Drawing Edwina up alongside him, Prescott guided her toward the Vaughns’ abode, where evidence of the ball going on inside escaped from the open windows. Light from what seemed like a thousand candles spilled out onto the street and the sounds of an animated crowd and the chords of a minuet competed with the clattering horses’ hooves and raucous drivers and servants outside.
As Edwina fell in step beside him, she recognized that Prescott had shortened his stride to complement hers. It was likely a tactic he used with all of his lady companions. The thought rankled even though it shouldn’t.
She knew getting into this that Prescott Devane was no saint. Moreover, it was probably his vast experience with women that had enabled him to ignite her heretofore unknown passion.
The kiss, although earth-shattering to her, had obviously meant little enough to him.
Edwina couldn’t decide if she was relieved or upset by the thought.
Regardless, she needed to keep her mind on the plan, as he so gallingly did. The kiss that had rattled her senses had left him seemingly unfazed. She should be happy he wasn’t easily distracted. Thankful that he could keep his mind sharp, his senses keen, and the blackmailer foremost in his mind. Unlike how she’d forgotten about…well, everything, in the heat of that passionate kiss.
And she’d especially forgotten that her kisses were supposed to be repulsive.
Her mind still whirled with the revelations that she might just be built for passion after all. That she might actually appeal to a man, and a man who knew quite a lot about desire. Heady, mind-boggling, knee-melting desire…
Oh, Lord, if she didn’t stop lingering on that kiss, she’d likely go mad and not do Ginny a bit of good.
Purposefully, she pushed the whole matter from her mind, trying not to notice how her skirts kept brushing up against Prescott’s muscled thigh.
Ginny. She’d think of Ginny.
Prescott guided Edwina toward the alley running beside the Vaughns’ house. As servants walked to and fro carrying various supplies, a few shot curious glances their way.
As they penetrated the muck-scented lane, the sounds of the street diminished behind them and the music spilling from the windows above signaled that the orchestra had moved on to a Scottish reel.
“We’re not taking the servants’ entrance are we?” she asked, somewhat horrified. On the night of the ball it would be a veritable thoroughfare on market day and they would be the focus of hundreds of questioning eyes.
“No,” he reassured. “It would be too busy. And too overt.” He guided her into a recess with a closed door and banged on the wooden entry with his knuckles.
As they waited in the darkness, Edwina couldn’t help but feel a strange excitement; jumping from a carriage, stolen kisses in an alcove, secret entrances, well, it all felt so…illicit.
Suddenly the sounds of the bolt sliding in the barrel could be heard. The door creaked slowly open and light streamed into the passage.
Edwina blinked in the sudden glare, then a giant hulking form filled the entryway, blocking out any light from inside. She moved to step back, but Prescott pressed a hand over hers and held her closely to his side.
A sudden irrational thought flashed in her mind: She was alone in a darkened alleyway with Prescott and a giant stranger. What was she getting herself into?
“Don’t worry, my lady,” Prescott leaned over and whispered. “He’s a friend.”
The reassuring tenor of his voice and the knowledge of everything she knew about Prescott eased her qualms. But only somewhat. She reminded herself that she, and only she, was responsible for her safety and resolved to maintain her guard.
“Hello, Tomlin,” Prescott hailed.
The man stepped farther into the passage and the light spilled out of the doorway illuminating him in a dim halo.
Edwina had to crane her neck as the man had to be one of the largest specimens Edwina had ever seen. He stood at least two full heads taller than Prescott, but it was hard to tell the man’s exact height because of the lofty puff of wiry jet-black hair piled on top of his enormous head. A jaunty white cap perched in the black hair reminded Edwina of how a bird might sit in a bristly nest. It matched his white uniform, whose only adornment was gold embroidery on the high, stiff collar and cuffs.
The man’s tea-skinned face was broad, just like the rest of him and upon seeing Prescott, his wide lips split into a yellow-toothed grin. “Upon my ’onor! It’s the famous Prescott Devane!” The man’s booming voice was so deep it sounded as if it was tumbling from a mountain.
Tomlin slapped a beefy hand to Prescott’s back and Prescott barely held back a wince. “When Val told me you was coming, I almost busted a seam in me fancy new uniform.” He gestured to his gold-embroidered white coat. “Like it?”
“Sally must love washing the chocolate stains out of that,” Prescott replied.
“His lordship has his laundress cleaning my uniforms. And Sally’s thrilled to be done with it. Thinks it’s Christmastide every day, she does.”
Prescott pursed his lips and nodded, seemingly impressed. “That’s a sure sign you’re moving up, Tomlin.”
The man’s great shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Things are better ’n yesterday, but who’s ta say—”
“Not as good as tomorrow,” Prescott finished for him.
The men shared a smile.
Edwina realized that there was an easiness between them, one she hadn’t witnessed when Prescott was with Dr. Winner or Fanny. She wondered how they knew each other.
Tomlin scowled. “But why didn’t ya come to me party?”
“I was feeling a bit…under the weather.”
Even though Prescott had an amazing excuse, an injury from saving a young girl’s life, he didn’t seem to make much of it. Interesting.
Tomlin pointed a sausagelike finger at Prescott. “Next year then. But no excuses, naw. We go too far back ta let things fade.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
To Edwina, the big man explained. “Prescott ’ere, ’e’s the one who made me go back into the kitchen when all the other lads were calling me ‘Tomlin the Tartlet’ and ‘Pastry Fingers’ an’ a lot of other things I can’t say in yer fine company. ’E tol’ me the same wretches that made fun o’ me would soon be beggin’ for a taste o’ the crumbs from my plate.”
“You’re ‘Little Tom,’ the famous pastry cook!” Edwina suddenly realized.
“So you’ve heard of him?” Prescott asked.
Recalling what Janelle had said, she gushed, “My friend told me that your pastry temple ruins could rival Rome’s and that they tasted positively decadent.”
The great man beamed. “The Lewiston grand dinner last month. That was one of my better Pièces Montrés.”
“Not as good as the one you made for Headmaster Dunn’s birthday, I’m sure.” Prescott turned to Edwina, his handsome face animated in the dim light. “It was magnificent. An exact replica of Andersen Hall, gates, stables, dairy and all. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Prescott shook his head, obviously amazed. “He made the staff of Andersen Hall out of marzipan. It was brilliant!”
Tomlin cackled. “Getting that sour expression on the miniature Mrs. Nagel was the toughest part!”
Prescott grinned. “I don’t know how you got the broom in her hand…”
“Landing right on Timmy’s head!” Tomlin chuckled and his great shoulders shook.
“Do you remember when Headmaster Dunn ate himself?” Prescott beamed so widely his face looked younger, freer. “The kids screamed with merriment!”
“It was a fine day.” Tomlin nodded, smiling. Then his face fell and his brow furrowed. He sighed. “A fine…day.”
Heavy silence draped over them like a shroud as Prescott’s and Tomlin’s gazes locked in soundless empathy.
Prescott was the first to look away as he coughed into his fist. “I’m around you for a few moments, Tomlin, you big oaf, and I completely forget my manners.” Not meeting her eye, he gestured to Edwina. “Lady Ross, may I introduce Tomlin Burk, pastry cook extraordinaire.”
Tomlin bowed. “At yer service, me lady.”
Edwina nodded, feeling an ache in her chest for the loss these men shared. “I know it may sound trite, but anyone who knew Headmaster Dunn is now all the poorer for his loss.”
Tomlin nodded. “’E was as good as they come, my lady. As good as they come.” He fixed a hard gaze on Prescott. “I heard about Catherine.”
Edwina felt Prescott stiffen.
“’Twas a shock ta be sure. But part o’ me ain’t surprised.” Tomlin opened his hands wide. “How are you—”
“Thanks for letting us in this way, Tomlin,” Prescott interrupted. “I didn’t want to be announced. You know how I hate drawing attention to myself.”
The big man nodded, seemingly accepting Prescott’s rebuff. “Oh, I’m glad to see ya, Devane. Even though, as usual, y’er going where y’er not invited.”
It was nice how Prescott took the blame for her not wanting to be announced. But more importantly, who was Catherine and why was Prescott so uncomfortable discussing her?
Tomlin smiled at his friend. “Look, I gotta get back. I’ve got soufflés in the oven. Sally’s been askin’ after ya. When can I tell her you’ll be comin’ by again?”
“Her birthday’s in a few weeks. How about then?”
The big man wagged a meaty finger. “I’m holdin’ ya to it, Prescott Devane.”
Prescott’s handsome face split into a smile, not as full as before but it carried great warmth. “I’ll be there with bells on, Tomlin. So long as Sally does the cooking. I’ll not be eating any of the rubbish you call food.”
“Oh, don’t ya worry. She don’t let me in her kitchen. ’Ere I’m the king o’ my domain. At home I’m lucky if I get ta wash a spoon!” the man complained, but looked pleased as pudding with the situation.
Raising a brow, Prescott gestured to the house with his cane. “Don’t you have soufflés that need tending?”
Tomlin waved a meaty hand. “Oh, be off with ya. Follow this corridor, then make yer first left, up the stairs, then follow the music to get to the main ballroom.” Turning to Edwina, Tomlin jerked his thumb at Prescott. “Watch yerself with this one, me lady. ’E has a way of gettin’ ya into fixes”—he winked—“that y’er glad he dragged ya into!”
Grinning, he turned on his heel and lumbered back down the hallway, turned a corner and was gone.
Shaking his head, Prescott chuckled. “Big oaf.”
Edwina was fascinated by this aspect of Prescott. Discovering the many aspects of his character was like peeling away at the layers of an onion, but without the tears or smelly hands. These intriguing glimpses into his life before, and his character now, only heightened her already voracious curiosity about this man. “You and Tomlin, you grew up together at Andersen Hall?”
“Sally, too. They’re fine people.”
“Is Catherine someone you grew up with as well?”
The arm beneath her hand flexed and his face seemed to harden. “She’s of no consequence.”
Although his tone brooked no opposition, she found herself probing further, like an itch that must be scratched. “Was she likewise at Headmaster Dunn’s birthday celebration?”
He looked away. “If you must know, she works at Andersen Hall. She’s on the staff there, just like Mrs. Nagel.”
Edwina somehow doubted that Catherine was like Mrs. Nagel. His reaction stirred her already curious nature and a slight twinge of something unfamiliar stung like a poison in her heart. “Yet, you call her by her Christian name.”
He was quiet a long moment, then sighed with a mock sense of being put out. “You, my lady, are very dogged. And just as astute. Mrs. Nagel will forever be the stern woman who smacked me over the head with a broom whenever I misbehaved. Which was quite often, I might add. Catherine grew up at Andersen Hall and now helps manage the place. So it is hard to think of her as…Mrs. Dunn.”
Mrs. So she was married. The tightness inside Edwina’s chest eased and she felt better somehow. Not that it really mattered, did it? “Dunn? Is she related to Headmaster Dunn?”
“Yes. She’s married to his son.” He motioned to the open door. “Now, stop stalling and let us go inside and have a merry old time. Shall we?”
Had she been stalling? Perhaps that was the reason for her strange reaction to Mrs. Catherine Dunn.
Edwina stared at the open doorway a moment, suddenly mindful of all that lay ahead. Self-consciously she adjusted her hair.
“Tomlin is the only ogre in the building, Edwina,” Prescott gently teased. “Upon my honor.” He rested his free hand across his heart. “No one will dare try to eat you while I’m on duty.”
Despite her anxiety about the ball, she couldn’t help her lips from lifting at the corners. “I suppose I’m unused to playing the damsel in distress…Prescott.”
“Oh, but you must, for the escapade to begin. All the best tales have a lady in need of rescuing. It gives the hero something to do. Else he’d be sitting around dram-drinking and playing dice. Now where’s the adventure in that?”
Earth-spinning kisses, jumping from carriages, secret entrances and giant pastry cooks…He was right. Being with Prescott Devane was like an adventure. And if she treated the night as merely an exciting escapade, then perhaps it wouldn’t be so awful after all. She certainly had a wonderful escort…
Nodding, Edwina moved toward the candlelit doorway and let him lead her inside.