Seduce Me, If You Dare by Alyssa Clarke
Chapter Fourteen
Prue arrived at her parents’ home in Russell Square an hour after slipping from her home. She did not bid the dowager countess farewell or inform her husband where she was going. Prue did not call for the carriage or wait for it to be readied. She had simply collected her pelisse and bonnet and set out to walk to her parents’ townhouse.
“There is no need to announce me, Jameson,” she said, entering her parents’ home and smiling at the butler.
“Very well, Lady Wycliffe.”
“Is my mother at home?”
“Mrs. Merriweather and Mrs. Walters went out for a stroll. You only missed them by a few minutes, Your Ladyship.”
So Temperance was in town. Prue frowned, for she had not received any correspondence from her sister that she was visiting town for the season. She hoped all was well with her. Only last year, she’d had her second child, a lovely girl that looked so much like her mother. A surprising pang of yearning shot through her as an image of a child with Oscar’s eyes and smile roused in her thoughts.
“Thank you, Jameson. I presume my father is in his study?”
“Yes, Your Ladyship.”
Prue handed over her bonnet and pelisse and padded down the hallway to the study. She knocked on the door and entered when her papa’s gruff voice bid her entry. Her papa glanced up, surprise and then pleasure suffusing on his face.
“Prudence,” he cried heartily, standing up and coming around the desk. In the two months since she had last seen him, he had gained some weight around his middle, but he was still the picture of health and vitality at nine and forty. His hair now had greyer streaks and looked particularly distinguished. A very handsome papa too with green eyes just like hers, and a ready smile for everyone. His apparel was made by the best tailor, but his taste was slightly more colorful than the current fashions.
Papa sported a waistcoat of red damask, embroidered with what appeared to be prancing dogs and unicorns in several garish hues. He wore a matching red Belcher neckcloth although he would have a more correct one tied when he expected company. Her father was a man who was aware of society’s expectations but who preferred comfort in his own home. He was prepared to play the part of a gentleman in public, even though he admitted to his family that it was a sham designed to support his business interests and to not embarrass his daughters who had married above his class.
Prue was proud that her papa was a shrewd businessman who had come from a humble beginning but was a man of great wealth today.
He enfolded her into his arms, and she returned his hug, basking in the comforting embrace, hating that intolerable ache once more, tightening her throat.
“Come, come, have a seat. I shall ring for some refreshment. You just missed your mother and sister. They have gone to call on Aunt Beatrice.”
She sat on a comfortable sofa. “I would prefer sherry, papa. Not tea.”
He jolted, clearly startled. “You are a countess,” he said, “If you want sherry, you shall have it.”
Prue smiled at him, recalling her sister’s promise that if she married a title, Prue would be the jewel in her papa’s eyes. He handed her a glass, and she wrapped her finger around it, unable to drink. “Papa?”
“Yes, poppet?”
“Did…did the Earl of Wycliffe marry me for my fortune?”
In the act of pouring a drink for himself, her papa froze. His back was to her, so she was unable to see his expression. Prue felt like she wanted to weep. “Papa?”
He slowly turned. “Why do you ask this now. You have been married for years.”
“I asked when Lord Wycliffe, and you said these were matters between men.”
“Bah! He married you because you are a beautiful miss. A bright and rare jewel that shone in a ballroom filled with lackluster diamonds. I remember your romantic notions, be happy you have a lord doting on you.”
She knew her papa’s and his skills at deflection. Taking a sip of the sherry, she composed her thoughts. “How much money was I worth to the earl?”
“Prudence—” her father began warningly.
“Papa, please,” she said, standing. “Do not prevaricate. Tell me!”
“Your dowry was always very handsome, young lady. We turned down more than a dozen offers for your hand in a week.”
She flinched as if struck. Yes, they had, but her parents had so desperately wanted an elevated title in the family that they had waited for the bigger shark to ask. “How handsome, papa?”
“Five hundred thousand pounds.”
“That was very generous of you, papa.” A fortune, and without that lure, the earl would never have looked at a young girl of seventeen who was pretty enough but with little connection to nobility. There had been far prettier ladies there that night with more respectable and lofty connections, but her purse had been the biggest. She tried her best to show an indifferent countenance to papa’s revelation and adroitly changed the subject to Temperance. Her father reassured Prue that her sister was well and that she had even mentioned calling upon her tomorrow. She spent an hour chatting with her papa and played a game of chess which she won before she kissed him on his cheek and bid him adieu.
Prue arriveda short time later at 48 Berkeley Square with silent tears streaking down her cheeks. Dashing them away with a furious swipe, she handed over her pelisse and hat to the butler. Then she made her way to the private parlor Theo claimed as hers. Knocking gently, Prue entered when a soft voice bid her welcome. Theo lowered the teacup onto a small table before her. “Prue! How lovely to you see. I’ve missed your presence these last several days.”
Her mass of blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders to her hips, and her whisky-colored brown eyes warmed with delight. Theo had the appearance of a woman happy with her lot in life, very different from how she had been only a few weeks ago. Prue’s opinion of the cold and arrogant duke who had practically kidnapped her friend instantly changed. Since he had placed that happy contentment on her friend’s face. Prue would love the man too and claim him as her friend.
“Do you plan to simply stand there?” Theo asked with an arched brow.
Prue sniffed, closed the door behind her and sauntered into the room. “I have not seen you in over three weeks, and I missed you dreadfully.”
“And that has caused your eyes to be puffy from tears?”
“The cause of that is my wretched husband, who I have been wooing. Perhaps in vain, I discovered today. I feel like a ninny to be crying.”
Theo smiled warmly. “Come, let’s have us a chat and some tea with a dollop of whisky added.”
A laugh hiccupped from Prue, and she sat beside her friend on the comfortable sofa. Some of the tension eased from her, and with a sigh, she toed off her shoes, leaned forward, and rolled down her stockings. She then removed the pins from her hair and shook her head to allow her hair to tumble down her shoulders and back. There. Now she felt a measure of peace.
Theo handed her a cup of tea, and she took a sip, tasting the whisky in the brew. It warmed her, and she relaxed even more.
“Tell me what is weighing on you?”
“Oh, Theo, I feel so wretched to be bringing my woes to your doorstep when we should only be celebrating your happy nuptials. Both you and Perdie are married and wonderfully happy. I should not—”
“It is for that very reason you should be crying on my shoulder,” Theo said warmly. “I am blissfully happy when you are clearly miserable.”
“You should be leaving today for your honeymoon,” Prue said stubbornly, even though she wanted to unburden her fears. There was an uncertainty upon her heart she did not fully understand.
“Prudence,” Theo said firmly. “We are more than friends. We are sisters. Your worries are mine, and I am glad they are. Now tell me why there is hurt in your eyes.”
She closed her fingers tightly around the teacup and took a shaky breath. “I…I did not know Wycliffe needed an heiress when he came across me in the gardens.”
Theo’s eyes widened. “I never heard any rumors that his estates were in trouble. If that was the truth, it was a tightly guarded secret.”
“It hurts, Theo, and I feel…uncertain. I never wanted a man to marry me only for my money.”
Theo squeezed her hands in silent support.
“I thought…I was just so naïve.” Resting the cup on the table in front of her, she drew her knees up on the edge of the sofa and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on the top of her joined knees. “I never thought to question why an earl would connect himself to a family with such humble connections and so readily. I thought he was just an honorable gentleman rescuing me from scandal. But I see now that is only what I wanted to see. When I spoke to him of love then, he has been so dismissive.”
Love… how naïve. A marriage connection has nothing to do with love. Your limited views and understanding of how the world operates will change as you mature.
Even now, she recalled with clarity his cutting words and almost amused countenance.
“Oscar had mentioned that our marriage was a mutually beneficial arrangement. At the time, I did not understand how it benefited him, and I should have known! I am not an outstanding beauty or a woman of great wit. The only thing I had of worth then was my substantial dowry. And he…he married me for it and then left me alone for three years. If I had not accepted Charity’s dare to seduce him, that divide might still be between us.”
Theo shifted to curl her feet beneath her thighs on the sofa. “Regrettably, he married you for money, but do not forget he also rescued you from ruin. From what you told me, the possibility of the scandal was high, and your Aunt Beatrice would have done everything in her power, even ruining you, to ensure you netted a title and an earl is an excellent catch. I’m afraid you would not have escaped that trap even if you had known his intentions.”
Prue saw the truth of Theo’s words. Still, there was a heavy press upon her heart that would not go away. It was quite difficult to put the agony of doubt into words, and Prue suddenly saw the only solution was speaking with her husband maturely. “I must speak to Wycliffe,” she said, standing. “I…I want to understand what he feels for me now.”
Theo also stood, her expression concerned. “Prue, are you wondering if he loves you?”
She firmed her lips, so they did not tremble. “Yes.”
“And what if he does not?”
She flinched and Theo sighed. “Oh, Prue. Not all gentlemen are capable of finer sentiments. When I saw you last week at the opera, you were glowing. That tells me he treats you kindly and with respect.”
“I want more,” she said hoarsely.
“He might not be able to offer more, and you would have to accept that—”
She fisted her palms as the ache welled deep inside her. “Would you have accepted less from your duke, Theo? Would you have married Hartford if he had not loved you?”
A lengthy silence rife with tension settled in the small parlor.
Theo’s eyes had widened. “The only reason I married Hartford was that he promised me the world…and such love…I….” Her throat worked on a swallow. “I understand, Prue. There was a moment I thought I did not matter to Sebastian, that I was only…an affair, and my heart shattered, for I was in love with him, desperately so. I did not want to be alone in my feelings. Alone in my love. I’d even thought at one time that it might take me a lifetime to recover from the pain of not having Sebastian’s love in return.”
Prue swiped away the tear that trekked down her cheek. “Precisely so.” To be alone in her love for him while he remained indifferent to it was unbearable.
She hugged her friend, made herself presentable with Theo’s assistance to rearrange her hair and went home.
Before approaching her husband,Prue took a long bath and donned a simple but stylish beautiful light green dress. She left her hair loose to tumble down her back, and she wore no shoes. Padding down the hallway in her bare feet, she first checked the study and found it empty. Her next stop was the library, and there she found him seated behind his large desk, bent over a mountain of papers. She must have made a sound, for he glanced up, and his brown eyes warmed with welcome.
“I missed you at dinner. I thought you might have gone to your club.”
Prue sauntered further into the room, closing the door behind her. “I paid a call at my parents’ townhouse. Then after, I went to 48 Berkeley Square.”
His gaze skipped over her face, and with a frown, he lowered the quilt. “You have been crying.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “That is not of import.”
He stood and moved from around the desk. “My wife’s tears and the reason for her upset is very important to me,” he said coolly. “What happened?”
Her husband sounded as if he would crush the person he believed to have hurt her. She almost laughed at the irony. Oscar slipped his hands around her waist and drew her close. That look in his eyes and the sensual tenderness of his touch caused a breathless exhilaration to scythe through her, and Prue had to suppress the feelings.
That tenderness in his eyes when he noted the ravages of tears on her face. This close it could not be ignored. “Are you hurt?”
My heart feels shredded. But she could not say so, of course. Prue lifted her hand to her cheek, startled to feel wetness. She had thought all the tears had been shed on the carriage ride home.
“Tell me,” he said gruffly. “What is wrong?”
Her lips trembled. “Because you’ll slay my dragon and defeat all my enemies?”
“Always.”
Firelight flickered in the dark brown pool of his eyes as he peered down at her. “Did you marry me because I…I …I was an heiress?”
Her voice was a mere whisper, but he stiffened. His expression shuttered but not before she read the truth of it. Prue recoiled, taking several steps back. He did not follow her, and she was grateful for it. The very thing she had not wanted was to marry a fortune hunter or a man whose only desire of her was her dowry.
“I’ve had the wrong expectations of my marriage for the last three years,” she said hoarsely. “If I had known…if I had known you decided to marry me only for my wealth, I would have braved the scandal of a ruined reputation.”
She closed her eyes against the sharp memory of falling, of feeling helpless and unhappy, and then he was there. Her honorable rescuer, who in truth had only approached her for selfish motives. She must have presented as such easy prey. “Did you follow me that night into the gardens?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Of course not. I simply wanted to breathe from the crush and stumbled upon your mishap.”
“Was it in honor that you chose to offer for me?”
“I offered for you because I quickly analyzed the situation and saw where we could enter a mutually beneficial marriage. Your reputation needed saving, and I, unfortunately, needed to marry an heiress to save the family.”
The hurt spread from her heart and blossomed everywhere. Unwelcome tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked to keep them back. “You only forgot to tell me about it,” she whispered. “If you did, I would have never owned such unrealistic expectations of you…of us…and made an utter fool of myself in trying to seduce you into loving me.”
Her husband jolted before his entire body stilled. “You did not make a fool of yourself.”
“Then, do you love me?” Such brave words when he had the power to cut her heart to ribbons.
“Prue…bloody hell, what is this?”
“Answer me, my lord.”
“I feel so much for you.” He raked his fingers through his hair.
“But not love.”
He slashed his hand in the air, almost violently. “What is love? And why the hell does it matter between two people who respect each other, have a healthy sexual relationship, and have fun together? What is this ridiculous insistence on love? It is but a word, Prue. Are we less without it? Are we more? You are my damn wife, my countess, and that is what matters!”
It is but a word.
“When you take me to your bed and touch me with such passion and tenderness…and such intensity...what is that?”
“It is the natural and healthy desire I own for you and what you also own for me.”
Why did that hurt?
“Prue,” he said gruffly, his eyes searching every nuance of her face. “Tell me what you want? I will…I will do my damnedest to give it to you.”
Are we less without it? Are we more? Her husband was simply a man who did not believe in love, and she had to learn how to adjust the hopes she had for her marriage. Many people in the ton had successful marriages that were not based on sentiment.
“I daresay you are not capable of giving it. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall grab a book from the library to read before retiring to bed,” she said coolly.
For she would be damned if she crumpled before him. It was her foolish expectations that had led her to this pain. He had never made any promises, except when he gave his marriage vows. Then he had promised to love and honor her as his wife. Yet after uttering those traditional words, he had never told her, he loved her. So, how could she resent him for her naivety? Prue walked away, maintaining her dignity. At the top of the stairs, her knees buckled, and she clutched the banister for support. She needed space and time alone to mourn the loss of the hope she had lived with for so long. Oscar was her husband and would forever be her husband. He treated her with kindness and respect, and that should have to be enough. Many ton marriages had less, and though many also had more—burning love and unquenchable passion, she would have to accept what Oscar was willing to give.
Those reasonings sounded logical. Reasonable. Yet her throat burned with the ache of unshed tears, and she wanted to curl into a ball and wept.
This intolerable pain will pass. Surely it will pass. And then we will go on as before.
Except Prue did not believe she would be able to hide her emotions, telling him that she loved only for him to remain indifferent to her sentiments. Even if she never voiced the words to him, that wound cut her deeply. She did not want to live in a loveless marriage but there was nothing else she could do. She had married Oscar and he was her husband and even if he fell short of her romantic dreams, she like Cecilia would have to find a way to live with it.
No, she would have to shore up her emotions behind a strong stone wall lest they tore her heart apart, day by day.