Page 8 of The Wallflower's Choice
“Might we know your title, my Lord? At least that way, though we are not formally introduced as we ought to be, we will not be speaking to a stranger.”
He grinned at her, the light in his eyes sending another ripple of that odd sensation over her skin, but Prudence did not react, other than to gaze back at him with a steady gaze.
“Wonderful,” he said, bowing for what was now the second time. “I am the Marquess of Childers.”
Prudence blinked in surprise, a little astonished that a Marquess would come to speak to them without being properly introduced first. Was not he a gentleman who knew the rules of propriety? Or was this matter at hand so urgent that he could not hold himself back, as he had said?
“Miss Rockwell and Lady Prudence,” Miss Rockwell stated, not going into detail with her introduction as regards who their fathers were and the like. “Now, what was the purpose of your demand that we stop and listen to you?”
As Prudence watched, Lord Childers turned his eyes towardsher, no longer looking at Miss Rockwell, but rather fixing all of his attention upon her. She shivered lightly, a little uncertain about what such an intense look might mean, finding herself stepping back when he moved only a little closer.
“Lady Prudence,” he said, his voice softer now, as though he were attempting to cajole her into something. “Daughter of…?”
She frowned.
“My father is the Earl of Lymington.”
Lord Childers rubbed his hands, his grin returning.
“Capital!” he exclaimed, his exuberance as yet unexplained. “The daughter of an Earl, then! Wonderful.”
Becoming all the more confused and unsettled by his exclamations, Prudence forced herself to step forward and, glaring at Lord Childers, folded her arms over her chest.
“Explain yourself, Lord Childers, or we shall take our leave within the moment,” she said, a little harshly. “I will not wait any longer for your explanation.”
“Of course, of course.” Dropping his hands to his sides again, he beamed at her. “I overheard you saying that you would be glad to make a match with anyone. Might I be bold enough to ask if such words were genuine?”
A furious heat enveloped Prudence as she stared at the gentleman, her whole body feeling heavy and weighted. Beside her, Miss Rockwell began to splutter with indignation, telling Lord Childers exactly what it was that she thought of his question, though Lord Childers himself did not look anywhere but at Prudence’s face, waiting for her to respond.
Prudence closed her eyes for a few moments, mortification sweeping through her. She had not thought for a moment that anyone had overheard her speaking in such a way, and to know that this gentleman had done so filled her with nothing other than shame and embarrassment.
“Do not be afraid to tell me,” Lord Childers told her, ignoring Miss Rockwell’s exclamations and speaking only to Prudence. “There is a purpose in my question.”
“And what might that be?” Prudence asked, a little hoarsely, her face burning with heat. “What possible reason could a gentleman such as yourself have in asking me such a thing?”
Again, that seemingly ever-ready smile returned to Lord Childers’ face as he moved a fraction closer to her.
“Why, Lady Prudence,” he began, softly, “it is because I believe that I have a match for you.”
Chapter Four
“You didwhat?”
James spread out his hands as he and Lord Kingshill sat together in James’ drawing room.
“I did what I thought was best. I could not let such a young lady escape, could I?”
Lord Kingshill shook his head and groaned aloud.
“When you said that you would be of aid to me in this situation, I did not think that it meant you would go out tofinda young lady on my behalf.”
“I did not find her,” James clarified, finding himself a little frustrated that his friend was not reacting with any sort of delight, or even interest, to what James had discovered. “She walked past me, and I overheard her saying something about being glad for any match she might be given and, on hearing that, I pursued her to discover whether or not that statement was true, and not made flippantly.” Lord Kingshill picked up his glass of brandy from the table and took a long draught, saying nothing though, James noted, he still did not look in the least bit pleased. “She is eager for a match,” he continued, wondering why Lord Kingshill was frowning. “It was something of a strange conversation, of course, for she did not know who I was or whyI was asking such a thing, but I was glad to speak with her about your circumstances all the same.”
Lord Kingshill blinked.
“You told her of what I said?”
“I told her only that you were also seeking a match – and perhaps, even a hasty one – though I reassured her that there was no dark or dangerous reason for that.” Chuckling, though the tension still raked over him, James shrugged his shoulders. “I did not think that there was anything wrong in what I said. I do hope that you are not troubled in some way.”
