Wish List

Prudence nearly turned on her heel and fled for the kitchens again, but then she caught herself and forced her feet to continue. Stockton would not notice her, she assured herself firmly. She would keep her face averted, approaching with her front to her father and her back to Stockton. She would slide in, set the drink down, and leave. The man would see only the back of her head, and her father wouldn't even glance at her. Members of nobility never looked at servants, or if they did, they rarely saw them. And her father was no exception. Dear God, please don't let Father be the exception, she prayed as she turned to slide between the two men, her back to Stockton as she set the drink at her father's elbow. He did not glance up from his cards, at least no further than to notice the drink and cluck his tongue in a

"I didn't order that," she heard him grumble as she quickly started to slide out from between the two chairs, but she kept on going, hoping that if she left it there, he would drink it anyway.

"Girl!"

"Tis all right, Prescott," she heard Stockton say. "I shall drink it."

It made Prudence pause. Swinging back in alarm, she saw the establishment's owner pick up the mug and swallow a good quantity of its contents. She didn't say anything-at least nothing comprehensible. Instead there came more of a squawking sound that slid from her lips as he lowered the drink and she saw that more than half of it was gone. It was enough to draw Stockton 's gaze to her over the rim of the mug he was again lifting to his lips. Prudence nearly stopped him, but realized that there was really no use. He had already downed enough of it that there was no way he could avoid reacting. Especially since she had put in such a large amount.

Oh, he was not going to be happy about this at all, Prudence thought faintly, and took an unconscious step backward. She was paling and knew it. She could feel the blood drain from her face as the man's eyes narrowed on her. She started to back away faster, wincing when his eyes suddenly widened in recognition. She gave a gulp as he excused himself from the game and started to his feet, and she whirled away, heading for the kitchens at a dead run.

She had reached the kitchens when he caught up to her. In fact, she had pushed her way past the half dozen servants around the ale barrel and nearly made it out the back door into the alley, but he caught her hand and drew her to a halt. Prudence whirled, mouth open to demand he release her, but he was already starting for his office, pulling her behind him. Catching sight of the curious servants, she decided not to cause a scene and allowed him to drag her where he would.

Tugging her inside the small, cramped office he had taken her to the last time, he released her abruptly, slammed the door, and leaned his back on it to glare at her. "Why are you back? To work? Surely your family's situation has not deteriorated to the point that you have actually been forced to seek a paid position?"

It was the way he said the word work that suddenly calmed Prudence. It sounded sarcastic and bitter on his lips, reminding her of the snubs and insults he had suffered for having to make a living in the world-a torment she would not wish on anyone. Her a

He gave a disbelieving laugh. "Certainly there is. Just ask anyone and they will inform you of it. Every one of them thinks I am beneath them because-"

"I am not everyone," Prudence interrupted, bringing what she was sure would have been a long rant to an end.

He eyed her speculatively for a moment, then said, "I personally choose my workers. You are not employed here. You also made no attempt to talk to your father, which was the reason you gave for wishing to get inside Ballard's. You did not say a word to him when you had the chance. So, my lady, why are you here?"

"I did not come here this evening to talk to my father," Prudence answered evasively.

He stared at her for another moment, then said, "Perhaps you came here to see me?"

Startled by that suggestion, Prudence was slow to notice that he was moving forward. Backing nervously away, she shook her head. "Nay, I-"

Her words died as he slid his palm gently against her cheek. His voice was husky when he spoke. "Nay?"

Prudence started to shake her head, but paused and swallowed when his other hand trailed lightly down her arm. It was as if one of her fantasies had come to life. Not that she had ever fantasized quite this situation, but the look in his eyes was quite the same. A little more heated than adoring, perhaps, but…

"I am sorry for that unfortunate incident the other night. I would never have allowed Plunkett to enter had I realized-" He cut himself off and grimaced when Prudence suddenly flushed bright pink at the reminder of her humiliation.

"I am sorry," he repeated. Then she watched wide-eyed as his lips lowered toward hers. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes slipped closed as she waited for the soft caress of his mouth on hers… and waited. And waited.

He had never taken this long finding her lips in her fantasies. Frowning, she popped her eyes open. His face was a mere few inches away, but it was no longer moving closer. He appeared to be almost frozen, and he had the oddest expression on his face.

"Is there something amiss?" she asked with concern.

Lord Stockton heaved. Recalling that he had downed her father's dosed ale, Prudence watched in horror as Stephen clapped his mouth closed. His cheeks bulged and his eyes were huge in his face as he whirled away. After a brief but frantic glance around, he rushed for the window.

"Oh, dear," she murmured as he threw it open. The next moment he was hanging over the ledge, being ill.

Biting her lip, Prudence shifted on her feet, unsure what to do; then she moved forward and patted his back rather limply. He straightened.

"Feeling better?" she asked hopefully.

He started to nod, then whirled back to hang out the window again.

"I guess not," Prudence muttered, wondering how to help. Were she home and he Charlotte, she would have wiped her younger sister's forehead with damp cloths and murmured soothing sounds. Her gaze moved to the office door, and she had an idea. She left him and hurried out to the kitchens. There had to be water and cloths somewhere. This was a kitchen.

Unfortunately it was a rather large kitchen, and empty again, so that there was no one to direct her to find what she sought. She searched for several minutes before coming up with a cloth clean enough to suit her, then wasted several more looking for water. She was wringing out the damp cloth when she became aware of the assorted sounds coming from the next room.

There came a rather loud screeching of chair legs on the wooden floor and the panicky shuffling of feet, and it drew her to the door. Cracking it open, she peered out curiously. Nearly every single man in the club was on his feet, darting madly about-some rushing this way, some rushing that. Prudence gaped at the madness briefly; then a noise behind her made her turn. Lord Stockton stood leaning weakly against the doorway to his office.

"Are you feeling any better?" Pru asked with concern.

"I thought you left," was his answer, and there was no mistaking his relief that she hadn't. Prudence smiled softly and held up the bit of wadded material in her hand.

"Nay. I thought to find you a damp cloth," she explained, then glanced toward the door as the sounds in the next room changed to guttural noises.

"What the devil is that?"

Prudence stepped aside as Stephen moved to the door and tugged it open. She didn't bother to look out. She had finally deduced what the mad behavior she had been watching was about. The sound she was now listening to was the almost symphonic noise of nearly a hundred men being sick. The club was full of vomiting patrons.