The Wicked Ways of a Duke(35)

This was the man who would soon be her husband. Of all the women in the world, she was the one he thought luscious. She was the one he wanted to marry, the one he had chosen to be the mother of his children, the one he wanted to share his life with. The way he had touched her was the most extraordinary thing Prudence had ever experienced. Her heart overflowed with happiness. “I love you,” she whispered.

His smile vanished, and she felt a vague uneasiness ripple through her. But then he smiled again, lowering his gaze to her mouth. “Well, I should hope so, tipsy girl,” he murmured, closing his eyes as he kissed her, “since you’re marrying me.”

With those words and that kiss, her momentary disquiet vanished as if it had never been, and her happiness returned tenfold. And when he deepened the kiss, Prudence’s soul opened up, unfolding like a flower beneath the bright, golden rays of the sun.



Winter Park, located in Oxfordshire, was the property closest to London, making it their first destination. It had been built in 1820 and was one of the primary ducal estates, Rhys explained as they had luncheon in the dining car with her aunt and uncle, but he seemed reluctant to talk about the house in any detail.

“You’ll see it for yourself soon enough, darling,” he told Prudence, deflecting her questions. “We’ll be there in time for tea.”

His voice was light and he was smiling, but as she studied him across the table, she had the feeling that the smile was a mask. When he changed the subject and asked Uncle Stephen about his estate in Sussex, she was certain of it, and felt as she had the afternoon of their picnic—as if a door had just been closed between them.

By his own admission, the estates were in poor condition, and embarrassment could account for his demeanor, though she had the uneasy feeling there was more to it than that. She wanted to inquire further but had no intention of doing so in front of her aunt and uncle, and set her curiosity aside for the time being.

The train arrived at Dunstable Station that afternoon. Half an hour before tea time, their hired carriage pulled into the graveled drive before a massive, fantastical structure of gray stone that looked like a storybook medieval castle, but since it had been built less than seventy-five years earlier, it was not actually a castle at all.

Rhys’s mother was in residence, they learned upon their arrival. Remembering what he had told her about the woman that day at the National Gallery, Prudence wondered in some amusement if Lady Edward De Winter were truly capable of devouring Aunt Edith in one bite, for it was something she’d rather like to see.

She doubted Rhys shared her amusement, however. By his admission, he and his mother did not get on. But if he was displeased by the news that she was staying at Winter Park, he did not show it.

“How delightful,” he told Channing, the butler, as they paused in the immense staircase hall. “We shall see her at dinner, then?”

“I believe Lady Edward was thinking to be introduced to Miss Abernathy at tea, Your Grace. She is eager to meet the bride.”

“Yes, I’ll wager she is.”

Prudence heard something different enter his voice with those words, something hard that echoed off the austere Gothic architecture of the hall, something so cold it startled her, and when she looked at him, he was wearing that mask of a smile. “Tea it is, then,” he said. “Channing, show our guests to their rooms, if you please, and arrange for our things, will you?” He turned to Prudence and her aunt and uncle. “I shall leave you to refresh yourselves, and I shall see you at tea. Now, I must meet with my steward. If you will pardon me?”

He kissed her hand, but it was a perfunctory gesture, hastily done. He bowed to her and to her aunt and uncle, then departed, his boot heels echoing on the black and white marble floor with strides so rapid, he was almost running.

Prudence watched him go with a troubled frown, wondering what in such innocuous conversation had caused him to practically bolt from the house. She thought of that day in Little Russell Street, remembering his reluctance to even embark on this tour. He had only agreed to come because she had wanted it.

“This way, miss,” the butler called to her, and Prudence turned to follow the others up the grand staircase. It was a fantastic structure of elaborately carved stone balustrades, newel posts, and railings. As they mounted the stairs, their footsteps echoing on the cool gray stone, she studied her surroundings and couldn’t help feeling awed, for the house was a bit like a Norman cathedral. This wasn’t even the primary ducal residence, but it was terribly grand, although she thought the gargoyles atop the newel posts were rather ghastly. It was a house that spoke plainly of the glory and power of an old, aristocratic family.

She caught glimpses of some of the other rooms as she followed the butler up the stairs and noted that though the furnishings were sparse, the carpets threadbare, and the draperies faded, the house was hardly the wreck Rhys had warned her to expect.

Her bedroom was an almost luxurious contrast to the rooms she had passed on the stairs, possessing thick Turkish carpets, pretty landscape paintings, and a mahogany four-poster canopied with ivory and teal brocade. Coordinating draperies bracketed the windows. Prudence walked to one and looked out over a weedy garden. Beyond it, a wide expanse of green turf speckled with dandelions was flanked by overgrown boxwood hedges. Past the lawn, there was a rectangular, moss-encrusted pond with a stone folly behind it. In the distance, park and woodland stretched for miles. Though it was somewhat neglected, it was a fine property, much more lofty than anything she was accustomed to. It was certainly a long way from Little Russell Street.

Of all this, and four other households, she was to be mistress. Like everything else in her life lately, it still seemed unreal that she was going to be a duchess. His duchess.

She stared out the window, and the view outside receded as an image of her future husband came to mind. Her cheeks grew hot as she remembered what had happened that morning in her train compartment, the things he’d done to her, the intimate touches that led to such an unexpected and glorious conclusion, a physical explosion like nothing she could have imagined. Even now her skin seemed to burn where he had touched her, and she closed her eyes, her breath quickening as she began to imagine again his hands on her body.

A scratch on the door interrupted this decadent daydreaming, and Prudence turned with a start, then ducked her head, her cheeks burning. She returned her attention to the view outside, but watched out of the corner of her eye as Woddell entered the room, followed by two other maids in gray dresses with white aprons and caps. They carried soap, towels, and pitchers of hot water. Under Woddell’s direction, they placed the toiletries on the papier-mâché dressing table, dipped curtsies, and departed, closing the door behind them.

“What do you think of the duke’s house, Woddell?” she asked, turning to lean back against the window behind her as the maid opened one of the trunks on the floor.

“It’s a grand estate, isn’t it, miss?” Woddell pulled a tea gown of rose-pink mousseline de soie from the interior of the trunk and held it up inquiringly. At Prudence’s confirming nod, she laid the loose-fitting garment and its matching, floor-length jacket on the bed, then began pulling various undergarments from the trunk. “House seems a bit empty, though,” she added, placing a pair of ivory satin slippers at the foot of the bed.

Prudence thought of Rhys’s voice echoing up the gray stone staircase and shivered, as if a goose had just walked over her grave. “It’s a cold house,” she said, surprised by her own words. “Winter Park is a fitting name for this place. I don’t…I don’t think I like it.”

Woddell paused and glanced around. “Your room’s ever so nice, though. Mr. Fane told me His Grace ordered it all done up with pretty things for you.”

“Really?” The maid gave an affirmative nod, and delicious warmth stole over Prudence at his thoughtfulness, banishing her sense of foreboding. But as she walked into the drawing room half an hour later for tea, she once again had cause to feel cold.

The icy atmosphere hit her like an arctic wind the moment she entered the room. Rhys was there, leaning against the fireplace mantel, his pose casual and indolent, yet she could feel his tension. As he performed introductions, she once again heard the hard inflection of his voice as he introduced his mother.

“My dear.” Lady Edward De Winter came forward. Her hands were outstretched in a welcoming gesture and she was smiling, but as Prudence looked into the other woman’s face, she was not deceived. When Rhys said his mother would slice Aunt Edith into pieces, devour her, and feed her bones to the dogs, Prudence had thought his words an exaggeration. She hadn’t really believed him. Somehow, she believed him now.

Despite that, Lady Edward must have been a beautiful woman once. In physical appearance, she and her son were not unalike, but where Rhys’s green eyes reminded her of the lovely autumn meadows at home, this woman’s eyes were like icy green jewels. Rhys’s smile warmed her like sunshine, but this woman’s tipped-up curve of the lips seemed an effort, as if she feared her frozen face might shatter. Prudence, who believed strongly in her own first impressions, knew she had never met a colder woman than this one.