The Perfect Rake Read Free Page A

how he regards my little sister Grace. He is convinced she bears the stamp of Jezebel, all because of the color of her hair.”
    The doctor’s gaze strayed to Prudence’s own fiery locks, and she nodded. “Yes, me too. He has tried to thrash the evil out of me since I was eleven.” Prudence’s voice shook with distress and anger. “And I will not have it—do you understand? He shall not thrash my little sister the way he thrashed me.”
    The doctor shifted uneasily in his chair. “Hope’s left-handedness needs to be corrected, though I can see it distresses you. But Faith and Grace are such quiet, good little souls.”
    “Grace made this.” She thrust the Egyptian-style reticule toward him.
    Bemused, the doctor took the decorated reticule. “This Egyptian stuff was all the rage in London some years ago. I know, for my wife was mad for it, too.”
    “Is your wife a filthy heathen?” asked Prudence bluntly. “Given to idolatry? Blasphemy? Filth? Rank obscenity?”
    The doctor looked taken aback. “What the—”
    “Because that’s what Grandpapa called Grace for making this—a filthy little heathen . And he beat her unmercifully with his whip until I stopped him. That’s how the accident happened. He was chasing me down the stairs. With his whip. Luckily for me, he tripped.”
    The doctor put the reticule down, his composure shaken. “He beat her for making this?”
    “Severely. He seizes on any excuse. I want you to help us leave here.”
    The doctor sighed heavily. “Prudence, you know I cannot. He’s not an easy man, I grant you, but I’m his doctor, girl! Do you expect me to look him in the eye and lie to him? Deceive him—”
    “Little Grace’s body is covered with red welts simply because she made that reticule,” Prudence said with quiet emphasis. She was determined to stir his conscience to action and force him to face the truth now. Grace had always been his favorite. “It is not the first time Grace has been severely beaten for no good reason. He beats all of us. We have never been allowed to call you when he has injured one of us before, but I want you to come up to her bedchamber and see for yourself.”
    With a heavy sigh, he put down his cup. “Very well, I’ll take a look, but I make you no promises.”
    The doctor examined Grace in grim silence. He noted the weals on Charity’s face, and those on Prudence’s. Afterward, in the room downstairs, he sat heavily in his chair, clearly shaken. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. And you say this is not the first time?”
    Prudence nodded. There was no point in dwelling on the past. She had her eyes firmly fixed on the future. “When I turn one and twenty, in eight weeks’ time, by my father’s will I shall become my sisters’ legal guardian.”
    “Well then—”
    “However, we can only gain access to the money our mother left us when we marry. We have no money. Only enough for a few months. After that, unless Grandpapa gives us our inheritance, we will starve.” She fixed the doctor with a look. “He will not give us the money. He says he will never let any of us marry. On that point he is adamant.
    “We go nowhere, not even to church anymore. We see no one. And no one sees us. How can any of us marry? Yet, you know how beautiful my sisters are, what a crime it is to shut them away from society.” Prudence scanned his face, trying to gauge whether his conscience was well and truly stirred. She took his hand and said, “Dr. Gibson, we must escape. We have been given this small piece of time, while he is confined to his bedchamber, as if it is meant to be. But if Grandpapa is not to discover it immediately, you have to help us.”
    The doctor sighed heavily. “What do you want me to do?” It was capitulation.
     
    Prue frowned over the words she had penned with a critical eye. The crabbed copperplate script looked just right. Perhaps a shade less flamboyance in the loops and a more precise dotting of the i . Grandpapa always