Captivated By a Lady's Charm (Lords of Honor #2)(3)

Prudence backed away from the door and took several steps from the shop. With that slight, but meaningful distance between her and the un-French modiste’s establishment, she glanced about. A feeling of triumph ran through her. She puffed up her chest and continued skimming her gaze over the quiet London streets. So this was the sense of triumph Joan of Arc had known. Granted, her sneaking from her mother’s side was no honorable or impressive feat to some, but, in this instance, it felt very much like a grand victory.

A lone carriage rumbled down the cobbled roads and she drew in a deep, cleansing breath of the crisp, winter air. Tossing her arms back, she closed her eyes and tilted her head up to the sky to catch one of those small flakes. She faintly registered the opening of a door, and her eyes flew wide, just as a shopkeeper stepped out and hurled the contents of his basin.

Bloody h—

A strong hand wrapped about her arm and pulled her from harm just as the sopping, dirty water sprayed the pavement. “Have a care, love.” She swiveled her gaze up to the towering, broad figure owning that deep, mellifluous baritone.

Her heart skittered a beat. A dangerous, too fast beat. Goodness. The golden-haired gentleman with chiseled cheeks and an aquiline nose to rival a stone masterpiece really was the manner of man who robbed a lady of all those lessons on propriety ingrained into her from the nursery.

No scandals. No elopements or rushed marriages. You are to be everything and all things proper…

Humph, it seemed there was merit to Mama’s mantra after all. Consider her a proper Tidemore. Alas, if she were truly proper she’d know to turn on her heel. As it was, her feet remained fixed to the pavement.

“It wouldn’t do for you to soil such a lovely cloak, love.”

Her mind churned rapidly as she tried to put to right the stranger’s words. A lovely cloak. Prudence glanced about for said lovely cloak and then followed his gaze to the sapphire blue of her muslin garment. Her cloak. He referred to her cloak. Despite the unseasonably cold winter’s day, her body warmed. And he’d called her love. Which was all manner of improper and inappropriate and impolite and…Delicious. It was deliciously forbidden when a towering gentleman with too-long, golden-blond hair uttered that endearment in that same husky baritone.

No scandals. No elopements or rushed marriages. You are to be everything and all things proper…

By the concerned glint in the gentleman’s warm, brown eyes, he no doubt thought he’d stumbled upon a lackwit requiring his assistance. “Thank you,” she blurted. For to say something was certainly better than saying absolutely nothing. “For rescuing me from the bucket of water.” Granted, he’d not rescued her from the thunderous hooves of a magnificent steed, but if she’d had her skirts ruined while spiriting herself out of a shop, she might very well be dead by her mother’s hands.

The gentleman doffed his hat and with that splendid, black Oxonian in his long, white-gloved fingertips, swept a deep bow. “A pleasure, my lady. I was fortunate to be passing by.”

He grinned and her heart tripped another beat. Oh, dear. This was the manner of wicked smile that had cost Patrina her name, her reputation and, subsequently, all the Tidemore girls a hope of a happily-ever-after. This is why Patrina courted and found ruin. At last it made sense. The wild fluttering in her belly and hopelessly warm heart were certainly worth dancing with ruin for.

Then, as though fate sought to remind her of this momentary madness, a carriage rattled by, jerking her from her foolish and, worse, dangerous woolgathering over a nameless stranger. She stumbled back a step, away from him, and toward the shop. Oh, blast! Madame Bisset’s!

No scandals. No elopements or rushed marriages. You are to be everything and all things proper…

“I—I must leave,” she said quickly. She dropped a hasty curtsy, well aware that speaking to a stranger, unchaperoned in the streets certainly violated, at the very least, two requirements stressed by Mama in her daily urgings. She looked to the shop window and then at the gentleman once more. It would be impolite to exchange greetings and yet, he’d saved her. From a sopping bucket of water, but saved nonetheless.

The glorious, golden stranger with his chiseled cheeks and aquiline nose made the decision for her. “It would be wrong for me not to know the name of the woman whom I’ve saved from a shopkeeper’s dirtied water.”

Her heart skipped several more important, now gone, beats. It was as though their thoughts moved in harmony. Foolish girl. Foolish girl… “Lady Prudence Tidemore.” As soon as her introduction left her mouth, she bit the inside of her cheek.

Everyone knew a Tidemore girl. The whole lot of them were ruined by Patrina’s failed elopement and then hasty marriage.

Except, if this man knew who she was, he gave no outward indication. He merely inclined his head. “Lady Prudence,” he murmured, and warmth unfurled within her at his husky command of her name.

What was the mantra? What was the mantra? It had to do with being proper and gentlemen…but surely not about speaking to those gentlemen, upon a London street with her mother unaware of her momentary defection. Oh, blast! Her mother!

If it were discovered she’d snuck away, her mother would likely send her off to an abbey before Prudence could create a Patrina-esque scandal, the likes of which would place the remainder of the Tidemore girls’ reputations well past the hope of saving. Her time with the gentleman was at an end. There could be nothing more than this quick, stolen exchange. But she could not leave without knowing the identity of the man who’d broken the tedium she’d known since arriving in London. She wetted her lips.