the darkened room. The remains of a dying fire smoldered in the fireplace. That was the only light. Obviously guests were not intended to be here, and she felt slightly guilty. She knew Lord Kindersley was so jealous of his privacy that he did not even allow servants in here to clean. Had Ellie not told her that, the layer of dust and many cobwebs would have. Thinking of spiders and shuddering, she followed Stephen to a large statue in the corner of the room. It was in the Greek style, a seven-foot woman in a toga reaching toward the sky, her arms turning into the branches of a tree over their heads. Deciding that Lord Kindersley had atrocious taste, Prudence turned her attentionto Stephen as he brushed at a spiderweb spun between two of the marble branches and finally spoke.
“My father did the same thing your father is now doing. He drove us to the edge of ruin with his gambling. He did not drink, however. Just gambled. And he did not start suddenly, as a tonic to distract himself from the death of his son and heir; he was always a gambler—but the longer he did it, the worse it got. I used to—” He paused abruptly, and Prudence moved a step closer, laying her hand gently over his now fisted one in a silent effort to soothe him. He glanced down with surprise; then his expression softened and his hand opened under hers, moving to gently clasp it.
“How did you convince him to stop?” Prudence asked after a moment of silence.
A harsh laugh burst from his lips, and his fingers tightened around hers. She didn’t think he realized that he was crushing her hand, but she hesitated to draw his attention to the fact, because she desperately wanted to hear the answer to her question. If he had managed to make his father stop, perhaps she could save her father the same way.
Those hopes were shattered when he said, “He stopped himself. He gambled everything away but the Stockton estate. He could not touch that. So he came home that night, after gambling the last of everything else away, and shot himself.”
Prudence flinched at his cold admission, horrified. She had a sudden vision of her father taking one of grandfather’s old dueling pistols and—
“Do not look like that. I should not have told you. I am sorry.”
Prudence focused on his troubled expression, only then becoming aware of his hand on her cheek. “I—”
He smothered whatever she would have said by coveringher mouth with his lips. Prudence stayed still for a moment under the assault—a variety of unexpected responses rushing through her—then kissed him back. She told herself that she was doing so just because she was eager to erase the image of his father’s death from her mind, but she knew she was lying to herself. She had wanted him to kiss her again ever since that first time in his office. Perhaps she had wanted him to kiss her even before that. She had fantasized about him sweeping her up at some ball and rescuing her from her troubled life since that first time he had saved her from being a complete wallflower. Since the first time she had seen him, really. He was terribly handsome, and his basic kindness showed through his dissolute air. That, she was sure, was only a defense against the cold cuts society directed his way. She had always seen him as some sort of martyr, for she had never seen anything truly wrong with the fact that he chose to run a gambling establishment…well, until she had seen how the vice affected her family.
“Oh, Pru,” he breathed against her cheek.
Surprised by his familiarity, but warmed by it, Prudence moaned as his lips trailed down her throat, leaving a blistering trail. She leaned in to him, her hands sliding over his shoulders, then into his hair. It felt so good to be held like this. To let go of the constant tension of her worries and let passion carry her away. For a few moments, to just feel. His hands clasped her breasts through her gown, squeezing gently, and for a moment it felt as if all the
“My father did the same thing your father is now doing. He drove us to the edge of ruin with his gambling. He did not drink, however. Just gambled. And he did not start suddenly, as a tonic to distract himself from the death of his son and heir; he was always a gambler—but the longer he did it, the worse it got. I used to—” He paused abruptly, and Prudence moved a step closer, laying her hand gently over his now fisted one in a silent effort to soothe him. He glanced down with surprise; then his expression softened and his hand opened under hers, moving to gently clasp it.
“How did you convince him to stop?” Prudence asked after a moment of silence.
A harsh laugh burst from his lips, and his fingers tightened around hers. She didn’t think he realized that he was crushing her hand, but she hesitated to draw his attention to the fact, because she desperately wanted to hear the answer to her question. If he had managed to make his father stop, perhaps she could save her father the same way.
Those hopes were shattered when he said, “He stopped himself. He gambled everything away but the Stockton estate. He could not touch that. So he came home that night, after gambling the last of everything else away, and shot himself.”
Prudence flinched at his cold admission, horrified. She had a sudden vision of her father taking one of grandfather’s old dueling pistols and—
“Do not look like that. I should not have told you. I am sorry.”
Prudence focused on his troubled expression, only then becoming aware of his hand on her cheek. “I—”
He smothered whatever she would have said by coveringher mouth with his lips. Prudence stayed still for a moment under the assault—a variety of unexpected responses rushing through her—then kissed him back. She told herself that she was doing so just because she was eager to erase the image of his father’s death from her mind, but she knew she was lying to herself. She had wanted him to kiss her again ever since that first time in his office. Perhaps she had wanted him to kiss her even before that. She had fantasized about him sweeping her up at some ball and rescuing her from her troubled life since that first time he had saved her from being a complete wallflower. Since the first time she had seen him, really. He was terribly handsome, and his basic kindness showed through his dissolute air. That, she was sure, was only a defense against the cold cuts society directed his way. She had always seen him as some sort of martyr, for she had never seen anything truly wrong with the fact that he chose to run a gambling establishment…well, until she had seen how the vice affected her family.
“Oh, Pru,” he breathed against her cheek.
Surprised by his familiarity, but warmed by it, Prudence moaned as his lips trailed down her throat, leaving a blistering trail. She leaned in to him, her hands sliding over his shoulders, then into his hair. It felt so good to be held like this. To let go of the constant tension of her worries and let passion carry her away. For a few moments, to just feel. His hands clasped her breasts through her gown, squeezing gently, and for a moment it felt as if all the
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