Chapter 2
The following day,
Germaine House, London
“I had thought after you attended dear Jocelyn’s wedding yesterday that you would cease shutting yourself away like this,” Lady Cynthia Germaine, Countess of Winchester and Prudence’s mother, admonished lightly as the two women sat together in Prudence’s private parlor. “Cilla would not have wanted it,” she added emotionally.
Pru’s eyes flashed. “If our roles were reversed, then Cilla would be so prostrate with grief, she would be unable to rise from her bed.”
“Well. Yes. That is true,” her mother allowed, her blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty an older version of her daughters’. “You always were the emotionally stronger of the two. Your father and I have decided,” she continued in brisk voice before Pru could make a reply, “that it is time we retired to our house in Bedfordshire for the winter months.”
“No,” Pru refused. “I cannot go, Mother,” she added pleadingly. “I cannot leave Cilla—”
“Darling, Cilla is no longer here,” her mother chided in a gentle tone as she reached out her hand to squeeze Pru’s clenched one.
“She died here, and so her spirit is still here,” she insisted. “No.” She gave a firm shake of her head. “I cannot and will not leave London now.”
“Darling, we are not out of sympathy with your emotions. Cilla was our beloved daughter, after all. It is only that the change might be good for you. Your father also has business matters he needs to attend to in the country next week, and we have several days’ travel first—”
“Then the two of you must go as soon as you are ready.” Pru stood abruptly. “Mary will continue to act as chaperone to me here, as she did yesterday.”
Her mother sighed. “Which I allowed only because you insisted on it. But you and I know Mary is even more emotionally distraught than you are.”
As the maid had been in the carriage with them the night of the accident and had also witnessed Cilla’s death, Pru knew this to be the case. If anything, it was as her mother said: the maid remained deeply shaken by those events. Mary was also the only one whom Pru felt could truly relate to and understand the shock of the night Cilla had been taken from her. And perhaps Romney, but as she’d informed him yesterday, she had no intentions of renewing that acquaintance.
Pru’s chin rose. “I will not leave London.”
“Darling—” Her mother broke off as there came a knock on the door before it was opened their butler, Parker.
“Viscount Romney is downstairs asking to see Miss Prudence,” he informed them. “I gave him the usual reply, that you are not receiving visitors,” he defended when Pru gave him a sharp glance. “But he insists the two of you spoke yesterday and that instruction no longer applies to him.”
Did he indeed? Then Titus Covington had the nerve of the devil himself!
Well, Pru’s current mood was more than a match for his arrogance. “Show him in, Parker. But do not serve any refreshment,” she added decisively. “The viscount will not be staying long enough for that.”
Her mother waited until the butler had departed before speaking again. “Darling—”
“Please go and do your packing, Mama, and leave me to deal with Viscount Romney as I see fit,” Pru stated firmly.
The countess frowned. “It will cause a scandal for you to meet with him alone.”
“Who is going to tell?” she challenged. “You or I? Father? The servants? I do not think so.” She gave a dismissive snort. “Besides, what I have to say to the viscount would be better said without witnesses.”
“Prudence—”
“Do not use that authoritative tone with me, Mama, because you and I both know it does not work,” she chided with weary affection. “I will deal with the viscount once and for all,” she added determinedly. “After which, I hope never to see or speak to that hateful gentleman ever again.”
“Viscount Romney,” Parker announced from the open doorway.
The mocking expression on the viscount’s face as he entered the parlor told Pru that he had overheard her last comment.
All well and good. It would save her the bother of having to repeat those words to his face.
“Countess.” Romney bowed formally over the hand Pru’s mother held out to him. “Might I offer my condolences on your loss?”
“Thank you, and I you on yours.” The countess curtseyed. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have some household matters to attend to. Parker,” she prompted briskly.
Titus frowned as he watched as Lady Cynthia and her butler left the room, closing the door behind them. He turned back to Prudence. “Your mother did not wish to remain as chaperone?”
She shrugged. “As she said, she is very busy. She and my father intend traveling to our home in Bedfordshire in the next few days. I assured her you will not be staying long, so there is absolutely no need for her to delay her own plans for the afternoon.”
It was easy for Titus to gauge that the anger Prudence had shown toward him yesterday had not abated in the slightest. Indeed, the comment he had overheard her make before he entered the parlor had confirmed that to be the case.
She was once again dressed in black, a color that should have been far too harsh for her very fair coloring, but nevertheless, she managed to carry it with an air of haughty maturity. Her hair was less severely styled today, with several loose curls at her temples, but there were none of the previous diamond or pearl pins securing the rest of those blonde curls at her crown. Indeed, she wore no jewelry at all to alleviate the severity of her appearance.
His eyes narrowed at her last comment. “You are not traveling into Bedfordshire with your parents?”
She moved to sit on a red chaise, her back very straight, her expression one of cool disdain. “I prefer to remain in London for the moment.”
“Why?” Titus hated that he was immediately beset with suspicion regarding the reason for Prudence choosing to remain in the capital. Most of Society had already, or as in the case of her parents, who were about to do so, retired to the peace and quiet of their country estates for the winter months before returning to London in January or February in time for next year’s Season.
She looked at him coldly. “I do not believe that to be any of your business.”
Titus’s jaw tightened. “And if I were to state a wish to make it my business?”
Her brows rose. “Then I should again inform you, more strongly this time, that my movements are none of your concern.”
Titus attempted to stifle the same frustration he had felt yesterday when she’d treated him so coldly. This time, he failed utterly. “Damn it, Prudence—”
“I do not recall ever giving you permission to use such familiarity when addressing me,” she stated coldly.
His teeth clenched. “And I recall I once had permission to call you Pru and your sister Cilla.”
Her jaw tightened. “Then that permission was given to you by Cilla, not me. As my sister is no longer here to say one way or the other, I am withdrawing that familiarity in regard to myself.”
“A withdrawal I refuse to acknowledge,” Titus snapped. “For God’s sake, Pru.” He ran an agitated hand through the dark thickness of his hair. “Should we not be drawn closer together by our mutual loss, rather than be at odds with each other?”
Pru rose abruptly to her feet. “I acknowledge your loss, my lord, and I am deeply sorry for Lord Worthington’s death. He was a charming and handsome gentleman,” she added stiffly. “But that does not make me feel in the least closer to you.”
Titus had never felt as impotent in his life as he did at this moment. Nothing he said or did seemed to pierce that icy shell Pru had gathered about herself.
He took the two strides required to ensure he now stood only inches away from her. “Then perhaps this will!” There was no hesitation or forethought of any kind as Titus took her stiff body into his arms before his lips came down possessively on hers.
To say Pru was surprised by Romney’s kiss would be to severely understate the situation. She was deeply shocked. So much so, she did not have the strength nor will to resist as he deepened that kiss and his mouth began to hungrily devour hers.
His lips were warm and open against her own, claiming, possessing, demanding her response even as his arms crushed her slender curves against his much harder ones.
It was as if something that had been cold and dead inside Pru began to melt under that determined onslaught. It stripped her of the protective wall she had built about her emotions in order for her to be able to deal with the worst of the pain of losing her beloved sister.
Without that defense, all those emotions hit Pru at once. Horror. Shock. Pain. Loss.
Followed by a rapidly increasing warmth. Desire. Pleasure. Arousal.
Her arms moved tentatively up Romney’s chest to his shoulders, her fingers becoming entangled in the dark hair at his nape as she pressed herself against him and returned the heat of those kisses.
His body was so comfortingly solid, grounding Pru, rather than the sensation of simply floating through life she had felt this past six weeks. The kiss brought her painfully back to life as it revived all her senses but sight, because her lids had closed the moment Romney started to kiss her.
The taste and feel of his heated lips against hers.
The touch of the silky thickness of his hair slipping through her fingers.
His insidious aroma of sandalwood and lemons, with an earthy maleness that was uniquely his own.
She could hear the way they were both now groaning low in their throats, those needy sounds adding to the intimacy and arousal.
She trembled as she felt the lengthy hardness of Romney’s aroused cock pressing against her abdomen.
Pru wanted to be closer still, to drown in this overload of sensations and emotions, to continue to feel after so many weeks of knowing nothing but numbness.
A sob caught in her throat as one of Romney’s hands cupped beneath her breast. The nipple instantly swelled, becoming completely engorged as the soft pad of his thumb stroked that sensitive tip to nerve-tingling pleasure.
His hand stilled at the sound of her sob, and he broke the kiss to look down at her with concern. “Did I hurt you?”
Hurt her?
Romney had brought her alive again. His kiss. His touch. His male musk. The hard strength of his body pressed so intimately against her own.
But alive to what, Pru questioned bleakly?
The pleasure and arousal abruptly faded, and she was consumed with the gut-wrenching knowledge that her twin truly was gone from her side forever.
And a return of the conviction this man was somehow involved in her having suffered this terrible loss.
Pru attempted to pull out of Romney’s arms, her fists pummeling against the hardness of his chest when he refused to release her. “Let me go!” She glared at him fiercely. “I said, let me go, you bastard!”
Titus instantly removed his arms and dropped them back to his sides. But he made no effort to stop Pru as she continued to pummel his chest with her clenched fists, instinctively knowing she needed to inflict this physical pain on someone, on him, in order to lessen her own emotional one.
“Stop me, damn it,” she cried several seconds later.
“Not if it makes you feel better.”
“Nothing makes me feel better,” she choked. “Nothing!” She collapsed weakly against his chest.
Titus carefully put him arms about her but remained ready, at the slightest show of aversion on Pru’s part, to remove them again.
Thankfully, there was no such reaction, giving him leave to continue to hold her in the gentle comfort of his arms. Her head rested just below his jaw, the silkiness of her hair smelling of spring flowers. Her soft curves molded perfectly against his own: generous breasts and the warm curve of her hips and thighs.
“You would feel better if you allowed yourself the emotional release of crying—” He broke off as Prudence reared back, returned to a full awareness of what she was doing.
She pulled completely out of his arms, eyes glittering darkly, two spots of angry color in her cheeks. “An ocean of tears would not bring my sister back to me.”
He gave a pained frown. “I really am sorry for Cilla’s loss. She was so young and vibrant. I liked her very much.”
“Did you?” Prudence scorned, her chin raised. “You liked her so much that you are making love to her sister only weeks after her death!”
Titus felt the burn of color in his cheeks. “That is unfair—”
“Is it?” she challenged. “Everyone, including my parents, took note that your marked attentions were to Cilla and not me.”
He winced at the accusation. “And we both know that, after the first few weeks of our closer acquaintance, her interest was in Worthington. As my own interest was in you and yours in me.”
“No.” Prudence gave a determined shake of her head. “You shall not excuse your behavior today by passing the blame for it onto me.”
He drew in a harsh-sounding breath. “You returned my kisses—”
“Get out,” she snapped, her shoulders and back stiff and unyielding. “And do not come back.”
“Pru—”
“If you do not leave of your own volition, I will ring for a footman—several of the footmen,” she amended derisively after a glance at his superior height and muscle, “and have you physically removed you from my home.”
Titus continued to glare his frustration for several long seconds before nodding. “Very well, as I have no wish to add to your distress, I will leave without further argument. But I need to talk to you. Regarding the accident.” He had come to a decision about that since seeing Pru at the wedding yesterday. One that he knew Stonewell would not approve of but which Titus now believed was necessary. “When you are ready to hear what I have to say, perhaps you will send me a note so that I might call upon you again?”
Pru’s desire for further knowledge of their carriage accident was at war with her need for Romney to just leave her in peace.
Because she had returned his kisses, and reveled in the closeness of his warm and muscular body. She now needed time away from his disturbing presence in which to regather her defenses.
Something Pru was unsure was at all possible now that the ice was melting about her emotions…