Lord Fox's Pleasure. Helen Dickson

to ward off the putrid smells rising from the gutters where dogs scavenged among the filth, she moved out of the way of a late reveller going towards Charing Cross in a fine carriage, escorted by liveried servants.

      Shopkeepers were slow to open this morning. She heard the yodel of a milkman down an adjoining street, and a chimney sweep carrying a bundle of rods and a long broom scurried past. Water-carriers, their shoulders stooped from the weight of their yokes bearing buckets, went from house to house.

      Leaving the Strand, the timber-framed buildings on either side of the narrow street were blackened by pitch and the smoke of sea-coal, the upper storeys jutting out and almost touching, shutting out most of the light. It gave the impression of passing through a tunnel. She managed to avoid the rubbish thrown out of upper windows and side-stepped worse.

      At last, down a narrow twisting alleyway in Covent Garden, she reached Mr Rowan’s nursery, which was closed in by high walls. The wooden gates stood open, indicating that Mr Rowan, who specialised in the supply of plants and seeds, flowering trees, fruit trees and shrubs, was already about his business. The yard where he could usually be found at this time of day was quiet. Only Will was there, watering some tender plants in tiny pots from a clay receptacle, which had tiny holes all over it to allow the water to sprinkle out so it did not drown the plants. Wishing there was someone else she could speak to, reluctantly she walked towards him.

      ‘Hello, Will.’ She was smiling as she drew closer, but gradually her smile faded. Normally Will welcomed her cheerfully, but today his face was drawn into sullen lines. His blue eyes looked dull and were almost hidden by folds of puffy flesh. Perhaps he was suffering the after-effects of the previous night’s celebrations, she thought. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d arrived at the nursery to find him red-eyed and rubbing at his brow, as if to ease the persistent ache that throbbed there, caused by drinking too much liquor the night before. He didn’t stop what he was doing and she could tell from the surly glance he gave her that he had something to say. ‘How are you this morning, Will?’

      ‘Me? Never better,’ he grunted. ‘What the hell do you want coming here?’

      Prudence’s eyes widened and her lips parted, surprised by the viciousness of his reply. ‘I’ve come to see Molly.’

      ‘Then you’ve wasted your time. She isn’t here.’

      ‘Where is she?’

      ‘Highgate—delivering some fruit trees with Mr Rowan.’

      ‘Oh—I didn’t know,’ she said, disappointed. When Will looked away and carried on watering the plants, she edged a little closer to him, puzzled by his behaviour. ‘Will—what’s the matter? Has something happened to upset you?’

      Will looked at the clay receptacle in his hand and suddenly flung it from him. Never had Prudence seen his eyes burn with so much wrath as they did at that moment when he fixed them on her accusingly, feeding on his own righteous rage.

      ‘I’ll tell you what’s the matter—you slut,’ he hissed. ‘Did you think I didn’t see you yesterday—pushing yourself forward to be seen by those bloody Cavaliers?’

      Prudence was momentarily shocked into paralysis by his aggressive behaviour, but then she forced a small laugh and tried to sound nonchalant. ‘I think you may be letting yourself be influenced by a purely personal resentment, Will. I know you have no liking for Royalists and do not welcome their return.’

      ‘You’re damned right I don’t. I’m sick of you pretending to be little Miss Puritan—whiter than white—when all the time you have the morals of an alley cat. Shameless you were—flaunting yourself like a strumpet at the line of strutting peacocks. Did the memory of the kiss from the arrogant Lord Fox keep you awake all night,’ he shouted, thrusting his face close to hers, ‘or did you spend the night rolling around with him in his bed?’

      Appalled, Prudence gasped, taking a step back. ‘Oh! Oh—how dare you? How dare you say that? You have no right.’

      ‘Mebbe not—but what I saw yesterday only proves that you’re a better actress than I thought,’ he growled scathingly. ‘Not so angelic now, are you? What do you have to say?’

      Something of the venom in his tone penetrated Prudence’s mind. His arrogance and the injustice of the accusations he was flinging at her stirred her ire and her eyes flared. ‘Nothing to you, Will Price. Nothing at all.’ With a toss of her head she made a move to walk away, but seeing her intention, he stepped in front of her, barring her path.

      He looked huge and intimidating as he glared down at her, his small eyes glittering hard, the broad expanse of his chest exposed beneath his half-fastened soiled shirt beaded with sweat. Gripping her arm in his large fist, words began to spill from his lips as though a long pent-up dam had suddenly burst.

      ‘You can’t say I haven’t been patient—watching you come here time after time—wanting you. It isn’t everybody who would have waited to be noticed. And don’t look so surprised,’ he laughed, with more than a hint of bitterness when her eyes widened with astonishment. ‘Ever since I first clapped eyes on you I’ve wanted to tell you how I felt, to declare myself, but I thought you weren’t for me.

      ‘You’ve tormented me—do you know that? Coming to the yard all friendly like. I could’ve taken you time after time—but no, like a fool I thought, wait, treat her properly, and then maybe there’ll come a day when she’ll notice you. Now I know your pretty words are not to be trusted—your innocence is a sham. Aye,’ he said, looking her up and down insolently, mentally stripping her of her clothing, which turned Prudence’s blood to ice. ‘I should’ve known the bitch was biding her time until those foppish Cavaliers came back so she could flaunt herself.’

      Prudence stared at him, trying to comprehend what he was saying. How could she tell him the very touch of his hand repelled her? ‘That’s not true.’

      He favoured her with a sneering grin. ‘And would it have made any difference if you had? Aye—I know your brother was in exile, and that your family’s poor—but not too poor to stoop so low as to take Will Price, eh? Not too poor to take to living in a hovel with a man with dirt on his hands, who stumbles and lurches around in his ugly boots.’

      Prudence set her jaw and glared her anger at him. His words were as defiling as if he had violated her body. ‘You’re right, Will Price. If you think I would give myself to the likes of you then you are more addled than I thought. Now—let go of my arm and get out of my way.’ She didn’t believe that he would harm her, but she was wrong.

      Will’s eyes narrowed dangerously. His face was red and he was breathing like a winded bull. ‘Beneath all your fine ways you’re nothing but one of life’s whores.’ His lust overcoming his common sense, drawing himself up to his full height he hauled her furiously against his chest.

      Pain as hot as pincers shot through Prudence’s arms as she struggled against him. Suddenly something welled up inside her, a powerful surge of emotion to which she gave full rein. It was something larger than her own small self.

      Because she was small and female Will misjudged her strength. When he planted his mouth on hers there was a sudden pain as her sharp teeth clamped down on his lip. With a yelp he released her and drew back, tasting blood. He raised his hand to wipe it away, just as her fist flew out and delivered a resounding blow to his cheek.

      ‘You lout. You ill-mannered oaf,’ Prudence cried, hotly irate, her dark eyes narrowed and sparking fury as she met his effrontery with a rage she had not known she possessed. ‘Do you think I am that easy, Will Price? If I were a man I’d—I’d horsewhip you. I’d teach you not to go around ravishing respectable females with your revolting kisses.’

      ‘Would you kindly explain what’s going on?’ Lucas’s sharp bark came from the entrance to the yard.

      Will dropped his arm in amazement, and in unison both he and Prudence looked towards the gates in mute surprise. The figure of Lord Fox, long of limb and lean of frame—six foot two of lean, hard muscle—strode towards them scowling darkly, his eyes flicking