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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.’
