Puck and Prejudice

Chapter Twenty

Lancelot had embarked on a quest for the Holy Grail to elevate himself in the eyes of Guinevere. Romeo had scaled Juliet’s

balcony despite her relatives wanting him dead. Tristan had evaded the gallows to rescue Isolde from a leper colony. Tucker

Taylor? He stood in front of her family and declared that she, Lizzy—the underloved, overlooked daughter—was extraordinary.

Extraordinary.

She’s been called other words: wallflower, bluestocking, spinster, ape leader? Yes.

An obligation? Unnatural? On the shelf? Of course.

But here, in front of her family, a man—her husband —had stood and declared for her.

Who was he? With every other eligible man she had ever met, she’d instantly known that she wouldn’t want to spend her entire

life with them. But Tuck Taylor had ended this record with a single word.

She steadied her stance, locking her legs to prevent any sign of weakness. No, she wouldn’t entertain the notion of a wobble.

With chin held high, she maintained her composure and preserved her dignity.

And it wasn’t for the benefit of her family; it was for herself. She refused to shed tears in Tuck’s presence, unwilling to reveal a vulnerability that suggested she could be swayed by a kind word acknowledging her inherent worth. The prospect was mortifying. For so long, she had crafted a narrative of her own value, apart from others’ judgment. Along the way, she had either forgotten or ceased to believe that someone else could genuinely see her as deserving of love, not merely as an accessory for securing a dowry, supporting aging parents, or managing a household.

“We’ve had a long journey,” she remarked, inwardly relieved that her voice maintained its steadiness. “I suggest we retire

upstairs to freshen up. It would also provide the added benefit of allowing you all to indulge in gossip and conjecture without

the burden of our observation.”

Nodding to Tuck, she took his wrist and led him out the door. Together, they had achieved a rare coup, an occurrence so infrequent

that she couldn’t recall experiencing it in living memory.

Her family was stunned into silence.

She didn’t allow her lips to curl until they entered her childhood bedchamber on the third floor.

“You seemed to enjoy that,” he remarked as the door shut.

“Au contraire, I enjoyed you . You were very nice to me down there. That was a tough audience and you were brave.”

“I don’t believe in being nice. I prefer kind.”

“Aren’t they both very much the same in meaning?”

“Nah, not as much as you might think. Folks often toss around nice and kind like they’re similar, but let me break it down for you. Nice is when you’re coming from a place that is all about pleasing others, trying to be likable, doing the crowd-pleaser thing.

It’s self-centered, all about you. Now, kind is a different story altogether. It’s about putting others first. Nice is trying to act in a certain way to get something. What do I want to get from your family? You are the only thing I care

about here.”

It wasn’t a declaration. She knew that. He needed her just like she needed him. This wasn’t a fairy tale with a happily-ever-after,

and yet it wasn’t nothing. Why couldn’t a few stolen moments of happy-for-now be enough? It was more than many ever got.

“Kiss me?” Before he could do more than arch his brows in surprise, she added, “For kindness, of course. Also, because you

are my husband for the moment. And we are alone. And you are a skilled kisser and right now I could use some skilled kissing

to drive out my other thoughts.”

His gaze darkened. “You asked for it.”

He approached, and she instinctively lifted her chin, readying herself for the sensation of his lips on hers. But instead,

he grasped her shoulders and turned her around to face her dressing table mirror, pressing her back against his firm chest.

“Look.” His voice was warm against her ear. “I want you to look at that person right there—I didn’t say anything that wasn’t

true downstairs. In fact, I held back.

“ Extraordinary is a weak word when you’re fire.” He flicked his tongue under her earlobe before taking it between his front teeth and slowly

pulling down until it released.

Her gasp hitched in her throat, morphing into a soft moan. Their eyes locked in the mirror’s reflection, revealing a wild

intensity in hers, highlighted by the vibrant flush on her cheeks and the rhythmic heave of her chest.

“I don’t believe for one fucking second that your family doesn’t see it.” He blew gently on her wet skin, bracing her waist when her knees trembled from the tingly sensation. “They know. And they fear that if you’re unleashed, you’ll be able to do anything you want and do it well. That terrifies them. Nothing scares the mediocre like watching someone step into their power. But to me? It’s sexy as hell.”

She turned to ask what he meant, but he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. At least not any that could be had with mere

words. His lips met hers like a question—and she wasn’t in the mood for teasing or games. She reached up, drawing him down to her, and gave him her answer. Yes. Yes. God

help her, yes.

The kiss started gently, cautiously, but gentleness wasn’t what she craved, not now, not after this evening. She clenched

her fists in his shirt, tugging him closer. She sensed a tide pulling at them. His hunger had an intensity that made her clutch

onto him as the only stable truth in a volatile world. His insistent mouth parted her lips, sending thrilling tremors along

her nerves. A soft groan escaped him, low in his throat, and then his tongue slipped inside her mouth. Nothing was gentle.

But she felt safe.

Her fingers ran over his short, coarse-cropped hair, reaching the back of his head and drawing him nearer. He was her husband,

but that fact wasn’t what made this feel so good. It was that he was hers. In a way that she couldn’t explain. That she couldn’t

admit except when they were body to body, in this give-and-take that didn’t allow for half-truths or secrets. She could either

embrace desire or reject it, but not both.

“I love the way you taste,” he grated.

“Tuck,” she whimpered.

“That’s right, darlin’. Moan my name,” he breathed into her mouth. “And while I love these lips, there’s somewhere else I

can’t stop thinking about kissing, how you tasted against that tree. I want my mouth there again.”

He braced her lower back against his hand and sank down, bringing her with him until they were on the thick carpet of her floor. He’d likened her to fire, and right now every inch of her skin blazed. He couldn’t draw her any closer, yet she had to have more, needed to feel every part of him. She wished he could witness her blood coursing through her veins, the chaotic turbulence he’d ignited within her body.

She wanted to discover what else he was capable of. A hairpin slipped loose, releasing a cascade of curls. Her skirts were

hiked up past her knees, but she paid that no mind. In that fleeting moment, nothing else in the world mattered except the

weight of Tuck pressing down on her, the roughness of his jaw grazing against her cheek. It was exhilarating, yet not enough.

She craved more. Each kiss felt like a beginning and an end, and she clung to every fleeting moment like a dragon hoarding

its treasure.

He broke away, his hands braced on the floor on either side of her head. “I’m sorry,” he ground out, eyes closed. “I shouldn’t

have— I can’t have you on your bedroom floor for your first time.”

“It’s all right.” She licked her lips. They were so swollen. “I suppose it’s my fault.”

His lids flew open and he stared at her with confusion. “It isn’t. Not at all.”

“Oh, but I’m afraid it is.” Her mouth crooked in the corner. “Because I’m so extraordinary. How are you meant to help yourself?”

This time, he didn’t groan from hunger, but annoyed amusement. “Goddamn. How are you this good?” He nipped her neck.

She gasped. “I’ve always been a quick study.”

He hummed his assent, deep in the back of his throat. “Gifted and talented, baby.”

There came a knock at the door.

They exchanged a surprised glance, eyes wide.

Lizzy cleared her throat. “Who is it?”

“Your dearest mother.” Mamma’s voice had lost the earlier sweetness from the drawing room; it was sharp now. All business.

Hell’s bells. Just because Lizzy was a married woman didn’t mean she should roll about on her bedroom floor the moment the

door clicked shut. Had she lost her wits? She glanced in the mirror, attempting to tidy her loose hair, but it was futile.

Her eyes appeared glazed, her lower lip slightly swollen, and her complexion flushed.

She grabbed a handkerchief off her desk, and gave Tuck a glare that meant she was deadly serious. “Follow my lead,” she whispered.

“And play along.”

She walked to her door and took a shuddering breath as she opened it.

“Y-yes,” she whispered, pretending to dab her eyes. Better to look like she’d been up here devastated and getting some small

comfort from Tuck as a reason for her dishevelment, and not that she had almost given up her maidenhead on the rug.

“Compose yourself, my dear,” Mamma admonished as she strode into the room. “You know better than anyone how Mr.Alby is—especially

when it comes to the Americans. What, pray tell, did you expect from him?”

“I—I’m sorry for upsetting you.” Lizzy blew her nose for good measure.

Tuck watched the show with barely disguised confusion.

“Upset me?” Her mother’s laughter rang out, genuine. “Oh, my dear, I truly didn’t think this day would ever arrive. Do you have any notion of the countless sleepless nights I’ve endured, pondering your future? Each of these lines”—Mamma gestured to the creases beside her eyes—“is a testament to you. And as for my gray hairs, don’t get me started. But now, my dear, you are married. It may be unconventional, but such matters can be rectified with good manners. Cousin Georgie wrote about your dowry. And the Crawfords’ ball is in a few days’ time. Good news is all around!”

“You can’t be serious.” Lizzy dropped her hands to her sides—too surprised to keep up the fake-crying ruse. “We can’t attend

that.”

“You not only can, you will. I have had a dress made for you in your absence and I’m confident Henry will be able to outfit

Mr.Taylor.”

“Mamma, come. Be reasonable. A ball at the Crawfords’? That’s the lion’s den for the ton.”

“Then you better be ready to roar, my darling little lioness.” Mamma’s smile was tight but deadly. “Because we have one chance

to do this right. You were in the south on holiday when you fell madly in love with this... this American man of business

and married in a whirlwind romance. Of course, we are all in raptures, and Mr.Taylor is very respectable in his trade. What

is your line of work again, sir?”

“Dry goods. I’m here expanding trade contacts in teas and ceramics,” Tuck said by rote.

Lizzy smashed her lips to prevent a smile. Jane and Georgie would approve.

“Ah. Yes. Very well then.” Mamma’s eyes glazed and she gave her head a small shake, refocusing. “While the circumstances may

not be entirely ideal, there is no denying that a fortuitous path opened for us. Oh, Lizzy, marriage. It shall grant you the

privilege of knowing your place in society is secure. That is what truly matters for a woman, my dear. Why, you might even

have the unparalleled bliss of cradling a son in your arms one day, and my, there is no joy in this world quite like having

your own little boy.”

“I can’t begin to imagine,” Lizzy rejoined crisply. Mamma loved rhapsodizing over the pleasure of mothering sons as if she’d never had a daughter.

“And remember,” Mamma continued, “a lady’s proficiency in household management is how she achieves her significance, as does

preserving our family’s position.”

But Lizzy couldn’t afford to waste time attending balls. They needed to start collecting clues—anything that might help Tuck

find a way back home. The more days they frittered away, the greater the risk of arousing suspicion. Others might come with

ties to trade and America, especially from near Baltimore, or someone might try to question Tuck about the latest war activity,

only to discover his implausible ignorance. Someone might even start whispering “imposter” or, more dangerous, “spy.”

She’d have to get him back home, fake his death, and move on. “Mamma, I don’t want to—”

“Attending the Crawfords’ ball is not just a nicety, but your duty as my daughter. Society will be eager to catch a glimpse

of the newly wed Mrs.Taylor, and your absence would undoubtedly raise eyebrows. You know how Lavinia Throckmorton, Araminta

Wentworth, Millicent Harrington, and the others are—they’d love nothing better than to sink their teeth into another piece

of gossip. It’s crucial to present a gracious and charming presence at the ball to dispel any rumors that may begin circulating

about the gentleman’s background and the haste of the wedding. We wouldn’t want anyone to question your marital bliss now,

would we? Not when I worked ever so hard to remarry a man like Mr.Alby to keep us all in comfort and ensure we will be able

to continue dear Henry’s climb.”

“Of course not.” Lizzy was tempted to bare her teeth, hiss like a cornered alley cat. “I can think of little more that I’d

rather do than please you.”

Mamma’s smile was small, but her eyes were tired. She’d battled for their position in society as long as Lizzy could remember. “What a stroke of luck that your greatest joy is in perfect harmony with my wishes.” With that, Mamma swept from the room, leaving the scent of orange blossoms wafting in her wake.

“What am I missing?” Tuck muttered after the door closed. “I mean, I don’t know all the cool waltzes, but I’m confident I

can get you around a room without crushing your toes. I’m quick on my feet. What’s the problem here? And don’t you dare try

to say it’s related to you not being good enough in some way, because—”

“It’s not, thank you very much,” she said, bristling. “But some fights are my fights, not yours, and I want the space and

trust to fight them.”

“And you are welcome to it.” Tuck threw up his hands. “But I still don’t know why you are so against—”

“First, not one person in my family has expressed curiosity about my happiness. The entire focus is on their reputations.

As long as Mr.Alby can view me as civil, obedient, and passably sweet, he can continue to view me with contempt. And Mamma,

I know she loves me, but she’s always loved my brother more.” Lizzy’s admission cost her something, a toll she would be able

to review once Tuck was gone and all the accounts came due. “Second, it’s a risk to you. You don’t know the ton.”

“I don’t have a clue what you are talking about. A ton of what?”

“Not what—who. It’s French. Le bon ton signifies good manners and etiquette and consists of royals, aristocrats, and the wealthiest, best-connected members of the

upper classes. Imagine fashion leaders.”

“Like celebrities and influencers,” he mused.

“They do have great influence,” she agreed. “The ton possesses its own codes, hierarchies, and an exclusive membership, emphasizing a sense of belonging, and loyalty.”

“I think I get it, sort of.”

“Our family isn’t at the top of the order there. No titles among us. The prince doesn’t know I exist. So, the knives shouldn’t

be extra sharp. We are more in the middle. My stepfather made a fortune in shipping wine after his time in the navy. People

drink in good times and in bad, I used to hear him say. He had hoped I could land a baronet. They come with a hereditary title

that can be passed to sons. Mr.Alby wished to leave this world having secured the right for his lineage to be addressed as

sir .”

“I can’t help him, but if you want to call me sir behind closed doors, I’m not going to say no.”

“There is no time for fun and games.” She began to pace, needing to expend some of the energy bottled within her. “The moment

you’ve been introduced to the ton, the clock will start ticking. It’s a matter of time before you draw suspicion—it won’t

be through any fault, there’s just too many ways to make a mistake. No one will dream of you coming from the future, of course.

But the last thing we need is to have anyone suspect you as fake. Given my country’s tension with yours, that could lead to

dangerous consequences. I’m not willing to risk your safety, or mine, for that matter. Our best chances are to be as little

noticed as possible, but when you step into any room, people will notice. You’re too much. The height. Your face. The build.

And then the accent.”

“What’s wrong with my face?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but it is possible to be too handsome. You do not have a look that will go unnoticed.”

“I guess you’ll have to protect me, then.”

She scoffed. “And as for what just happened, the kissing and the rest of it.”

“I know.” His answer was clipped. “We need to stop. It’s a distraction. What’s happening is normal. We have been forced together

by fate or chance and there is natural attraction. But while it’s normal, I can do better.”

Lizzy blinked. Her brain was saying no but her mouth couldn’t form the words. She had been about to say “we need to wait until the house goes to bed,” not “we need

to stop this altogether.”

“Can we request another room?” he asked. “This is a big home. I don’t want to be an inconvenience, but my guess is there is

space.”

“You don’t want to sleep with me?”

“This isn’t the road to Gretna Green. We don’t need one bed. That’s skating on thin ice. We’re going to be friends, not lovers.

Right?”

“Correct.” His logic made sense in her brain, even as her body demanded she reject common sense and return to the floor to

tumble him in quick order.

“Friends shouldn’t know what the other person’s mouth tastes like.” He crossed his arms. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I can’t read that expression. Ever since I was a kid it’s been what I can do. Playing hockey. Focusing. Reading

people. Put those skills together and I’m a natural goalie. But what you’re thinking in that head right now, I can’t figure

it out.”

For a smart man he was quite thick.

Her head was no mystery. It was a swamp of wanting, mixed with a thousand half sentences trying to find a way to ask him to

kiss her again.

“I’m trying to be the good guy here.” His voice was strained. “You don’t deserve to have me pawing you until I leave.”

She sighed inwardly. He hadn’t done anything she hadn’t wanted. And rather than simply ask her, here he was telling her how

she felt. What she wanted. What she was allowed to have. The exhaustion of the last two weeks sank in, and she glanced at

her bed. Sleep would help clear her head, and suddenly she wanted space.

She went to the wall and pulled a discreet cord.

After a moment, the door opened and a servant entered.

“Please take Mr.Taylor to the blue room. And ensure that he has a supper tray sent up.” She gestured to his travel case.

“I hope you sleep well.”

Tuck’s gaze was shuttered as he grabbed the leather bag. “And you too.”

She shut her eyes as the door snicked shut. Listened to the small sounds of the house. The distant voices in the hall. The

wind against the panes. The flicker of the candlewick in the lamp near her mirror. So many words were in her head, but maybe

he was right. Silence could be a virtue when thoughts were better kept to themselves—not every wish deserved fulfillment,

and not every inclination should be explored.

The emptiness of the room loomed, and she tossed her head, refusing to be beaten. She had been managing quite well on her

own. And she would persist in doing so. Perfectly well.

Alone.