Kasey Michaels - The Passion of an Angel

“You are too young for anything save watered wine,” he said, holding the bottle upright. “Or are you now going to tell me that Shadwell refused to clothe you yet kept you in strong spirits?”

“I drank what was to hand,” Prudence told him, feeling herself growing angry, and thankful for the feeling because it seemed easier to deal with the marquess from the position of adversary. “Ale, wine, port, brandy, even gin. Although I heartily dislike port, and too much ale makes my teeth numb and my nose itch. Still and all, plenty were the times it was safer than the water from the well. Come on, Daventry, pour me a glass. I won’t disgrace you by falling into my cups so that you have to fling me over your shoulder like a sack and haul me back to the inn. Besides, you’ve already broken one rule of guardianship by bringing me out here without a chaperone. What’s a little wine after that?”

Banning tipped his head to one side, his green eyes twinkling in a way that made her wonder if, perhaps, somewhere deep inside himself, he was as young as she. “Very well, Angel, if you promise to breathe most heavily directly in Miss Prentice’s face once we get back to the inn. I believe I’d rather enjoy watching her blanch.”

Prudence held out the glasses again, stubbornly keeping them there until he’d filled both of them to the brim. “Blanch, is it?” she said, giggling. “And how do you suppose we could tell? She’s already as sickly white as the underbelly of a fish. How does your sister abide such a dedicated pain in the rump? I’d had tossed the woman out dog’s years ago if she were mine.”

“You’d have to know my sister to understand. If there ever was a woman who should be called ‘angel,’ it’s Freddie. Rodney, Freddie’s late husband, had employed Miss Prentice as housekeeper before the wedding, and when Rodney died Miss Prentice saw the chance to move herself up a notch, to become Freddie’s companion. She doesn’t like the woman, and never did, but if Rodney chose her, then Freddie doesn’t believe she can get rid of her. My sister is sweet and loving and gentle—but if she were to develop a bit of a backbone, I wouldn’t complain.”

Prudence took a deep, satisfying sip of the still cool wine. “Put some starch in her spine? I’ll take care of it,” she said in all sincerity, believing she should offer something in return for her rescue from Shadwell. “It’s the least I can do, seeing as how your sister offered to take me in. And,” she added, feeling daring, “in return, you can take me to St. Bartholomew’s Fair. My brother says—said it’s magnificent, and would suit me to a cow’s thumb.”

“If you like crowds, the smell of unwashed flesh, gaudy trinkets, fakers, pickpockets, and rancid kidney pies, I suppose it is magnificent,” Banning said before sinking his white teeth into the glistening red flesh of an apple he’d pulled from the basket. “However,” he continued moments later, speaking around a mouthful of the fruit, “as your time is going to be filled with dancing lessons, fittings, morning visits, and the like, I believe we shall both simply have to forgo partaking of this particular delight. As your guardian, although I will not be in your company more than I have to be once I deliver you into Freddie’s hands, I cannot approve. Sorry.”

And with that single statement, Prudence felt all her enjoyment of the morning disappear.

“No, you’re not in the least bit sorry, so don’t lie to me! Leave it to a man to ruin everything—as men always do! Just when you start feeling comfortable, they take themselves off!” Prudence shot back at him, scrambling to her feet and giving the picnic basket a quick kick. She tossed off the remainder of her wine, just daring him to say something cutting about her manners, and ordered him to repack the basket, as she was anxious to get back to see if Lightning was faring well under the coachman’s care.

She had taken no more than three steps when she felt Daventry’s hands come down on her shoulders, halting her where she stood. “Let me go, my lord, before I do you an injury,” she warned, unshed tears stinging her eyes because she had begun to like him, just a little bit, and now he had gone and turned their picnic into yet another disappointment. Couldn’t wait to be shed of her, could he? Well, she was just as eager to see him walk out of her life!

He released her, saying, “In any other young woman, I would consider that to be an idle threat. In your case, however—”

“Oh, cut line!” she shouted, rounding on him, just to have him plop her wide-brimmed straw hat down hard on her head, nearly to her eyes, keeping his hand on top of her skull and her body at arm’s length.

“Can’t take the chance of freckles popping up on that pert nose, now can we?” he said by way of explanation, although she knew he was only saying that because he needed an excuse to keep her at a distance, which was probably a good thing because she would otherwise have sharply lifted her knee into his groin, as her brother had taught her to do after that leering traveling tinker had dared to corner her behind the stables four years ago.

“Why’d you have to ruin things by treating me like your unwanted ward again, instead of continuing on as the friends we were this morning, tramping here from the inn with the picnic basket swinging between us?” she asked him, her emotions a sudden jumble she did not wish to examine. “You gave a little, allowing me some wine, not saying a word when I deliberately ripped the chicken with my fingers, and I gave a little, promising to be a help to your sister. And then you took it all back, reminding me that you are dealing with me only because you have to, because my brother asked you to and you could find no way to wriggle out of your promise.”

Banning turned back to begin repacking the picnic basket. “That’s it, no more wine for the infant,” he said as if to himself. “And to think I’d worried that I’d find some simpering milk-and-water puss when I traveled to MacAfee Farm. Ha! What I would give now for a simple-headed die-away miss, rather than this bundle of contradictions I am saddled with. One moment the hoyden, a born temptress the next—but beneath it all the ragamuffin with the temper of a prodded ox!”

“I did not tempt you to anything!” Prudence corrected him heatedly. “I did not invite you into my bedchamber, you lascivious ogler, nor did I ask you to take me on this picnic, sans chaperone. But I came along with you, believing we could cry friends, putting myself on my excruciatingly best behavior, hoping that you might begin to believe that Henry’s request had not made you the most put-upon, persecuted person on earth. Hah! Fat lot of hope in any of that, is there, Daventry? You’re nothing more than a rutting old dog—as if I’d have you!”

He stopped in the midst of repacking the basket, one hand on the lid as he looked her up and down dismissively. “You wouldn’t know what to do with me,” he said coldly, “just as I haven’t the foggiest notion of what to do with you. Which, my dear Miss MacAfee, is precisely where I do believe we should both leave the matter.”

Every man, as the saying is,

can tame a shrew but he that hath her.

Robert Burton

“STAND STILL, MISS MACAFEE. And you are to remember that you are now a young lady and stop swearing at once, if you please.”

“The bloody hell I will, you prune-faced old biddy. You stick me with one more pin and I’ll have your liver on a skewer!”

Banning took a moment to smile as he stood peeking around the slightly ajar door, then entered the room without knocking, feeling it best to intervene before Prudence, looking hot and flustered in a morning gown definitely designed with a much different female in mind, made good on her threat.