wall. Gradually his shoulders relaxed and then he shook his head, in jovial spirits once more. ‘Not now, Thomas. It will keep. Come, tonight is for celebration. This is not the time to drag up our regrets.’ He looked towards the house when people began to emerge to watch the firework display that had just begun—explosions of multi-coloured stars and soaring rockets lighting up the night sky and bathing the onlookers in a rainbow of colours. ‘I will acquaint you with what happened to me another day.’

‘I will be happy to listen. Now, unless you wish to remain and watch the fireworks, let us go inside. You must make your peace with Prudence. If there is to be harmony between us when we return to Marlden Green, it will not do for the two of you to be at each other’s throats.’




Chapter Three


U nfortunately Prudence was nowhere to be found. Lucas made his excuses and left to return to Whitehall, unaware that she was on the balcony watching the firework display and saw him leave. Only then did she feel it was safe to return to the festivities. When Thomas saw her he drew her aside.

‘Where is your friend?’ Prudence asked innocently, giving no indication that she had watched Lord Fox leave. ‘I don’t see him.’

‘Do you want to see him?’

‘No. It’s just as well he’s gone. I think he is the most obnoxious man I have ever met.’

Thomas chuckled. ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’

Prudence was surprised. ‘You are? But Lord Fox is your friend.’

‘So he is. But I am truly amazed. Grown men quake in his presence, but here you are, a mere slip of a girl, actually standing up to him. Be warned. Lucas is too much an experienced man of the world, Prudence, for a girl of your tender years. He thought nothing of making a spectacle of you earlier—for which I have berated him—and he would think nothing of seducing you now—if you were anyone other than my sister. You are far too young to challenge him. His skills of persuasion where women are concerned are renowned, so take care. Lucas would break your heart if you gave him a chance.’

Prudence wondered what her brother would say if she told him that her heart was already breaking over Adam, so it was unlikely that it would suffer from the same affliction twice. ‘I won’t, and if Lord Fox is as bad as you say he is, then I am very lucky to have had a narrow escape from certain disaster.’

Thomas gave her a look of reproach. ‘You mistake me, Prudence. Lucas is not evil.’

‘Is he not?’ she declared adamantly. ‘If he is called “The Fox”, then he must have earned the name, and the not-too-flattering words such as cunning, deceitful and perfidious spring to mind—a true Machiavelli, in fact.’

Thomas frowned, not at all pleased to hear Lucas described so unfairly or severely by a girl who could have no comprehension of his friend’s true character. ‘Go easy, Prudence. Do not speak ill of him. Lucas is my good friend. I insist that you are civil to him when next you meet.’

Prudence bit her lip and her expression softened. It was clear to her that a special kind of friendship existed between her brother and Lord Fox, and she must respect that. If she had to endure his company, she would bear it for Thomas’s sake without complaint—but that didn’t mean to say she had to like him. And if he insisted on pursuing her, then by the time she had finished thwarting, frustrating and exasperating this arrogant lord, he would be glad to leave her alone.

‘I shall try, Thomas—I do promise,’ she conceded, knowing it would be difficult, but she was most sincere in what she said…at least, she was at that moment. ‘But the nature of the man is not to my liking. He is far too full of himself.’

‘Prudence.’ There was warning in his voice. ‘Have a care.’

‘I will. And now, if you don’t mind, Thomas, I would like to go to bed. I’ve had enough of the celebrations for one evening.’



Turning over in his mind his encounter with Thomas’s fair sister, Lucas was in a thoughtful mood as he made his way to Whitehall. He was sorry he’d missed saying goodnight to her and sincerely hoped that on their next meeting she would be more amenable towards him.

With a glance he took stock of his surroundings, for the streets of London were a dangerous place to be after dark. Alone and attired in the fine clothes and jewels that bespoke a man of wealth and made him a temptation to the residents of the underworld, Lucas quickened his stride. When dusk fell over the city, once their day’s work was done, decent folk went home and put up the shutters, but tonight, on the King’s return to his throne, when every street flowed with wine, they mingled in their merrymaking with all manner of low life that crept out after dark to inhabit the streets: the preying ground of beggars, thieves and cut-throats, roving bands and bawds and their pimps.

Thinking of all this, Lucas became uneasily conscious of a chill feeling in the pit of his stomach and he had a compulsive urge to look over his shoulder. His hand went to the hilt of his sword, his instinct telling him that someone was stalking him. In a second he assessed the situation coolly, thinking it was most likely a robber, and he gritted his teeth at his own foolishness for not having brought Solomon with him or taken a chair back to Whitehall. He had been a fool once before to walk the streets of a city after dark, which had almost cost him his life. Tonight he had acted on impulse, without giving due thought to the consequences, which was something he had sworn never to do again.

The next moment his sensitive ears heard the heavy breathing of his stalker and the soft scrape of a dagger being unsheathed. The cold deliberation of it cleared his brain and made him think quickly and concisely, responses that had carried him through a thousand similar situations in battle unscathed. Drawing his sword from its jewel-encrusted scabbard he turned, his eyes catching the sinister flash of a blade. Convinced that the fellow’s intent was to murder him, Lucas’s reflexes were quick and he lunged at his assailant like an avenging demon.

The man had a small, straggly beard and bulbous eyes, which were obsessed by some grim purpose. He was a burly, lumbering shadow against the wall. He was also clumsy, for in attempting to dodge the deadly grace of the tall man’s swift manoeuvre and the point of his sword, he fell back, placing his foot in a rut and stumbling to his knees with a grunt, dropping his weapon on to the ground. He had been a dangerous man with a dagger in his hand, but deprived of it he proved to be no match against such a powerful and towering adversary bearing a sword. Scrambling to his feet he bolted, disappearing into the underworld of rat-infested, foul and reeking back alleyways, a domain where no respectable man dared venture.

Breathing heavily Lucas sheathed his sword, just as a shower of silver stars burst above him in the sky, diminishing in their splendour as they gracefully descended in a magnificent cascade. The incident had all happened in the space of a moment, going unnoticed by the revellers in the street. Immediately he hailed an empty chair and ordered to be taken to Whitehall. As he sat back his face was grim, his mind going back over the unpleasant incident. He had many enemies, but he could think of only one who would want to kill him.

His cousin Jeffrey.



As Prudence went through the motions of preparing herself for bed, she was so confused as she tried to understand the turbulent, consuming emotions Lord Fox was able to arouse in her when they had only just met, and how he had managed to overshadow Adam in her thoughts by just a look—and a kiss. How could she ever think of him as her friend? Thomas was right. If he set his mind to seduce her, nothing was going to deter him from trying. She would be strong and rely on her courage and determination and her stubborn nature if she was going to avoid him, and she had an abundance of all three, which Lucas Fox had only glimpsed.

Her mind was in turmoil over Adam having married someone else. When he had gone to the Continent she had been just fifteen years old, but she had hoped that he’d noticed her, that he might have had some feeling for her. But he hadn’t, she could see that now. That was all she had been to him—a silly young girl—and as soon as he’d reached King Charles’s Court in exile, he had fallen for another. As she pulled the covers over her head she resolved to banish Adam from her thoughts forever, but as she drifted into sleep her dreams betrayed her.



When she awoke the next morning she despised this weakness, and as she dressed she was determined to conquer her infatuation. She wanted to talk to someone, but she couldn’t talk to Arabella. She couldn’t tell her sister the secret she had carried in her heart for three long years. Arabella would be shocked and grieved to know that Prudence could still want a man who was married to another.

Just as soon as she had eaten breakfast she would go to Mr Rowan’s nursery to see Molly. Molly would listen to her. She always did.



As Prudence was making her way to Covent Garden through streets littered with the evidence of the previous night’s revelry, she would have been concerned to know that Thomas and Arabella were discussing her. Thomas was angrily pacing the parlour with long, determined strides as he insisted on hearing more of her misdemeanours—some he’d already heard from cousin Mary earlier, who had gone out of her way to vilify Prudence.

‘I wish I could say Prudence is a credit to you, Arabella, but I cannot,’ Thomas said with a note of regret. ‘I will admit to you that I am not best pleased. Our sister is a disgrace to our parents’ memory, and I am relieved that neither of them lived to see what she has become—a hoyden, no less. Her behaviour seems to me to be quite reprehensible.’

‘Do not judge her too harshly, Thomas. Perhaps if our parents were alive and you had not been forced into exile, our sister would not have turned out so wayward,’ Arabella said quietly. ‘But beneath it all, Prudence is a sweet girl with a soft heart and a generous nature. She may seem difficult, but she doesn’t mean to be.’

‘Rebellious and unbiddable is how I would describe her,’ said Thomas, his eyes dwelling on his sister. Arabella was fair-haired, pretty and gracious and sweet-tempered, whereas Prudence was an exotic, vivacious firebrand—which brought to mind what Lucas had called her—a shrew and a rebel, which was hardly a flattering description of any well brought-up young girl in his opinion. ‘Can you imagine how shocked I was to hear that her manners are outrageous, that she is the despair and embarrassment of the entire household, and that she frequently roams the streets in the company of a girl we know nothing about? And on top of all that she was seen kissing a youth who called at the house just the other day.’

Arabella smiled softly in an attempt to soften her brother’s attitude towards Prudence. ‘There’s no need to be so shocked, Thomas, and I do try to keep a strict watch over her. The only time I allow Prudence on to the streets is to visit Mr Rowan’s nursery in Covent Garden—and myself or one of the servants nearly always accompanies her. The girl you speak of is Mr Rowan’s daughter, Molly, and the two have struck up a friendship.’

‘Nearly always? So you do admit that she goes out by herself on occasion. She may intend no harm in her promenades, but by doing so she gives amorists the opportunity to meet her. And the kiss?’

Arabella sighed. ‘Was completely innocent. The youth you speak of was James Lowther, who is just fourteen years old. His mother and Aunt Julia are good friends and James adores Prudence and would do anything to please her. He came to bring her some plants from their garden—for which he was rewarded with a peck on the cheek. That’s all it was, and if Mary implied the incident to have been of a more passionate nature, then it was quite wrong of her.’

Thomas cast his sister a sceptical glance. ‘Nevertheless, she should not bestow her affections so lightly.’

‘Prudence is not wanton, Thomas. She loves life and has a spirit that makes her exuberant. If she has not turned out as you hoped she would, then I am sorry. I’ve done my best,’ Arabella told him, annoyance creeping into her voice at her brother’s readiness to berate her for not rearing Prudence to his satisfaction. ‘It hasn’t been easy for any of us these past nine years. But, as you know, Prudence does have a passion for gardening—which I have had reason to bless, for while ever she is tending her plants she is not getting up to mischief.’

‘I’m sorry, Arabella.’ Thomas relented, seeing his sister’s dismay and admiring her readiness to spring to Prudence’s defence. ‘I don’t mean to sound harsh or judgmental, but something must be done—and quickly. Does she have any suitors?’

‘No—although unconsciously she does draw attention to herself wherever she goes, which is a constant worry. All the youths seem to notice her. There’s something about her that intrigues them—Will Price in particular.’

Thomas glanced at her sharply. ‘Will Price?’

‘He works for Mr Rowan at his nursery where Prudence regularly goes to buy plants and to seek advice on gardening matters. Will certainly seems to find her appealing.’

‘So does Lucas,’ Thomas said with grim amusement, standing still with his hands clasped behind his back as his features settled into thoughtful lines. ‘It seems to me that we will have our work cut out guarding our young sister’s maidenhead, Arabella. It’s also clear that it’s not too soon to think of marriage.’

‘Marriage is not the solution, Thomas,’ Arabella countered quickly. ‘Prudence is not ready for that.’

He smiled grimly. ‘Perhaps if Adam were still free she would feel differently.’

‘So—you know about that, too. I had no idea until yesterday that she was so fond of him. She has given no indication.’

‘Pity. Adam would have been eminently suitable—if a trifle quiet and reserved. Lucy, his wife, being docile and gentle, is just right for him and will make him happy, whereas Prudence is too volatile and would very soon become bored. I think what she needs is a man to gentle her, to take her in hand,’ Thomas went on. ‘A mature man, a man who will stand no nonsense.’

Arabella shook her head, prepared to disagree with him. ‘I cannot deny that I am relieved to turn over the responsibility of Prudence to you, Thomas, but on this I matter I cannot agree. She has spirit, I know, but the kind of man you speak of would subdue that spirit. If you force her into a marriage such as that it would become a prison for her. It would be cruel and I would fear for the consequences.’

Thomas nodded. ‘I hear what you’re saying, Arabella, and I promise not to force her into anything that is distasteful to her. But marriage has to be considered some time—particularly when you and Robert marry and Verity comes to live at Willow House.’ He frowned uneasily when he thought of his wife. ‘I know you will like Verity, and she you, Arabella—but Prudence might very well prove to be a different matter entirely. Be so good as to go and fetch her. I think it’s time I had a serious word with her.’

To Arabella’s dismay, Prudence was nowhere to be found. She returned to the parlour just as Thomas was receiving Lord Fox, who had ridden from Whitehall Palace, where he and his servant had managed to procure rooms. Despite being their neighbour at Marlden Green, whose family had lived at the magnificent Marlden Hall for generations, Arabella had met Lord Fox only once before last night, and at that time she had been too young for him to have formed any deep impression.

The same age as Thomas, at twenty years of age the two young men had left Marlden Green together to join King Charles at Worcester, for what was to be his final battle. And now, like everyone else when they are first introduced to this illustrious lord, she could not fail to be impressed by his presence and bearing. Dreading having to tell Thomas that Prudence had disappeared, she hoped her brother’s wrath would be somewhat tempered by Lord Fox’s presence.

‘Where is Prudence?’ Thomas demanded when Arabella stared at him mutely, waiting for him to finish speaking to Lord Fox. His voice bore an edge of sharpness that bespoke vexation.

‘She—is not in her room, Thomas. One of the kitchen maids saw her leaving the house about ten minutes ago.’

Thomas’s face was almost comical in its expression of disbelief as he stared at Arabella. ‘Not here? Do you mean to tell me that she has been allowed out already?’

‘She must have gone to Mr Rowan’s nursery in Covent Garden to see Molly. I’ll go after her.’ Arabella turned towards the door but Thomas halted her.

‘Stay where you are. I’ll go myself. That young whelp has just over-stepped the bounds of my endurance. I’ll teach her how to behave. It’s high time somebody did.’

Anticipating that Thomas was going to unleash his wrath on Prudence the moment he clapped eyes on her, Lucas attempted to defuse the highly charged situation.

‘Perhaps you will permit me to go after her,’ he suggested calmly. ‘My horse is saddled and I can be at the nursery in a matter of minutes. Besides, the mood you’re in, Thomas, I don’t reckon much to your sister’s chances when you get your hands on her.’

Thomas threw his hands up in the air in frustration. ‘Thank you, Lucas. You may go if you wish. But stand no nonsense. You have my full permission to drag her back to Maitland House if necessary.’

When Arabella had given Lucas directions on how to find Mr Rowan’s nursery, he left the house.



It was still early, and Prudence was thankful there wasn’t the usual crush of traffic to slow her down as she walked in the direction of Covent Garden, having no doubt that most people would still be sleeping off the effects of the previous night’s celebrations. Covering her nose with a scented handkerchief to ward off the putrid smells rising from the gutters where dogs scavenged among the filth, she moved out of the way of a late reveller going towards Charing Cross in a fine carriage, escorted by liveried servants.

Shopkeepers were slow to open this morning. She heard the yodel of a milkman down an adjoining street, and a chimney sweep carrying a bundle of rods and a long broom scurried past. Water-carriers, their shoulders stooped from the weight of their yokes bearing buckets, went from house to house.

Leaving the Strand, the timber-framed buildings on either side of the narrow street were blackened by pitch and the smoke of sea-coal, the upper storeys jutting out and almost touching, shutting out most of the light. It gave the impression of passing through a tunnel. She managed to avoid the rubbish thrown out of upper windows and side-stepped worse.

At last, down a narrow twisting alleyway in Covent Garden, she reached Mr Rowan’s nursery, which was closed in by high walls. The wooden gates stood open, indicating that Mr Rowan, who specialised in the supply of plants and seeds, flowering trees, fruit trees and shrubs, was already about his business. The yard where he could usually be found at this time of day was quiet. Only Will was there, watering some tender plants in tiny pots from a clay receptacle, which had tiny holes all over it to allow the water to sprinkle out so it did not drown the plants. Wishing there was someone else she could speak to, reluctantly she walked towards him.

‘Hello, Will.’ She was smiling as she drew closer, but gradually her smile faded. Normally Will welcomed her cheerfully, but today his face was drawn into sullen lines. His blue eyes looked dull and were almost hidden by folds of puffy flesh. Perhaps he was suffering the after-effects of the previous night’s celebrations, she thought. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d arrived at the nursery to find him red-eyed and rubbing at his brow, as if to ease the persistent ache that throbbed there, caused by drinking too much liquor the night before. He didn’t stop what he was doing and she could tell from the surly glance he gave her that he had something to say. ‘How are you this morning, Will?’

‘Me? Never better,’ he grunted. ‘What the hell do you want coming here?’

Prudence’s eyes widened and her lips parted, surprised by the viciousness of his reply. ‘I’ve come to see Molly.’

‘Then you’ve wasted your time. She isn’t here.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Highgate—delivering some fruit trees with Mr Rowan.’

‘Oh—I didn’t know,’ she said, disappointed. When Will looked away and carried on watering the plants, she edged a little closer to him, puzzled by his behaviour. ‘Will—what’s the matter? Has something happened to upset you?’

Will looked at the clay receptacle in his hand and suddenly flung it from him. Never had Prudence seen his eyes burn with so much wrath as they did at that moment when he fixed them on her accusingly, feeding on his own righteous rage.

‘I’ll tell you what’s the matter—you slut,’ he hissed. ‘Did you think I didn’t see you yesterday—pushing yourself forward to be seen by those bloody Cavaliers?’

Prudence was momentarily shocked into paralysis by his aggressive behaviour, but then she forced a small laugh and tried to sound nonchalant. ‘I think you may be letting yourself be influenced by a purely personal resentment, Will. I know you have no liking for Royalists and do not welcome their return.’

‘You’re damned right I don’t. I’m sick of you pretending to be little Miss Puritan—whiter than white—when all the time you have the morals of an alley cat. Shameless you were—flaunting yourself like a strumpet at the line of strutting peacocks. Did the memory of the kiss from the arrogant Lord Fox keep you awake all night,’ he shouted, thrusting his face close to hers, ‘or did you spend the night rolling around with him in his bed?’

Appalled, Prudence gasped, taking a step back. ‘Oh! Oh—how dare you? How dare you say that? You have no right.’

‘Mebbe not—but what I saw yesterday only proves that you’re a better actress than I thought,’ he growled scathingly. ‘Not so angelic now, are you? What do you have to say?’

Something of the venom in his tone penetrated Prudence’s mind. His arrogance and the injustice of the accusations he was flinging at her stirred her ire and her eyes flared. ‘Nothing to you, Will Price. Nothing at all.’ With a toss of her head she made a move to walk away, but seeing her intention, he stepped in front of her, barring her path.

He looked huge and intimidating as he glared down at her, his small eyes glittering hard, the broad expanse of his chest exposed beneath his half-fastened soiled shirt beaded with sweat. Gripping her arm in his large fist, words began to spill from his lips as though a long pent-up dam had suddenly burst.

‘You can’t say I haven’t been patient—watching you come here time after time—wanting you. It isn’t everybody who would have waited to be noticed. And don’t look so surprised,’ he laughed, with more than a hint of bitterness when her eyes widened with astonishment. ‘Ever since I first clapped eyes on you I’ve wanted to tell you how I felt, to declare myself, but I thought you weren’t for me.

‘You’ve tormented me—do you know that? Coming to the yard all friendly like. I could’ve taken you time after time—but no, like a fool I thought, wait, treat her properly, and then maybe there’ll come a day when she’ll notice you. Now I know your pretty words are not to be trusted—your innocence is a sham. Aye,’ he said, looking her up and down insolently, mentally stripping her of her clothing, which turned Prudence’s blood to ice. ‘I should’ve known the bitch was biding her time until those foppish Cavaliers came back so she could flaunt herself.’

Prudence stared at him, trying to comprehend what he was saying. How could she tell him the very touch of his hand repelled her? ‘That’s not true.’

He favoured her with a sneering grin. ‘And would it have made any difference if you had? Aye—I know your brother was in exile, and that your family’s poor—but not too poor to stoop so low as to take Will Price, eh? Not too poor to take to living in a hovel with a man with dirt on his hands, who stumbles and lurches around in his ugly boots.’

Prudence set her jaw and glared her anger at him. His words were as defiling as if he had violated her body. ‘You’re right, Will Price. If you think I would give myself to the likes of you then you are more addled than I thought. Now—let go of my arm and get out of my way.’ She didn’t believe that he would harm her, but she was wrong.

Will’s eyes narrowed dangerously. His face was red and he was breathing like a winded bull. ‘Beneath all your fine ways you’re nothing but one of life’s whores.’ His lust overcoming his common sense, drawing himself up to his full height he hauled her furiously against his chest.

Pain as hot as pincers shot through Prudence’s arms as she struggled against him. Suddenly something welled up inside her, a powerful surge of emotion to which she gave full rein. It was something larger than her own small self.

Because she was small and female Will misjudged her strength. When he planted his mouth on hers there was a sudden pain as her sharp teeth clamped down on his lip. With a yelp he released her and drew back, tasting blood. He raised his hand to wipe it away, just as her fist flew out and delivered a resounding blow to his cheek.

‘You lout. You ill-mannered oaf,’ Prudence cried, hotly irate, her dark eyes narrowed and sparking fury as she met his effrontery with a rage she had not known she possessed. ‘Do you think I am that easy, Will Price? If I were a man I’d—I’d horsewhip you. I’d teach you not to go around ravishing respectable females with your revolting kisses.’

‘Would you kindly explain what’s going on?’ Lucas’s sharp bark came from the entrance to the yard.

Will dropped his arm in amazement, and in unison both he and Prudence looked towards the gates in mute surprise. The figure of Lord Fox, long of limb and lean of frame—six foot two of lean, hard muscle—strode towards them scowling darkly, his eyes flicking with distaste from one to the other. He halted a short pace away. The scene prompted Lucas to draw his own conclusions—Prudence’s cry of outrage, accompanied by a resounding slap to her assailant’s cheek, told him that this person’s advances were not welcome. The young man was quite tall and muscular, with features grimly set and blue eyes narrowed into bitter slits.

‘You are?’ Lucas asked pointedly.

‘Will Price,’ he growled. ‘I work for Mr Rowan.’

‘And where is Mr Rowan?’

‘He’s not here this morning.’

‘How convenient for you.’ A mildly tolerant smile touched Lucas’s handsome visage, but the glint in his eyes when they settled on Will was as hard as steel. ‘However, I am sure your employer can find more worthy tasks for your attention than abusing his customers. If you do not choose to meet your Maker, I suggest you do not touch the lady again,’ he warned in a tone of icy reproof. ‘Sir Thomas Fairworthy would take it amiss if you hurt his sister.’

Slightly shaken, Will managed to draw himself up with nervous hauteur. The fact that his masculinity was about to be shredded by the older, more powerful and supremely confident Lord Fox, and that he would be brought down by his inability to control his lust for Prudence Fairworthy, overcame all other emotions. ‘What’s it to you?’ he snarled.

‘I’m the man who happens to be a close and personal friend of Sir Thomas Fairworthy. I am also the man who will speak to your employer and have you dismissed.’ Lucas slid his gaze to Prudence, whose glower was hot enough to reduce him to a cinder. ‘Are you all right?’

‘He hasn’t hurt me, if that’s what you mean,’ she ground out ungraciously, mortified that Lord Fox of all people must have witnessed the whole shameful, sordid incident. But then, wasn’t he another who had dared treat her like a common trollop, kissing her in so casual, so cavalier a fashion?

‘It is clear to me that Mistress Fairworthy finds your amorous attentions unwelcome,’ Lucas said to Will. ‘I think you should apologise.’

Will laughed derisively. ‘I would sooner have my tongue cut out before apologise to that doxy.’

Prudence rounded on him, her face a mask of indignation. ‘What did you call me? Why, you—’ she cried hotly, but a sharp glance from Lucas silenced her.

‘Perhaps you didn’t hear what I said,’ Lucas persisted, addressing Will once more, his voice cold and ominous. ‘I think an apology to the young lady is in order.’

Stemming a string of foul curses that threatened to erupt from his mouth, Will glared at the Cavalier whose composure shamed him, the apology sticking in his throat. When Prudence saw he wasn’t going to comply, she stepped back.

‘Leave it,’ she said firmly, unconsciously placing her hand on Lucas’s arm when she thought he would raise it to strike Will. ‘It was his own foolishness that led him to this. Let the matter end there.’

Lucas fell back a step reluctantly, looking down at Prudence. Her face was clear-cut and delicate, her hair all a-tumble about her slender shoulders, and utter contempt for the man who had molested her was manifest in her narrowed, translucent eyes. ‘Am I to understand that you wish to ignore the fact that this man tried to ravish you?’

‘Why, what will you do, Lord Fox?’ she scoffed. ‘Avenge my honour? I think not. No good will come of it.’

She looked at Will. The wretchedness of his family’s existence was not unknown to her. They lived in a rented tenement up a filthy yard at Ludgate. Since the death of Will’s brutal father several months ago, his mother and five young siblings were totally dependent on him. If Mr Rowan heard how he had tried to molest her, he would not tolerate his working at the nursery any longer. Will would never find work that paid so well and his entire family would suffer and be turned out on to the streets to grovel for a living as a consequence. Prudence had no wish for that to happen, and neither did she want to be the cause of it.

‘I shall write to Molly and explain that I will not be coming to the nursery any more because I’m returning to Marlden Green with my brother and sister. To spare your family hurt, I shall remain quiet about what happened today. You were stupid and a fool to do what you did to me. I suppose passion can blind a man but, by my oath, Will Price, if you ever touch me again, I swear I will give you reason to regret it.’

‘You are too kind-hearted by far,’ Lucas drawled mockingly, but he shrugged. ‘As you will.’

He looked at Will and his fists tightened. There was a time, not too long ago, when he would not have let a man off so lightly if he’d caught him molesting a young innocent. He would have killed the ravisher, no matter what. But the intervening years had taught him a tolerance, if not a wisdom, that his nature would once have condemned.

‘Mistress Fairworthy is too forgiving. Consider yourself fortunate. Now,’ he said, sweeping a hand in front of him in an invitation for Prudence to proceed. ‘If you please.’

A trace of indignation still showed in Prudence’s tight lips as she turned from Will and went ahead of Lucas out of the yard.



Standing alone, as Will watched them go he yearned for vengeance. He wanted to go after them and tear into the arrogant Lord Fox, to beat him to a bloody pulp, as he would anyone else of lesser rank who crossed him, and snatch the young woman from his side. But the taste of blood and the tender swelling on his lip where her teeth had punctured the flesh made him pause. Thoughtfully he stared after them. He would let the matter rest, for now, but if a chance arose in the future to get even, he would take it.



The man who stood just out of sight of the gates to Mr Rowan’s nursery, his back pressed hard against the wall, had the air of a cautious animal as his eyes followed the two people who had just left the yard. A dim, wavering light penetrated the alleyway, and the dank smell of rotting vegetables and worse permeated the air. With his teeth drawn back across his lips and his eyes shining with an ugly inner glow, the man stepped furtively into the open, walking with the gait of a sailor as he followed the man and woman with stealth and at a discreet distance, stopping now and then, shadowy and motionless, out of sight of the couple who had no idea of his presence. Not until they stepped on to the Strand did he turn and retrace his steps back to Mr Rowan’s nursery and Will Price.




Chapter Four


P rudence lifted her head haughtily and her mouth hardened to an unsmiling resentment as she glanced at Lucas leading his horse a step behind her. ‘I can’t think how you came to be at Mr Rowan’s nursery, Lord Fox. It is off the track, after all. Don’t tell me you are out for a stroll for I will not believe you. You either followed me or you have an interest in gardening. Whatever the reason, do you have to creep about?’

Lucas was incredulous. Good Lord! If the wench wasn’t trying to take the offensive by accusing him of spying on her. ‘If I had come accompanied by the London mob I doubt you would have noticed, Mistress Fairworthy. And, since you ask, it was for neither of the reasons you mentioned. Your brother sent me.’

Her eyes opened wide with alarm. She gasped. ‘Thomas?’

Lucas grinned. Now he had her full attention. ‘You do have just the one brother, I believe,’ he replied with an underlying sarcasm. ‘When he discovered you had left the house he was quite beside himself with rage. Your sister directed me to the nursery to fetch you home.’

His eyes were not without humour, but there was censure in the firm set of his clean-shaven jaw. Prudence bristled at his tone and glared her irritation. ‘I can take care of myself.’

‘After that delightful scene I have just witnessed, I disagree.’

Prudence ignored him and neither of them spoke for a full minute as they made their way down the narrow, deserted alleyway, entering a slightly wider street and going in the direction of the Strand.

‘He’s handsome isn’t he, Will Price?’ Lucas said at length, casually, watching for Prudence’s reaction out of the corner of his eye.

‘I suppose some might find him so, but he doesn’t appeal to me.’

‘Does anyone?’

‘No, of course not,’ Prudence replied, thrusting thoughts of Adam from her mind.’

‘Your brother thinks you need taking in hand—and I tend to agree with him.’

‘It’s none of your business,’ she retorted with cold hauteur, infuriated by his imperious tone. ‘I do not have to explain what I do to you, Lord Fox.’

‘Do you make a habit of leaving the house without telling anyone—unaccompanied?’ Lucas persisted.

‘Sometimes.’ She tossed her head, the chestnut tresses dancing against her back. ‘I do what I like.’

‘Then don’t you think it’s high time you began to consider the consequences of such recklessness and tried harder at being a lady?’ Lucas admonished, fighting the urge to turn her over his knee.

Prudence glanced up at him when he drew level and halted her by taking her arm at the end of the street. He was standing close, and though the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat hid part of his face, she detected a strong note of disapproval in his stance.

‘Mistress Fairworthy,’ he said curtly. ‘When I came upon you just now you were about to be ravished. Your abuser accused you of being a doxy and I do not care to know why. I am here on behalf of your brother to escort you home—under force, if necessary. So let us, in common agreement, strive to be both gracious and mannerly until we reach Maitland House, where your brother will deliver the punishment you deserve, and soundly thrash that most tender part of your anatomy and render you incapable of sitting down for at least a week.’

Prudence’s face burned, shamed and guilt-stricken because she felt she’d earned his condemnation—although the idea of being spanked like a naughty child went some way to shredding her confidence. Nevertheless she opened her mouth to challenge his statement, then closed it hastily. The expression in his eyes had frightened her.

‘Do I make myself clear?’

Dejectedly, she said on a quiet note, ‘Perfectly. Still—I am no doxy—and you, Lord Fox, should treat me with more courtesy and respect.’

‘Courtesy and respect have to be earned,’ he told her, satisfied by the lowering of her eyes and the droop to her soft bottom lip that she was adequately chastened.

‘I confess that when I saw you in the Strand yesterday I mistook you for a female of a very different kind—which was why I did what I did,’ he continued. When she made a move to carry on walking he took her arm once more and forced her to stand in front of him. ‘Come here—and stop dancing about,’ he said when she yanked her arm free and glared at him, mutiny returning to her dark eyes. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to kiss you again,’ he told her drily, producing a handkerchief. ‘You have blood on your chin. You don’t want to face Thomas looking like you’ve been in battle, otherwise he will assume the worst.’

After placing the handkerchief to his lips and wetting it, he proceeded to rub Will Price’s dried blood off her chin none too gently, aware of the effort it was costing her to stand there and let him. When the task was completed his generous, laughing mouth broadened into a lazy smile. ‘I’m flattered you found the kiss I gave you more to your liking and did not feel the need to retaliate so cruelly.’

‘Why, you conceited, overbearing—’ She clamped her lips together in frustrated rage at the mockery playing in his gypsy eyes.

Lucas arched a sleek black brow. ‘I know. Infuriating, isn’t it? I have also been accused of being arrogant, ill bred and domineering. But I can be reasonable, polite and well mannered when the mood takes me,’ he said agreeably, gazing down at her lovely, rebellious face. ‘In fact, I can be rather nice on occasion.’

Prudence was thrown off guard by his unexpected gentleness. But then, with her meagre knowledge of men, she never did know what to expect from them. ‘Did you mean it when you said that when you first saw me yesterday, you mistook me for a woman of a different kind?’ she asked quietly.

Lucas studied her impassively for a long, silent moment, reading her perfectly correctly and sensing that this bothered her. ‘No. That was unfair of me,’ he said softly. ‘Would you really like to know what I saw when I looked at you yesterday?’

She nodded, gazing up at him silently.

‘I saw a lovely young woman with vibrant chestnut curls, wonderful eyes the colour of amethysts, and the smile of an angel. I will also tell you that you have an appeal—I can feel it. You have a fire burning inside you—and I find you the most enchanting creature I have seen in a long time. There is a freshness and warmth about you I find fascinating—in fact, you, my dear Mistress Fairworthy, are a veritable treasure trove of entrancing contrasts.’

‘But I didn’t know that was how people would see me,’ she said, her voice a husky whisper, feeling utterly confused and miserable, not wanting to be any of those things if it made men behave towards her as he had yesterday and Will Price had done today. She swallowed and looked away, her glorious dark eyes sparkling with suppressed tears, shining with the pain his words had caused her. ‘If I am like that I can’t help it. But I don’t want to be. There—there must be something wrong with me. It’s nothing to be proud of.’

Lucas took her chin gently between his finger and thumb, giving it a small shake to bring her gaze up to his once more, and he looked with deep regard into the unwavering depths of her eyes. ‘Let me assure you that there is definitely nothing wrong with you. I was paying you a compliment. You are a lovely, desirable young woman. It is hardly strange if the young blades find it hard to conceal their interest. You should be flattered by their attention rather than angry.’

Prudence stared at him in confusion, hardly able to believe the words he spoke or what she saw. Lord Fox’s eyes were full of warmth, and he was smiling at her with gentle understanding. ‘But how can I be flattered when it makes them behave like you did yesterday—and Will Price? It will bring me nothing but trouble.’

Realising just how hopelessly naïve and truly innocent she was, that she was unsullied and still a child in many aspects, Lucas sighed deeply. ‘No, it won’t. You might even begin to enjoy it. You can’t change what you are,’ he told her, envying the man who would one day unleash in her the sensual and passionate woman he knew she would be, ‘so you might as well make peace with it.’

‘Like you do, you mean,’ Prudence said, startled by the gentle caress in his voice and feeling the need to lash out defensively when she felt herself weakening, ‘by kissing every woman you meet?’

Lucas smiled ruefully, tracing his forefinger along the satin soft curve of her jaw. ‘I don’t. But if I did I wouldn’t hate myself for it.’

The tips of his fingers on her cheek, and the deep, compelling timbre of his voice, were beginning to have a strange, seductive impact on Prudence’s senses. Tingles of apprehensive excitement danced along her nerves.

Lucas studied her with heavy-lidded speculation, his gaze dropping to her soft lips and lingering on her mouth for a long moment before he slowly lifted his eyes to hers. ‘I was right, wasn’t I—last night—when I said you have never been kissed before.’

‘Yes,’ she confessed weakly.

‘I knew it.’

Prudence tilted her head on one side, frowning up at him. ‘How could you tell? Was I very bad?’ she asked candidly.

Lucas’s eyes were suddenly full of mirth, but he strove to keep a straight face to answer her question, which she had asked with the open curiosity of a child. ‘No. In fact with a little practice you could become perfect. I—could show you how it’s done. You will find me an excellent teacher,’ he said, wanting more than anything to show her there and then, to kiss her until he had her clinging to him and melting with desire.

Prudence snapped her head up. His words and their meaning brought her spirits plummeting back to earth. ‘Don’t you dare touch me. I do not require lessons from the likes of you.’

‘Are you not just a little bit curious to know how it feels to be kissed?’

‘I do.’

‘Properly, I mean.’

Prudence swallowed convulsively, heat coursing through her veins when she recalled how, yesterday, his mouth had taken full possession of her lips like a hot tidal wave that had almost swept her away. He had shown her how a kiss could be between a man and woman, and to pretend that she had not enjoyed the experience would be a lie. But under no circumstances would she allow him to kiss her again. It was unthinkable. Besides, that came under the category of abandonment and wantonness, which she must staunchly guard against where he was concerned. He was dangerous, and she knew there were not many women who could resist a virile man like him. Not when he was over six feet tall, lean and muscular, with hair as black as jet and as shiny as silk, and a face as handsome as a storybook hero.

‘No,’ she said in answer to his question. ‘Besides, I’ve had enough kissing during the last twenty-four hours to last me a lifetime—and if you must know, if that’s all there is to it then I can’t see what all the fuss is about.’

Lucas quelled his shout of laughter, but with mirth gleaming in his eyes he took her arm and walked on, shaking his head in disbelief at the absolute naïvety of this girl.

As they walked along Prudence glanced up at him tentatively. ‘Was Thomas very angry?’

‘I would be lying if I said he wasn’t.’

She sighed deeply, mortified that she had thoughtlessly left the house unaccompanied and without telling anyone where she was going, rousing Thomas to such a rage when he hadn’t been in the house twenty-four hours. She looked at Lord Fox with mute appeal, the prospect of facing her brother’s wrath nerve-shattering. She decided there might be much to be gained if she were to appeal to her companion’s better nature.

‘Do you have to take me to Thomas? Can you not say you couldn’t find me?’ she wheedled. ‘When I appear I could say I had been in the courtyard all the time.’

Lucas’s handsome mouth twitched in a smile. ‘And for this could I expect some kind of reward?’

‘If you like. I would accept your apology for making a spectacle of me yesterday,’ she offered magnanimously.

He frowned. ‘Is that all? Your generosity astounds me. I would call that a bribe. However, that is not enough to tempt me, Mistress Fairworthy. It will take more—much more than that,’ he murmured, his eyes resting on the soft swelling of her breasts where the low-cut gown revealed the mysterious little valley between them.

Angrily aware of what his words and his look implied, instinctively Prudence put up her hands, wishing she’d had the presence of mind to bring her shawl. ‘You will get nothing more from me, Lord Fox,’ she uttered scathingly. ‘You can go to the devil for all I care.’




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