Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,95
progressed beyond the Roman habit of wearing bedsheets about all day. Put this on.” He shook the dressing gown impatiently, and Pru saw a muscle tighten in Nash’s jaw. He was probably more annoyed than angry at the valet, but she couldn’t deny Clopdon was very effective. She would have done as he bid her.
“Come now, sir,” Clopdon said. Then he looked at Pru, his eyes meeting hers with a seriousness belied by his tone. “Miss Howard, do take the earl downstairs and offer him some refreshment. Mr. Pope will join his father in a moment.”
Pru swallowed. The valet was asking her to step into the line of fire. He knew what he asked of her. His expression was serious and also questioning. She could say no. She could refuse and no one would blame her.
But if she appeared afraid of Nash now, she would most certainly doom him to an asylum—if he hadn’t already doomed himself. Worse, when this was over, he would hate himself for causing her fear.
She couldn’t allow that. Moreover, she was not afraid. Nash wouldn’t shoot her. She knew it as well as she knew her own name. He might be back in the midst of a battle in France, but he would never shoot her.
“Certainly, Clopdon.” Pru moved cautiously to the other side of the bed and gathered her dress and shoes. She left her stays and stockings. She’d worry about those later. Then, taking a deep breath, she moved toward the earl, putting her body between the pistol and Nash’s father.
“Shall we, my lord?” Pru asked gesturing to the door as though she didn’t have a pistol pointed at her back. She reached the earl, who stared at her as though she were an as-yet-to-be-discovered species of bird. Keeping her body between the earl and Nash, she ushered the earl out of the room then closed the bedchamber door behind her.
Her legs felt wobbly, and she wanted to collapse right there, but she bit the inside of her cheek and maintained her composure.
“My God,” the earl breathed, clutching his chest. “He wants to kill me.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Pru said. “Let’s go downstairs to the parlor.”
“I could use a drink,” he said. Pru didn’t bother to tell him that he wouldn’t find anything stronger than tea at Wentmore. Instead, she showed him into the parlor then made her way to the butler’s pantry to dress. She passed the footmen en route and found Mrs. Brown in the butler’s pantry.
“Oh, Miss Howard! I heard Mr. Pope pointed a pistol at the earl. What happened to you?” she asked, eyeing Pru’s dishevelment.
Pru merely held out her dress. “Would you help me? My hands are a bit shaky.”
“Of course, dear.”
While Mrs. Brown helped her don her ugly pea-green dress—why was she always wearing this gown when she met important and fashionable people?—Pru tried not to think about the fact that the entire household knew she’d been alone and undressed with Nash. And while she didn’t have much to show off, she was nonetheless chagrined to have been seen by half the household in her underwear.
“There you are, dear,” Mrs. Brown said.
“Thank you. I believe it might help if we had tea in the parlor,” she told Mrs. Brown. “The earl mentioned wanting something to drink, so if you have a splash of brandy you can add to his cup—”
“I have just the thing. Don’t you worry.”
Pru wanted to hug the other woman, and so she did. Mrs. Brown hugged her back, and for a moment Pru just closed her eyes and allowed herself to be surrounded by the scents of flour and dough. Tears pricked at her eyes as she remembered the times when her own mother had held her.
It seemed years ago now. She supposed it had been.
The front door banged open, and she heard Mr. Payne call out for Nash. Pru withdrew. “I had better go.” She wiped her eyes and hurried through the dining room and into the foyer.
Mr. Payne turned to face her just as the parlor door opened and the earl stepped out. “There you are!” he said, his tone accusing.
Mr. Payne looked at the earl and then at Pru, clearly hoping for an explanation. “My lord, I thought you would write before traveling to Wentmore.”
“Why? So you could make everything look rosy? Now I see what the real situation is.”
Mr. Payne looked...well, pained. “Miss Howard, what happened?”
“I’ll tell you what happened,” the earl said. “My son almost shot me.”