Stepping over his glove, he launched himself forward. Careening across the ice at a rather satisfying, if terrifying speed, he reached Prudence and her would-be rescuer in a trice. Unfortunately, once he was sailing along, he had no idea how to slow or stop himself. He was going to crash into the pair. Just moments before impact, he managed to adjust the angle of his skates, thereby sending himself hurtling into only the fellow.
"Stephen!"
It did his heart good to hear that concerned cry from Prudence as he crashed down on top of her would-be rescuer. He gave her a reassuring smile over his shoulder, then glanced back at the fellow who had thoughtfully, if unintentionally, cushioned his fall.
"So sorry about that," he apologized, crawling off and bracing his skate against the man's leg to get back to his feet. "I meant to come to Pru's aid; however I am just getting used to skates again. Need a little practice, I guess. Are you all right?"
Taking the man's groan for a yes, Stephen nodded with satisfaction. Turning, he took Pru's hands.
"Wait. I do not think he is-"
"He is fine. You heard him. Come along. We had best get off the ice before one or both of us suffers an injury. Thanks again, young man," he called, then urged her away, both of them teetering and slipping across the ice.
"Where is your other glove?"
"Hmm? What?" He glanced down at the cold bare hand she was clutching and grimaced. "Oh, yes. Well, I appear to have lost-" He paused as Prudence suddenly tumbled to her knees.
Stephen stared down at her with a dismay that turned to chagrin as he saw the glove she was picking up, the one that had caught her skate and tripped her.
"You found it." Taking the ice-covered glove from her, he shoved it into his pocket, then took her elbow to help her to her feet. He managed to get her up without falling himself, then urged her to the edge of the rink, noting with some pride that he was actually almost skating.
"What are you doing here?" Prudence said in a hiss, pulling free of his hold the moment they stepped off the ice and onto the more stable snowy ground. "I believe I made it plain that I am uncomfortable seeing you when you are aiding in ruining-"
"I know," Stephen interrupted as he followed her to the log he had sat on earlier to don his skates. "You were right."
"About what, my lord?"
"About… I did not really realize that… When I started Ballard's, I was desperate to regain some of the money my father had lost. He left my mother and I in a bad way and we needed income to survive. I found I was good at gambling. Ironic, since my father was not. After making a small amount, seeing how much certain clubs could take in, starting Ballard's seemed the swiftest way to return my family's estate to what it was. But after that, I was tainted. It seemed only fitting that the club should remain open. I did not consider that I was taking advantage of others just like my father had been taken advantage of. But you are right. I am making money off of the frailties of others."
She considered that silently, then asked, "What shall you do now that you realize that?"
Stephen scowled and wished he could see her face. She was bent forward, undoing her skates, and he couldn't see her expression. He hadn't really planned what he wanted to say to her. He was stumbling around blind. "Well, I suppose I could ban your father from the club."
"Why bother? As you proved, he will just gamble elsewhere."
Stephen frowned, his gaze moving absently over the skaters before he glanced back and complained, "I do not know what else I can possibly do."
"Nay. Of course you do not." She sounded bitter, and Stephen felt at a loss until she straightened and added, "This is not about my father, Stephen. At least not just my father. This is about you-how you make your way in the world."
There was a regret in her eyes that made his heart shrivel.
"Pru! Guess what?"
Stephen watched helplessly as she turned away toward a young girl who had rushed over to address her. She was a younger version of Prudence, with the same chestnut hair and gamine features. Stephen had the brief thought that Prudence's daughter would probably look very much the same.
"Good. You have already removed your skates," Prudence said, getting to her feet. "'Tis time to return home. Where is Eleanore?"
"Oh, but Pru!" the girl protested.
"Where is Eleanore?" she repeated firmly.
"She said to tell you she had gone home."
"Gone home?" Prudence echoed with disbelief.
"Aye. She said that no doubt Lord Stockton would take us home, and she was growing cold."
"Growing cold, my eye," Stephen heard her mutter irritably as he got to his feet.
"I would be pleased to see you home," he said. He saw the inner struggle take place on her face, but then her gaze landed on her sister and resignation set in. Even as she agreed, he got the distinct impression that she would have walked rather than accept his offer-and would have, were it not for her sister's presence. Ironically, that made young Charlotte one of Stephen's favorite people, and he teased and chatted with her easily, listening with a smile to her chatter all the way to the Prescotts '.
When the carriage stopped in front of their home, the little whirlwind was out the door at once. But when Prudence made to follow, Stephen caught her arm and drew her back, pulling her into his arms for a kiss before she could protest. It was a desperate kiss, a last-ditch effort to bring her back to him, and at first, as she kissed him back he felt hope that it might succeed. But then he felt her become still and withdraw, and her expression when he reluctantly released her killed his brief hope. He saw on her face that he was one of the bad guys. Just as he had seen the owners of the gaming hells his father had frequented, so she saw him-as a vulture.
She exited the coach without a word.
Stephen's mood was grim when he returned to his club. He found dissatisfaction plucking at him as he peered around the gaming room. It was late enough that the place was filling up, and everywhere he looked were the desperate gazes of men risking more than they should, the slumped shoulders of losers. At times like this, it all seemed terribly tawdry and unpalatable, and he seriously considered alternative professions. It was also at times like this that he saw his father everywhere. Right that moment, he was even seeing his father in the face of Lord Prescott, and the man's very presence seemed to mock him.
Prudence rolled onto her back and sighed miserably. Sleep seemed to be beyond her. Her mind was too full to allow it.
She kept thinking of Stephen, seeing his handsome face, remembering his kisses, his touch, his scent, his smile. He had such gentle eyes. She wished-
She threw the bedcovers aside impatiently and sat up to swing her feet off of the bed. There was no use in wishing for things she couldn't have. It was doubtful that Stephen's interest in her went beyond the carnal, and even should he wish more, she could not, in good conscience, have any sort of marriage with a man who made his living off of the weaknesses of people like her father.
Standing, she found her robe and pulled it on, then made her way cautiously through the dark to the door. It was Christmas Eve. She had gone to bed early. The whole household had, except for her father. He was no doubt out losing the last of their possessions. The creditors had stopped allowing Bentley, their butler, to brush them off. The day before, they had started to take things away in lieu of payment. Which was why Prudence had taken Charlotte skating-to keep her from having to witness those nasty encounters.
She had intended to take her little sister somewhere else today, perhaps to visit Ellie, but other than two large bill collectors who had visited rather early, no one had come around. The day had turned out well, and she and her mother had decided to take advantage of their home while they still had it, stringing popcorn to finish decorating the tree. Prudence supposed even creditors had hearts if they were waiting until after Christmas to empty the Prescott home.