"Ain't no women allowed."
Prudence grimaced at the growled announcement as she found her footing. Releasing her hold on the man's shirt, she took a step back, tipping her head up. Way up. The man was huge. Unnaturally tall, she decided as her neck began to complain at the distance it was being forced backward. Finally able to focus on his face, she forced her prettiest smile.
"Good evening."
His already smallish eyes went even smaller, signifying unpleasant suspicion in his bulldoggish face. "Evenin'."
"I am sorry to trouble you, sir, and I do realize that ladies are not generally allowed inside. However-"
"Never."
"Never?" she asked warily.
"Ladies ain't never allowed. Never ever."
"Never ever?" she repeated dully, then scowled. "Aye, but you see, this is a somewhat urgent matter, so if you would-"
"What sort of an urgent matter?"
Prudence paused, her mouth still open and her mind blank. She really should have considered a handy lie with which to answer such a question, she realized with dismay. He began to nod his head knowingly.
"It ain't real urgent, is it?"
"Oh-I-But-" Feeling panic set in as her chances of entrance dwindled, Prudence let her reticule drop to the ground between them. As one would expect, the doorman bent to pick it up. Seeing the opportunity Prudence, quite without thinking, cracked her umbrella down hard over his big thick head. Much to her alarm, rather than bringing down her intended victim, the umbrella snapped in half.
"Now, what'd ye go and do that for?" the man asked irritably, scowling at her as he straightened.
Prudence stared wide-eyed from him to her broken umbrella, quite overcome with shame and horror. She had never, ever, used physical violence in her life. It only served her right that the first time she did, she'd broken her umbrella. Oh, this wasn't working at all! She would never convince her father to quit his gambling and drinking. They would all be in debtor's prison by Christmas, and would probably die there. She pictured her mother there, wasting away, her little sister's youth and beauty fading, her own hopes of a husband and children dying a slow, miserable death and, much to her horror, she felt her eyes brimming with tears.
"Oh, now, don't start crying. That won't work with me."
Prudence heard the panic that belied the man's words, and that only made the tears come faster. When he moved closer and began clumsily patting her, she turned instinctively into his chest and blubbered like a baby.
"Please stop now. I ain't angry with ye. Ye didn't even hurt me none, if that's what you're crying about." When that simply made her cry harder, the doorman began babbling desperately. "Ye can hit me again if ye like. I'll let ye inside, I will. Just stop your crying and-"
Pru's tears died abruptly. Her eyes shining with hope and gratitude, she peered up at him. "You will?"
"Ah, damn." The man sighed unhappily. "You're gonna see me out of a good job, aren't ye?"
"Plunkett! What goes on here?"
Hands whipping quickly behind his back, the doorman stepped away from Prudence and whirled guiltily to face the owner of that commanding voice.
Stephen. Lord Stockton. Prudence recognized the man at once as she turned to see him stepping down from his carriage. Everyone knew Lord Stockton. The dashing man was rather infamous-a member of the nobility who was accepted only reluctantly by the ton. If they could, Pru felt sure society would have given him the cut direct and excluded him from the more elite balls and soirees. It wasn't that the man wasn't noble enough; his blood was almost bluer than the king's, and his history could probably be traced farther back. Unfortunately, the man had committed that dreaded sin: he worked for a living! If one could call owning one of the most successful gambling establishments in London working for a living, she thought with irritation. It was his club that made him both undesirable as far as most of society was concerned, but also made it impossible to cut him out. The ton could hardly exclude him and risk his calling in the many markers he had on the majority of them.
Prudence watched the man approach and silently cursed her luck. She was sure the doorman-Plunkett, as Stockton had called him-had been about to let her slip inside. She was also quite sure that Stockton 's arrival would put an end to that likelihood. The blasted man, she thought now with annoyance. She had been so close!
Stephen approached slowly, his eyes narrowing first on his new doorman, then on the young lady the beefy employee had been mauling just moments before. The woman looked angry, but there was no missing the trace of tears on her face. As for the large man he had hired to replace his previous doorman, Plunkett stood with his hands hidden guiltily behind his back, a culpable expression on his face. He was also avoiding looking at the woman.
Pausing before the large man, Stephen snapped, "Explain yourself, Plunkett."
The doorman's round face squinched up in alarm, his eyes filling with panic. "I-She-You-" His gaze shot wildly from Stephen, to the woman, then to the door of the club before returning to his employer's steely expression. Finally his shoulders slumped in defeat, he rumbled, "I knew this job was too good to keep."
Much to Stephen's amazement, that seemed to upset the woman even more. A scowl covering her face, she turned on him. "You cannot fire this poor man. He did absolutely nothing wrong."
"He was mauling you just moments ago," Stephen pointed out quietly.
"Nay. He was attempting to comfort me. I had-" She seemed to struggle briefly, her gaze dropping to the mangled item in her hand before she visibly brightened and held it up as if in proof. "My umbrella! I had broken it and was quite distressed. He, kind gentleman that he is, was attempting to offer assistance." A cagey smile came to her face as she turned to the doorman and said, "So, while I thank you for your effort to assist me, it is completely unnecessary. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I should be on my way."
Nodding to each of them, the lady started calmly forward, a pleasant smile on her face that died abruptly when Stephen caught her arm and drew her to a halt.
"My apologies, my lady. But your brief upset appears to have rattled your sense of direction." He turned her firmly away from the door to his club, unsurprised to see the vexation on her face as she found herself facing the street. For a moment he thought she would go about her business, but then she turned determinedly to face him.
"I realize that ladies are not generally allowed inside-"
"Never ever" Plunkett rumbled, shaking his head sadly.
The woman bent a brief, irritated glance at the doorman, then continued, "However, this is a somewhat urgent matter and-"
"What sort of urgent matter?" Stephen asked.
"What sort?" she echoed, looking annoyed.
"Watch out for her umbrella," Plunkett warned in an undertone, drawing Stephen's confused glance.
"Her umbrella?"
The giant nodded solemnly. "If she drops her reticule, watch out for that umbrella."
"I will not drop my reticule," the woman said through her teeth, making the man shrug.
"You did before."
"That was purely accidental," she told him firmly.
"Uh-huh. And I suppose breaking your parasol over my head was an accident, too," the larger man added. The accusation seemed to distress the woman further, and she began to twist the broken parts of her umbrella in agitation.