Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,109

Dr. Langford had promised to play his violin.

“You were speaking of the vicar’s rotten moral duty,” Pru said a moment later.

“Horrid girl. That was not what I said. But he did go on and on about it, so I told him that whenever we met he could have five minutes exactly to preach and convert me. I have a small watch you see.” She withdrew the pretty gold piece from her reticule. “I would time him and at the end of five minutes, he must shut up. And it’s worked remarkably well. I can almost tolerate the man now.” Mrs. Northgate set her tart on the table.

“How...lovely,” Pru said. “But you did not want to come with your family?”

“Oh, those girls will take hours to dress their hair and change their clothes. I’m an old woman. If I wait for them, I will be dead.”

“Don’t say that!”

“You’re still young. When you reach my age, death is not so frightening. But look what we have here. My, but he is the vision of his father when his father was younger. The earl was the only man for whom I would have ever thrown my Mr. Northgate over.”

“Mrs. Northgate!”

She cackled. “Oh, he never gave me so much as a second glance. I was pretty enough, but he was only attracted to money. The countess came with a large dowry and an excellent pedigree, so I suppose he got what he wanted.” She patted Pru’s hand. “And so did I.”

“Do you miss him very much?” Pru asked. “Mr. Northgate, I mean.”

“Every day.” She gave Pru a meaningful look. “When you’re young, it seems like you have all the time in the world. But it will be gone before you know it. Don’t waste a single moment.”

“I won’t,” Pru said.

Mrs. Northgate laughed. “I do believe you!”

The guests continued to arrive, and Nash and his father greeted them all. Pru kept busy helping in the competition tent. All of the entries had to be catalogued and assigned a number. Mrs. Blimkin was in and out, complaining that she was fair starving because she was one of the judges and did not want to eat before the contest began. She claimed it was to preserve her palate, but Pru rather thought it was because she wanted to have room to eat more.

Once the competition began, Pru slipped out and started for the east lawn to watch the children’s games. She could hear the children’s laughs and shouts and squeals of delight. Nothing gave her more pleasure than watching children play. But she’d barely taken two steps before a hand caught her arm. She turned, expecting the vicar—or truth be told, wishing it were Nash—but she instantly recoiled.

It was George Northgate.

“Good afternoon, Miss Howard,” he said, smiling pleasantly.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Northgate,” she said, trying to pull her arm away. But his grip held, and even as he smiled, he forcibly escorted her toward the back of the tent, which was bordered by the informal gardens and well hidden from view. Pru struggled but his grip was unbreakable. She thought of screaming but then how would she explain? Northgate, with his back up against a wall, would reveal everything. The vicar would be required to take some action, perhaps to send her away. She couldn’t leave Nash now. Not in his greatest moment of need.

Northgate shoved Pru to her knees and held her in place with a hand in her hair. She winced at the pain of his tight grip and recoiled as he tried to push her toward the fall of his breeches.

“Good afternoon, slut. I’m here for my apology.”

Pru knew she should just give one and hope that would suffice for now. Perhaps if she apologized, he would allow her to go. She had no illusions he would not seek her out again, but she would be more careful in the future.

“I’m waiting.”

Pru tried to form the words, but she just couldn’t do it. She would rather face every kind of indignity before apologizing to this man. As her father had always said, she had an allergy to authority, and she simply could not give in.

Pru shook her head stubbornly. “Go shove a stick up your arse,” she ground out, trying to keep her voice from rising at the increasing pain in her scalp.

“Foul-mouthed bitch,” he said, reaching for the placket of his breeches. “I’ll give you something to do with that mouth.”

His hand on her hair tightened as he pulled her closer.