Wish List

"A woman!"

Pru's attention jerked back to the hawkish man at that exclamation, only then noting that her head was feeling a touch cooler than it had moments before. Alarm rising up within her, she forgot about the cane she held and reached up instinctively to feel for the hat that should have been on her head, nearly knocking herself senseless in the process. Prudence actually saw stars as pain exploded through her head, but it might have been partially due to the fact that the man had lifted her higher in his surprise and she was now dangling off the floor, her cravat becoming a rather effective hangman's noose.

Struggling for breath, Prudence acted instinctively and brought her cane down square on top of Hawkman's head. Her tormentor released her at once. Sucking in great gasps of air, Pru stumbled backward, just avoiding the retaliatory fist the man sent flying at her face as she tumbled to the floor beside the serving girl. She wasn't terribly surprised that the man had tried to hit her despite knowing she was a woman. After all, he hadn't been treating the serving girl very well. Everyone was surprised, however, when the blow he intended for her landed squarely on the jaw of a large blond man who had apparently stepped forward to intervene. The blow was enough to send the man crashing to the floor, and Prudence bit her lip and winced in sympathy, but was more than grateful that she had not managed to stay on her feet for that shot.

Silence fell in a wave that spread to the far corners of the room as the blond shook his head and regained his feet. Then Hawkman, looking pale and frightened, blurted, "I did not mean to hit you. I was-"

It was as far as he got before the blond man's fist plowed into his face. Prudence almost cheered at the blow. She did hate cowards, and any man who was so vicious to women, then quavered when confronted with a man his own size, was definitely a coward.

She watched with satisfaction as Hawkman stumbled backward, then winced as he crashed into a serving girl who had just come through a nearby door with a tray of beverages. The tray upended, sending the drinks flying over a pair of men; then all hell broke loose. The two men promptly joined the fray and were quickly followed by others-every-one soon striking out at his neighbors. The violence moved in a wave much as the silence had a moment before, rippling out over the crowd until everyone seemed to be involved.

Pru pushed herself up to a sitting position and gaped at the riot breaking out around her, then scrambled up to rescue her father's second-best top hat from between two combatants' feet. Unfortunately she was too slow, and the hat got slightly dented and compressed. Prudence scowled at the damaged item, then glanced to the side a bit wildly when someone tugged at her arm.

"Come on," the serving woman cried, then promptly shifted to her hands and knees and began to crawl away through the legs surrounding them.

Pru stared after her in amazement for a moment, then, afraid of being left to fend for herself in the midst of the mob, shifted to her hands and knees and scrabbled after her. She started out trying to crawl while holding her father's cane in her hand. That was a painful endeavor, as she found herself grinding her fingers between the hard object and the floor with her weight on it. Leaving the item reluctantly behind, she found it easier going and was able to make much better time, despite having to pause every few feet to yank up her breeches-crawling about left her with no hands to hold them up, and the activity seemed to drag at them.

"Do you not think we would move faster on our feet?" she asked breathlessly, dodging between a couple of flailing legs to catch up with the woman, whose path was blocked by a pair of men rolling on the floor, fists flying.

"Sure, if you don't mind a fist to the face," the servant answered over her shoulder as she changed direction to crawl around the battling pair. The words sounded practical enough to Prudence, but she couldn't help thinking that she might prefer a fist in the face to a boot in it.

Pru had barely had that thought when she got a boot to the stomach as someone tripped over her. It was more a knock than a kick, but was enough to startle an "oomph" out of her and make her decide she would risk the fists. Pausing, she started to draw her knees up to rise, only to find herself assisted to her feet by someone grasping the back of her collar and jerking her upward.

Closing her eyes instinctively, Prudence clutched at her drooping drawers and winced against the blow she felt sure was coming. She was spun on her feet to face her assailant.

"You!"

Opening one eye cautiously, Pru nearly groaned aloud- Lord Stockton. She silently cursed her luck. Then, deciding that bravado was her best option in the situation, she beamed at the man as if he were a dear friend she had run into unexpectedly in the middle of a crushingly overcrowded ballroom.

"Oh! Good evening, my lord! What a pleasant surprise. And how are you this evening?"

Watching the red suffuse his face, darken, then turn to purple as his mouth worked silently, Prudence considered that bravado might have been the wrong choice.

"You!" This time the word was not shocked so much as a long, drawn-out, frustrated and furious sound. Yes, she had definitely made the wrong choice with bravado. Perhaps throwing herself into his arms with relief and pretending to desire his protection from the mad horde around them would have been a better approach. She almost carried that thought through to action, but was denied the opportunity when a pair of struggling combatants suddenly rammed into her captor, sending him reeling. Prudence actually almost rushed forward to catch him and help him regain his balance, then realized that she would hardly be doing herself any favors and decided that fleeing was the better option.

She whirled away and started to try to fight her way through the crowd, only to quickly understand what the serving girl had meant. Not only were fists flying, but elbows were thrusting, and bodies were banging. It was almost impossible to get through the men on foot. Glancing over her shoulder in a purely panicky action to see that Stockton had regained his balance and was now fighting toward her, Prudence returned to her hands and knees and began to scramble past, around, and even sometimes through the pairs of legs shifting and stumbling around her, sometimes hopping along like a three-limbed dog as she was forced to yank at her damned breeches. Still, she was able to move much more swiftly like this, and she was just congratulating herself on the maneuver when she was collared again, dragged to her feet, then hustled through the crowd.

Stockton had pushed his way through the fighting men much more effectively than she had managed, she admitted unhappily as she was half pushed and half dragged through a door. Finding herself in the kitchens amidst the culinary staff and few servers who had managed to reach the relative safety there, she forced another smile to her face and tried to turn it on Lord Stockton. It was no easy task, with the way he still grasped her by the neck of her cape. She ended up smiling into her collar as she offered a cheerful "My goodness! I am forever in your debt, my lord. I was finding it nearly impossible to make my way through that mob."

She did not think it was a good sign when he merely ground his teeth a little harder than they had already been grinding and jerked her along, ushering her through the kitchens to another door. It turned out to lead to an office. His, she supposed as he pushed her inside and slammed the door.

She glanced briefly over the small, neat room with its sparse furnishings of a standing cupboard and a desk with one chair behind it and one in front, then turned to eye the man standing statue-still before the door. "I-"