Page 37 of A Dark and Stormy Knight
“Nonsense. The rules give us a pretty cage for our beasts to hide in. And let people like your lot put yourselves above the rest of humanity. It’s a way to identify who thinks they are made better than others by happenstance of birth and rigorous training.” He made a wry, bitter sound. “Well, any man can train himself. Just look at me.”
“What do you mean?” She finally pulled her hand out of his grasp, the soap making her clean skin slippery.
He meant to show her exactly who he was. Exactly what she was about to get herself into. “I come from nothing. Lower than nothing. That accent you say was a farce, it is the one I was born with. I used to speak like any other street rat out there, and high-born folk would kick me in the gutters.” He gestured to the wall, beyond which a bustling city scurried with unwanted children. “But I trained myself to act like them. To look and speak and dress like them. And now… I police them all. The entire city. And one of their own will be my wife.”
She put her hands to her eyes. “Tell me you are not engaged.”
He dropped the cloth into the bucket and stood. “Don’t be obtuse, I obviously meant you.”
“What? Absolutely not!”
An anger welled within him, one as ancient as he felt. The anger of every unwanted child. Every unrequited love. Every rejected, low-born git made to feel not good enough. “I don’t see that you have a choice,” he said in a slow, even tone. “If you’re pregnant with my child. I will raise that child, and that’s the end of it. In any case, it’s the best way of getting you out of this predicament.”
She sat on the cot with her hands in her lap, clenched and white-knuckled. “My father… he will never approve.”
“Oh, he will now.” Morley would make certain of it.
“But…” She held up the manacles surrounding her wrists.
“We’ll get to that,” Morley said darkly as he lifted the bucket of soiled water and stalked away from her.
One catastrophe at a time.
Chapter 8
Shackles came in many forms, Prudence decided. She was given a choice between two, and no matter which shackles she chose, they were until death.
They’d each left their marks on her body.
As she sat in her parlor—no, Morley’s parlor—her fingers idly traced the disappearing circles of irritation on her wrists where she’d been cuffed earlier and hauled into a private arraignment in front of a judge who’d lifted her confinement. He’d done this only after the Chief Inspector had promised a staggering amount of cash for her surety before he drove her to the registrar to trade her cuffs for a ring.
Despite everything, it had been Morley who’d looked as if he were bound for the gallows. He’d stiffly spoken their vows and signed paperwork before ushering her to his astonishingly handsome terrace in Mayfair.
Where Prudence’s family had been waiting.
Pru stared at the ring. The symbol of eternity. This day had been a bloody eternity.
They all had traded awkward conversation through an uncomfortable dinner where, thank heavens, her younger twin sisters, Felicity and Mercy, were sprightly enough at nineteen to chat incessantly when heavy silences threatened to descend.
After a sumptuous but abbreviated three courses, the ladies had been asked to withdraw to the parlor so the men could talk.
They’d been talking for entirely too long.
Prudence glared at the door. Her father and husband were discussing, nay,decidingher future somewhere beyond. Shouldn’t she at least be there? Shouldn’t she have a say?
A lump of dread had lodged within her throat, and try as she might, she could not swallow it.
She mustn’t be surprised. When had she ever wielded power over her own life?
Especially when it came to marriage.
It wasn’t as though Sutherland had been her first proposal. She’d offers from Barons, foreign leaders and dignitaries, a Viscount, and even an American magnate she’d liked once.
But her father had rebuffed them all, holding out for an offer that never seemed to come until, somehow, she’d found herself firmly on the shelf.
It was Honoria, herself, who’d long-ago suggested an alignment with George. Honoria’s husband, William, was both besotted with and devoted to her. Woodhaven and Sutherland were great friends, and he very much wanted his best friend married to his wife’s sister, even if he had to press the man into the arrangement.
George had so much as admitted it. “I never thought to have a wife. Sorry you’ll be stuck with me, old thing, as I’m terribly certain I’ll make a horrendous husband.” He chucked her on the chin, and everyone had laughed as though life would be a lark.
