Amanda Quick - Dangerous

"I do not believe you."

"No doubt because you have convinced yourself that I am still Lucifer before the fall."

"This is intolerable." Prudence glowered at him. "Are you saying that now that you have married me, you are no longer concerned with the prospect of making me angry?"

"I much prefer you when you are in a charming, cooperative mood, my dear. But the fact of the matter is we are legally bound now." Sebastian stroked his finger along the curve of her shoulder. He smiled when she shivered. "And we are bound in other ways as well, are we not? No matter how angry you become, you cannot walk out on me."

"And if I did?"

"I would follow you and bring you home," he promised. "Then I would make love to you until you shuddered in my arms, until you pleaded with me to take you. Until you could no longer even recall why you had been angry with me."

"Sebastian."

"Until you realized that what you and I have together is all that matters."

Prudence looked into his candlelit eyes and caught her breath. "I warned you once not to think you could manipulate me with your lovemaking."

He smiled slowly. "So you did. But I have always liked a chal­lenge."

"Sebastian, do not tease me, I beg you. This is a very serious matter."

"I assure you I am taking it very seriously." He caught her chin on the edge of his hand. "Attend me well, madam. The vow my mother extracted from me will not keep me from punishing the Fleetwoods if they insult you or offend you in any way."

Prudence tapped one bare foot. "I have the impression that you rather hope one of them does manage to step over this invisible line you have drawn."

The devil's own laughter danced in Sebastian's gaze. "You are very perceptive, my sweet. And quite right. I would not mind in the least if one of them, preferably my aunt, crosses that line. But you needn't worry. I give you my solemn oath that it will only happen once."

"Because that is all the excuse you will need for taking retribu­tion?"

"Just one offense," he said softly. "One insult to you and I will see them banished from Society. I will cut their considerable incomes down to tiny allowances."

Prudence was stunned by the implacable intent in his words. Her palms were suddenly damp. "Is that the real reason you chose to marry an unfashionable Original, then, my lord? Because you knew that only someone as odd as myself could manage to draw the insults you wanted from your relatives?"

Sebastian frowned. "Now, Prue—"

"Did you marry me just so that you would finally have cause to exact the vengeance you crave?"

"Don't be a fool." Sebastian's lashes veiled his eyes. "Do you think I would tie myself for life to a woman whose only recommendation was that she was bound to annoy the Fleetwoods?"

"The thought crossed my mind, yes."

Sebastian swore. "If that had been the only thing I required of a wife, I would have married long ago. I assure you that there are any number of females here in London who would have offended the Fleetwoods."

"No doubt."

"Use your admirable intellect, madam. I'll admit I would very much like to punish the Fleetwoods, but not at the price of marriage to a female who would have made me a totally unsuitable wife."

"Of course, my lord." Prudence fought back tears. "I should have considered the matter more closely. Now that I do, I can see that you needed a most unusual combination of characteristics in your count­ess."

"I most certainly did." He smiled.

"You needed a female who was both odd enough to draw the condemnation of your relatives and yet clever enough to amuse you."

Sebastian scowled. "You are being deliberately difficult, Prue. I have told you why I married you."

"Mutual interests and mutual passion." Prudence drew the back of her hand across her eyes. "I understand those reasons for our mar­riage. But I feel I was grossly misled on this other requirement you have mentioned, my lord."

"Prue, stop this nonsense. You are getting it all mixed up."

"Am I?" She took a step back. "You never explained that I was to be a convenient tool you could use to bait the Fleetwoods. I do not like being used in such a fashion."

Sebastian's expression turned dangerous as she moved away from him. "You are twisting my words, Prue."

She blinked away more tears. "You ask too much of a wife, my lord. My list of duties grows longer every time I turn around. I am to amuse you. I am to be an intellectual companion so that you will have someone on hand to admire your brilliance when you are conducting an investigation. I am to warm your bed. And now you expect to use me as an excuse to punish the Fleetwoods for what they did to your parents."

Sebastian took a gliding step toward her. "I have had enough of this nonsense."

"So have I. It is time for me to draw a line of my own and I am going to do so."

"What line would that be?" He took another step toward her.

"You will not use me as an excuse to avenge yourself on your relatives. I do not care what insult is offered. You will not use me. Is that clear?"

"You are my wife, Prue. I will not tolerate any insult to you. On that score there will be no bargaining."

"Then I demand the right to decide whether or not I have been insulted," she said defiantly.

"Damnation, Prue, are you crying?"

"Yes, I am."

"I warn you, I will not be manipulated with tears," he growled.

"And I will not be manipulated with lovemaking."

Sebastian gave her an ironic look. "Where does that leave us?"

Prudence wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her night rail. "I

have no notion, sir. If you will excuse me, I believe I am going to go back to bed."

He watched her intently. "I shall join you shortly."

"No, you will not. I am going back to my own bedchamber, my lord. I find I cannot sleep well here in your room."

Prudence walked to the connecting door, opened it, and went through to her own room. She shut the door behind her and held her breath.

She was not certain what Sebastian would do next. She half ex­pected him to follow her and give her a lecture on her wifely duties.

But the door to her bedchamber remained closed.

"I rather like the neckline on this gown," Hester mused.

Prudence tried to rally her flagging interest as she obediently con­templated the fashion plate. This shopping trip had been her idea, she reminded herself. She had certainly had the best of intentions when she started out this morning.

But after an enthusiastic beginning at the fabulous shopping ba­zaars which featured everything from clever little toys to delicious ices, she had long since grown bored.

Prudence pushed her spectacles into place and studied the gown closely. "It looks as though one would pop right out of the bodice if one took a deep breath."

"That is the whole point," the unctuous modiste hastily assured her in a false French accent. "A lady's ball gown should give the illusion of being made of nothing but gossamer spider webs spun while the dew is still fresh upon the strands."

"Quite right," Hester declared. "And to be the very glass of fash­ion, the gown should be in a lavender hue."

Prudence eyed the plate dubiously. "Well, if you think it's what I want, Hester, then I shall order it at once."

Hester smiled with satisfaction and turned to the modiste. "We will need it made up immediately. We are prepared to pay extra if you can promise that it will be delivered by eight this evening."

The modiste hesitated and then smiled blandly. "It can be ar­ranged, madam. I shall have all of my seamstresses work on it this afternoon."

"Excellent," Hester said. "Now, then, we shall also want the riding habit, the morning gowns, and the carriage dresses as soon as possible.

Remember, they are all to be done up in violet- and lavender-colored materials. You may use a bit of purple for the trims."

"I understand, madam. You shall have everything within a few days." The modiste turned to Prudence, who was examining a display of buttons. "If her ladyship will step this way, we can take her lady­ship's measurements."

"What's that?" Prudence looked up from the buttons. "Oh, yes, of course."

She allowed herself to be led into the fitting room, where she stood obediently still as a plump woman bustled about with a tape. The modiste supervised with a critical eye.

Prudence smiled at the modiste. "I have heard that it is the fashion to have the buttons of one's riding habits and pelisses engraved with one's family motto or a crest. Is that true?"

"Ladies rarely concern themselves with such." The modiste kept her attention on the seamstress. "It is gentlemen who are more likely to order engraved buttons."

"What sort of things do they have engraved on them?" Prudence inquired with what she hoped sounded like nothing more than mild curiosity.

"A variety of things. Military insignia. Symbols of their regiments, perhaps. Family crests. Some of the members of certain gentlemen's clubs have the names or mottoes of their clubs engraved." The mo­diste looked at her politely. "Did madam wish to order special engrav­ing on her buttons?"

"Not unless it is a requirement of fashion. I was merely curious. Where would one go to order such buttons?"

"There are a number of shops that can supply them." The modiste scowled at the seamstress. "I think you had better measure her lady­ship's bosom again, Nanette. We do not want any mistakes. There will not be time to make adjustments. Madam has a very… ah… slender, refined form. We would not want the bodice to be too large."