Desperate to speed things along and send this horrid girl on her way, Prudence nudged the gentleman’s leg with her elbow to gain his attention. “If you please, sir,” she said without taking her eyes from her work, “could you move a bit to the side? You are blocking the light.”
Lady Alberta made a sound of outrage. “What impudence!”
“Pert, isn’t she?” The gentleman sounded amused rather than irritated, but if Prudence hoped she would escape unscathed, she was mistaken.
“This is the Duke of St. Cyres,” Lady Alberta said, as if Prudence were too dense to know that already, and kicked the sewing basket near her feet, spilling the contents across the Aubusson carpet. “How dare you presume to give him orders?”
Prudence stared at her scattered sewing supplies and feared that despite all her nauseating attempts at subservience, she was destined to lose her post before the night was over. If she couldn’t find another, she’d have to return to Sussex and live with Uncle Stephen and Aunt Edith again. Horrible thought.
“It’s no more than I deserve for coming between a woman and her modiste,” the duke said in a good-humored voice that made her breathe a sigh of relief. “I’d best do as she wishes, I think.”
To her astonishment, he complied with her request not by moving away, but instead by kneeling down beside her. She watched his hands as he righted her basket and reached for her pin box. “Oh, no, sir,” she whispered, realizing his intent with dismay. “Don’t trouble yourself.”
“No trouble, I assure you.”
As she pulled her needle through the silk, Prudence darted a glance at him, and found that he was staring at her. Their eyes met, her heart twisted in her breast, and she stopped sewing.
He was beautiful. Beautiful the same way an autumn morning in Yorkshire was beautiful, when the beech woods had turned a thousand shades of gold, and the meadows, still green, were swathed in silver frost. She caught the scent of him, an earthy scent like the peat sheaves, smoky wood fires, and spicy cider of her childhood.
Her lips parted and she swayed toward him, inhaling deeply. He smiled at her, a slight curve of his lips that made her wonder if perhaps he could read her thoughts and was laughing at the country girl. But she didn’t care. He smelled heavenly.
His silver-green eyes studied her face with unnerving openness, yet she couldn’t seem to look away. Still smiling a little, he leaned closer. His wrist brushed her knee, and she jumped, unnerved by the contact, but he merely took up her scissors from the floor and dropped them into her basket. Then his thick brown lashes lowered to her hands and his smile widened, showing teeth that were remarkably even and as white as his linen. “Resume your sewing, I beg you,” he murmured just loud enough for her to hear. “I couldn’t bear it if Alberta started wailing again.”
Smothering a laugh, Prudence forced her attention back to her work as he gathered up wayward spools of thread. But such splendid masculinity had never come this close to her before, and she continued to study him covertly as she worked.
His evening clothes, she noted, were impeccable and exquisitely cut in the most current mode. Other things about him, however, hinted at a disregard for fashion. His hair, burnished and tawny beneath the gaslights, was thick, with a hint of curl that scorned the use of any disciplining hair oil. He was clean-shaven, an unfashionable choice, but a wise one, to Prudence’s mind. A beard would have hidden the lean planes of his face and the strong edge of his jaw, and a mustache would have detracted from the beauty of his mouth and the aquiline line of his nose. Never in her life had she seen a more handsome man.
“Rhys, what are you doing down there?” Lady Alberta’s laughing voice interrupted Prudence’s observations. “I cannot believe you are on your knees playing the gallant to a seamstress.”
There was an unmistakable tone of petulance beneath the girl’s laughter, and Prudence tensed. She looked at the gentleman and gave a tiny shake of her head, imploring him with her eyes.
He made a sound of impatience. Whether that impatience was with her or Lady Alberta, Prudence couldn’t tell, but he tilted his head back and gave the girl standing before him his full attention. “Me play the gallant?” he said, a hint of disdain entering his well-bred drawl. “What a notion!”
“Then what in heaven’s name are you doing?”
He dropped another spool of thread into Prudence’s basket with one hand as he grasped a handful of blond silk in the other. “Having a peek under your petticoats, of course,” he answered, and lifted the girl’s hem a few inches from the floor, earning himself startled gasps from the ladies around them. “What else would I be doing down here?”
Lady Alberta gave a squeal of shocked delight, and Prudence felt the tension slide away from her.
“What pretty ankles you’ve got!” he added, giving the girl’s feet a judicious study and ignoring the murmurs and stares of the other ladies. “Why, I believe little Alberta’s all grown up.”
The girl was now giggling in the silliest way, but Prudence found that sound a welcome relief after all the whining that had come before. Her task completed at last, she reached for her scissors, and as the move brought her closer to the duke, she inhaled the wonderful, earthy scent of him one last time. “Thank you, sir,” she whispered as she cut the thread.
“Not at all,” he murmured in her ear. “It has been my pleasure.” He straightened Lady Alberta’s skirt and rose to his feet.
Prudence sat back. “I’ve finished, my lady.”
“Finally!” The girl curled her arm through the man’s offered one, and they left the alcove together. Prudence turned her head and watched them depart, her relief at being rid of Lady Alberta tinged with disappointment as the duke vanished from view. Never again was she likely to encounter such a man.
Ah, well. She gave a philosophical shrug and stuck her needle in the pincushion the duke had placed back in her basket, then stood up. Pressing a hand to her spine, she arched her back to stretch her aching muscles, and as she did so, spied Maria beckoning to her from the nearby corridor.
Her dearest friend, Maria Martingale shared a flat with her and worked in a bakery shop during the day. At night, Maria supplemented her income by assisting at public balls such as this one.
After a quick glance around, Prudence picked up her basket and walked over to her friend, who was standing by the corridor that led to the kitchens, a heavy silver tray in her hands.
“Who was that man?” Maria asked.
“A duke.”
“Stuff!” Maria said in disbelief. “Really?”
Prudence nodded. “Lady Alberta, the girl whose dress I was mending, called him the Duke of St. Cyres.”
“Well, his chivalry seemed sincere enough,” Maria answered, laughing at the adjective that matched the pronunciation of his title. “If I’d been in your place, I wouldn’t have been able to sew a stitch!”
“It was difficult,” Prudence admitted, grinning, “but I managed. A treat to look at, wasn’t he?”
“Rather! You should have seen all the other ladies watching him while he helped you. And then he took a look under the girl’s skirts and scandalized ’em all, the saucy fellow!”
Prudence felt a delicious little thrill. He’d done that for her, she knew, and it amazed her that a man of such exalted rank would bother.
“The girl didn’t like it, not by half,” Maria told her. “She was staring daggers down at you the whole time. He didn’t seem to care, though.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and grimaced. “My feet hurt.”
“I should imagine so. You’ve been trotting back and forth from the kitchens to the dining room all night with those trays of supper.”
Maria’s grimace of pain changed at once to a grin that lit her pixy face. “It does have some compensations. I’ve sampled my share of the goods.” She held up the nearly empty tray. “These crab cakes are too delicious for words.”
Prudence groaned, a pang of hunger twisting her insides. Her mouth began to water. “Don’t! I’ve eaten almost nothing these past few days.”
“Listen to you. Always trying to slim, and those tight corsets you wear! Hurts me just lacing them for you. I don’t know why you torture yourself.” Maria glanced around to be sure no one was watching, then pulled the last three bite-size crab cakes off the tray and shoved them into Prudence’s hand. “Here.”
Tempted beyond bearing, Prudence popped one of the stolen canapés into her mouth and groaned again, looking at the other woman with heartfelt gratitude. “I don’t think anything has ever tasted this delicious,” she said around the bite of crab cake. “How are things in the kitchens?”
The girl lifted her gaze heavenward. “Andre is the most temperamental fellow. Throws a tantrum if things on the trays aren’t just so. These French chefs are all the same. Fuss, fuss, fuss. And the other maids—” She broke off with a sound of contempt. “Lightning strike me dead if Sally McDermott isn’t the flightiest bit of goods! She’s too occupied with chatting up the footmen to give the work any attention.”