"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.
"Dear God!" Stephen said faintly, then shouted, "Stop, man! What the hell is going on?"
"I don't know, milord," someone answered-probably a servant, Prudence decided, since the voice sounded hale and heave-free. "Everyone is tossing their innards out. Bad batch of ale'd be my guess."
"Well, find out, damn it!" Stephen said in what was probably supposed to be a roar, but came out too weak to be considered one. Prudence bit her lip guiltily as she watched him sag against the doorjamb. Then he turned and gestured for her to follow him as he staggered back toward his office.
Pru hesitated, her gaze going to the door to the gaming room, then to the barrel of ale. She understood what had happened, of course. The bottle of emetic had not fallen on the floor or been stolen by the male servant who slapped her behind. It must have fallen into the ale, probably knocked there when she crashed against the barrel. She was what had happened to Ballard's patrons. Fortunately Lord Stockton didn't appear to be aware of that. He was putting it down to a bad batch of ale. She was relatively safe if she stayed for a bit. Which she wanted to do-purely to be of assistance while he felt so poorly, she assured herself. After all, she was the reason he was sick. She really should do what she could for him.
Having reasoned the matter out thusly, Prudence gave up her position by the door to the gaming room and followed Lord Stockton. He was slumped in the chair behind his desk when she stepped into the office. Moving to his side, she peered down at his closed eyes, then gently began to mop his face with her now warm, but still damp cloth, cooing soothing noises as she did.
His eyes flickered briefly at her touch, but they remained closed, his face slowly relaxing. She was beginning to think he had fallen asleep when he suddenly caught her hand in his. Prudence found herself blushing when his eyes opened and peered into hers.
She tugged her hand free after a moment of silence had passed, then turned away. "I shall fetch you a drink."
"Not from out there."
Pru hesitated at the door and glanced uncertainly back to see him gesture to the cupboard along the wall. "There is whiskey in there."
After a moment, Prudence nodded and moved to the cupboard. Opening the door she found a bottle of whiskey and two glasses inside. She took one and filled it, then carried it carefully back to the desk.
"Thank you." Stephen accepted the glass, took a mouthful of the golden liquid, swished it around, then stood and moved to the window to spit. He did that twice more before allowing himself to swallow the next drink. Then he glanced at Prudence and smiled.
"Thank you." His voice was raspy, but still soft as he raised a hand to caress her cheek. "I appreciate your care."
Prudence felt her face flush. She was not sure herself whether it was with pleasure at his touch, or with embarrassment at being praised when she had been the cause of his ailment. She did know she was disappointed when his hand slipped away from her cheek and he turned to pick up his glass again. He had just taken another swig when a knock sounded at the door.
Swallowing, he set the glass back on his desk, then moved around her to shield Prudence from view. "Enter," he called out.
Prudence heard the door open; then a male voice announced, "This was found floating in the ale barrel."
By lifting up on her tiptoes, Pru was able to just see over Stephen's shoulder and glimpse what was held out by the man in the doorway. Her bottle, she saw with a wince. The man added, "It looks a deliberate attempt to poison our patrons."
"What?" There was no mistaking the shock in Stephen's voice. "Why would anyone wish to poison our-"
Prudence backed away as he suddenly spun to glare at her. Forcing a smile, she exclaimed, "I am sure whomever it was had no intention of poisoning your patrons. They most likely meant to-"
"To poison one particular patron?" he asked coldly. "Such as your father, perhaps? That mug I drank from was meant for him, after all. You poisoned my ale!"
He moved toward her, his repressed fury evident, and Prudence did the only thing she could think to do; she made a run for it.
"Do not let her get away!" she heard Stephen shout, but at that point the devil himself couldn't have caught her. Propelled by fear, Pru was running so fast she wasn't even sure her feet were touching the floor. She was out the door and racing along the alley to the front of the building in a trice. Jamison, bless his heart, either heard the rapid tap-tap of her feet, or saw her approaching. Whatever the case, he was off his seat and had the door open when she got there.