other young woman, I would consider that to be an idle threat. In your case, however—”
“Oh, cut line!” she shouted, rounding on him, just to have him plop her wide-brimmed straw hat down hard on her head, nearly to her eyes, keeping his hand on top of her skull and her body at arm’s length.
“Can’t take the chance of freckles popping up on that pert nose, now can we?” he said by way of explanation, although she knew he was only saying that because he needed an excuse to keep her at a distance, which was probably a good thing because she would otherwise have sharply lifted her knee into his groin, as her brother had taught her to do after that leering traveling tinker had dared to corner her behind the stables four years ago.
“Why’d you have to ruin things by treating me like your unwanted ward again, instead of continuing on as the friends we were this morning, tramping here from the inn with the picnic basket swinging between us?” she asked him, her emotions a sudden jumble she did not wish to examine. “You gave a little, allowing me some wine, not saying a word when I deliberately ripped the chicken with my fingers, and I gave a little, promising to be a help to your sister. And then you took it all back, reminding me that you are dealing with me only because you have to, because my brother asked you to and you could find no way to wriggle out of your promise.”
Banning turned back to begin repacking the picnic basket. “That’s it, no more wine for the infant,” he said as if to himself. “And to think I’d worried that I’d find some simpering milk-and-water puss when I traveled to MacAfee Farm. Ha! What I would give now for a simple-headed die-away miss, rather than this bundle of contradictions I am saddled with. One moment the hoyden, a born temptress the next—but beneath it all the ragamuffin with the temper of a prodded ox!”
“I did not tempt you to anything!” Prudence corrected him heatedly. “I did not invite you into my bedchamber, you lascivious ogler, nor did I ask you to take me on this picnic, sans chaperone. But I came along with you, believing we could cry friends, putting myself on my excruciatingly best behavior, hoping that you might begin to believe that Henry’s request had not made you the most put-upon, persecuted person on earth. Hah! Fat lot of hope in any of that, is there, Daventry? You’re nothing more than a rutting old dog—as if I’d have you!”
He stopped in the midst of repacking the basket, one hand on the lid as he looked her up and down dismissively. “You wouldn’t know what to do with me,” he said coldly, “just as I haven’t the foggiest notion of what to do with you. Which, my dear Miss MacAfee, is precisely where I do believe we should both leave the matter.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Every man, as the saying is,
can tame a shrew but he that hath her.
Robert Burton
“STAND STILL, MISS MACAFEE. And you are to remember that you are now a young lady and stop swearing at once, if you please.”
“The bloody hell I will, you prune-faced old biddy. You stick me with one more pin and I’ll have your liver on a skewer!”
Banning took a moment to smile as he stood peeking around the slightly ajar door, then entered the room without knocking, feeling it best to intervene before Prudence, looking hot and flustered in a morning gown definitely designed with a much different female in mind, made good on her threat.
“Learning to rub along together fairly well, are you Miss Prentice, Miss MacAfee?” he inquired brightly, unable to hold back a satisfied grin at the sight of his ward in a temper. “How above everything wonderful, truly. I’m convinced of it—you’ll be bosom chums by tomorrow night, when we arrive in Park Lane to meet with my sister. I think this little stop in Epsom was just the ticket, although I can’t say, Miss Prentice, that I’m overfond of our ‘angel’ in that particular shade of pink.”
“It’s downright ugly, isn’t it,” Prudence declared, almost seeming in charity with him for the first time in days as she spread her hands and glared down at the gown Miss Prentice was still trying without notable success to pin more snugly around her left wrist. “All my life, I’ve been dreaming of beautiful gowns, of cutting a dash in society with my stylish wardrobe—and this is what that paperskulled ninny brings me. Pink!”
Banning hid a rather nasty smile as he bent his head and pretended an interest in adjusting his shirt cuffs. He had found, much to his amazement—considering the fact that he believed himself a gentleman—that he truly enjoyed baiting the child.
“I was speaking of your complexion, Miss MacAfee,” he then explained, hoping his expression was sober and very guardian-like, “which has a tendency to go nearly puce with temper, an unfortunately too common occurrence, considering the fact that you fly into the boughs almost hourly. As for the gown Miss Prentice purchased for you on my orders, it is passable enough, I believe.”
“How amusing you are, Daventry,” Prudence retorted, pulling her wrist free of Miss Prentice’s grasping fingers. “I’ll wager you launch yourself into hysterics three or more times a day, just reflecting on your own comic brilliance. Now, if you’re not going to be of any help to me—go away. Find yourself a monkey and a tambourine, and go perform downstairs in the common room, where there are doubtless enough drunken farmers eager to giggle at your cutting wit. I want to get back into my breeches, and I intend to do so in the next ten seconds. That’s ten… nine…eight…”
Miss Prentice walked to a corner of the room, picking up her almost always present glass of water and taking a sip before saying, “Lady Wendover has not sufficiently recovered her strength after her ordeal of last year, my lord, and should not be forced to deal with such an ill-mannered child. I beg that you rethink the matter, then go about discovering a suitable school for at least a year. I personally have heard of such an establishment in the north, somewhere near Edinburgh, I believe. Backboards, firmly administered corporal punishments for insubordination, thrice daily prayers—”
“Oh stubble it, Prentice. You’ve interrupted my counting. Besides, I know very well how a lady behaves—probably better than you, as a matter of fact. My grandmother was very particular that I should understand what it takes to be a lady. I just don’t like you, that’s all, and don’t give a fig what you think of me,” Prudence explained, turning her back on the woman.
“I’m not too taken with you, either, my lord Daventry,” she continued, smiling. “But you don’t have to worry about your sister. I know which side of my bread is buttered, and I’ll be good when I have to be. Now, where was I? Oh yes. Eight. Eight…seven…six…”
Banning inclined his head slightly in her direction. “How you soothe my troubled mind, Miss MacAfee,” he drawled, addressing her formally, as he had since entering the bedchamber here at the Cross and Battle, as he had done since their stormy interlude at the ruin—not that he had seen her above twice since then, as he had secreted himself in the private dining room at the inn just outside Milford and rode ahead of the coach during the day. “Just remember as you count down the numbers, and as you are playing the proper young miss around my sister, that I am the one footing the bill for your coming excursion into London society.”
“Don’t blame me for the promises you made, Daventry. Counting time is over, I fear. Don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning,” Prudence shot back, grinning as she began unbuttoning the unsuitable pink gown, starting with the buttons that seemed to climb halfway up the front of her slim throat. “Oh, look at me! The country bumpkin stripping down in front of the London gentleman. Quickly, Miss Prentice! Scream! Faint!”
“Angel, please,” Banning whispered in warning, unwilling to look away. Unable to look away. Good God! What was wrong with him, that he could not look away? How had he come to be so eager for the sight of a few inches of Prudence MacAfee’s sun-kissed skin, when he had just to walk into any ballroom in Mayfair to see yards and yards of bare, supple, creamy white female shoulders and bosoms.
Three more buttons were pushed free of their moorings, exposing several more inches of flawless, golden skin. “Please, my lord Daventry? Please what? Please stop? Please continue?