Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2) by Michelle McMaster

form.
    “You little fool,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.
    “I don’t—”
    But before Prudence could finish, he had crossed the room in only a few strides. With firm hands he took hold of her arms and pulled her up in front of him, so that she had no choice but to meet his accusing gaze.
    Prudence tried to shake him off, but it was useless. “Let me go! I shall call for Mungo.”
    “Go ahead.” His face hovered only inches from hers. “I should like to have a word with him as well.”
    Prudence opened her mouth to call for her trusted bodyguard, but nothing came out. All she could do was stare up into Alfred’s dark eyes—eyes that burned with fire. He held her close—so close that she felt the tips of her breasts touching his chest.
    Then, in exasperation, he released her. He let out a breath and ran his hands through his hair, stalking across the room. “Don’t you realize that you could have been hurt—you could have been killed!” He shook his head. “I forbid you to go out on the streets at night—”
    “You what?” Prudence said, incredulous. “You forbid me? Oh, no. You do not forbid me anything, my lord!”
    “I most certainly will forbid you. For you, madam, do not have the sense God gave a chicken!”
    “Oh!”
    “That’s right,” he continued. “For all your books, and all your Shakespeare, and all your reading Plato in Greek, you, Miss Atwater, are the most mutton-headed, cork-brained, foolishly misguided female I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”
    “ Misguided ?” she said. “I take offense to that, sir! Is it misguided to help those unfortunate girls who have no choice but to sell their bodies on the streets at night? Well, I for one cannot, in good conscience, sit in my pleasantly warm salon, enjoying my pleasantly warm tea when I know that right now, as we speak, there are girls out there—girls who have no one looking out for them, no one who cares whether they live or die, except for me. I care enough to risk the same dangers they do, and if you think I am going to let a few threats stop me from doing my duty, you, sir, are mistaken.”
    He stared at her, saying nothing, but fairly humming with anger.
    “And don’t try to threaten me with the loss of Lady Weston’s support,” she added. “You may say whatever you like to her. If I lose her support because of you, then so be it. We will find some way to manage. But I will not stop helping those girls.”
    Alfred folded his arms, regarding her coolly. “And you will not be dissuaded?”
    “No.”
    “I see,” he replied. “Call Mr. Church, if you please.”
    Confused, she asked, “Why do you want to speak to Mungo?”
    “For once,” he said, with an edge to his voice, “will you simply do as you are told, Miss Atwater?”
    His words made her fume, but she obeyed, and rang for the burly bodyguard. In a few moments, Mungo appeared, his massive form filling the doorway.
    “Yes, Miss?”
    “Lord Weston wishes to speak with you, Mungo,” Prudence said reluctantly.
    “I wish to speak to Mr. Church alone, if you please, Miss Atwater,” Alfred said, folding his arms.
    Prudence huffed. “Fine. I shall be outside in the garden, while you two discuss me as if I were nothing but chattel.”
    With that, she removed herself from the infuriating company of Lord Weston.
    * * *
    “Ye wanted to speak to me milord?” Mungo asked warily.
    “Yes, I did.” Alfred hated the way he had to look up at the enormous man before him, for it made him feel at a disadvantage. “Would you mind explaining to me what in the devil is going on?”
    “Of course, sir,” Mungo replied. “What is it you’re confused about?”
    “I’m not confused, man!” Alfred barked. “I’m infuriated with that girl out there—and with you, for letting her go about as she pleases, getting herself into trouble that she can’t get herself out of.”
    “She got out of it yesterday, alright,” Mungo answered, folding thick arms across his