Authors: Deborah Simmons
Coloring, Prudence put her fingers to her lips, as if to recapture the dark and mysterious feelings Ravenscar had engendered. Yes, it would be best to have the extra company, and besides, it was high time Mrs. Broadgirdle started earning her pay. She had been hired to chaperone them, and so she should.
Ravenscar, Prudence soon discovered, was not of the same mind. When he came to call, he did not appear at all pleased to meet Mrs. Broadgirdle. Nor did the chaperone do much to get in his good graces.
“So this one is supposed to be the count, is he?” she asked when introduced. Ravenscar simply fixed her with his standard quelling stare and set her up beside Prudence without deigning to comment.
“Of course His Lordship is
not
the count,” Prudence said, with a trace of irritation. “Frankly, Mrs. Broadgirdle, I was unaware that you had read my book.”
Mrs. Broadgirdle made a noise worthy of Mrs. Bates, and Prudence wondered if somewhere their ancestry was entwined.
“Naturally, I do not make it a practice to read such foolishness, but I felt obliged to take a look, since I am a member of your household now.”
“Are you?” Ravenscar interposed dryly. “But for how long?”
Although Prudence sent him a sharp glance, Mrs. Broadgirdle continued on, blithely ignoring his words. “I found it to be like so much of its ilk, overly dramatic and absurd. A fantastical dwelling, supposedly imbued with some sort of life of its own. Stuff and nonsense!”
“Obviously, she has never seen Wolfinger,” Ravenscar replied under his breath.
Prudence hid her answering smile. “Gothics are not for everyone,” she noted diplomatically.
“No,” Ravenscar said, showing his white teeth in a way that made Prudence catch her breath. “One must have a special sort of disposition to appreciate the macabre. Do you not agree, Prudence?” His voice seemed to caress her, and Prudence could only answer with a nod as her body flared to life under his attention.
“Where are we going?” Mrs. Broadgirdle’s query, a grating screech compared to Ravenscar’s soothing baritone, intruded upon their intimacy.
“We shall go wherever you wish, Miss Lancaster,” Ravenscar said, never taking his eyes from hers to acknowledge the chaperone.
“Oh, Hyde Park, by all means,” Prudence replied. “I have heard that most of the fashionable world is to be found there around five o’clock.”
A muscle jumped in Ravenscar’s jaw. “And you wish to see the fashionable world?”
“Yes,” Prudence answered without hesitation. “I think it advisable, under the circumstances, do you not?”
“It will be a horrible press,” Mrs. Broadgirdle put in. “And your cousin has no liking for the members of the ton you would most assuredly find there.”
Turning his head slowly, Ravenscar leaned forward to give the woman a chilly stare. “Perhaps you are unaware, madame, but a good chaperone does not interrupt private conversation, nor does she give unsolicited opinions.” He returned his attention to the horses. “In short, madame, a good chaperone is seen and not heard.”
Mrs. Broadgirdle made a squawk of indignant protest, while Prudence hid her amusement with a gloved hand.
“Now, you were saying?” Ravenscar prompted Prudence with a slight inclination of his head.
“Well, I think it wise to be seen in your company by as many of your peers as possible, so as to put to rest the appalling rumor that you are the count.”
“Ah…” Once again, Ravenscar drew out the single sound as if infusing it with a wealth of meaning, and Prudence gazed at him intently. Although sometimes she could read him easily, he was a complex man, and she could not always be sure what was going on behind those dark brows of his.
As if aware of her scrutiny, he gave her a slight smile. “Very well then, Miss Lancaster, the park it shall be. But once there, I think we should avail ourselves of the opportunity for a walk.”
Prudence nodded agreeably and, in the ensuing silence, took the opportunity to study the man beside her. He really was quite handsome, in a harsh, exotic sort of way—like Wolfinger itself. She noted again the scar under his eye, showing white against the darker flesh of his face. According to Hugh, who was becoming an expert on rumors about Ravenscar, he had been marked in the duel in which he had killed his uncle. Although Prudence still did not believe him capable of murder, she sensed that the earl could be a dangerous man, a man of strong passions, as he had readily admitted. She shivered.
Her gaze drifted downward to the reins he held so expertly, and she watched his long, slender fingers, encased in
leather, dexterously alter the horses’ direction with the slightest motion. The knowledge that such skill and power resided in his fingertips gave Prudence a thrill, and, blushing furiously, she remembered the way those same hands had touched her in Lady Buckingham’s darkened library.
Really! She was becoming quite obsessed with the man. Although the idea was appealing, Prudence forced herself to look away toward the sights of London until they reached the park. Once there, Ravenscar left the carriage in the care of his tiger and brusquely ordered Mrs. Broadgirdle to remain with it. Although Prudence could hardly approve of some of his more autocratic ways, she was heartily glad to be rid of the chaperone, however briefly.
“No wandering off now, miss!” Mrs. Broadgirdle warned with a scowl. “Or I shan’t be responsible for the consequences.” Since no one had been responsible for Prudence since she was very young, she found the threat rather ludicrous, but she forgave Mrs. Broadgirdle for taking her duties seriously.
With a graceful motion of one gloved hand, Ravenscar urged her along beside him, and Prudence felt that shivery sense of unreality take hold again. She had walked with men before, but none as personable or as interesting as Ravenscar. She watched him slow his long strides so that she could keep a comfortable pace, and she realized that her attention was lingering, most tellingly, upon his lean, muscular legs.
Prudence glanced up, blushing to catch his eyes upon her, and shivered. Really, it was all rather thrilling, just to have his tall, dark form so close, his gray gaze trained on her. Were it not for the bustle of the park around them, she might have imagined that they were alone.
But their surroundings did not vanish, and Prudence was forced to share him with others. Ravenscar nodded to several people who passed them, either mounted or riding in a variety of conveyances. Some, whom Prudence recognized
from the soiree, stared openmouthed at the sight of the two of them together. Others, who had no idea who she was, simply watched them curiously. A few cut them dead.
Although Prudence found that rudeness rather disheartening, Ravenscar was unperturbed. He appeared, in fact, to care little for her efforts to clear his name, and seemed more concerned with her than with their audience. Her suspicions were confirmed when they reached a more secluded area. “My dear Prudence,” he said, his mouth curving wryly, “do you think that enough members of the ton have seen us yet?”
Prudence tingled all over from the pleasure of hearing her name upon his lips. It was such a simple thing, but not really proper, and that very knowledge added to the thrill. “I do not know,” she said, stumbling over her words. “What is your opinion?”
“I think,” he said, taking her by the elbow, “that your efforts on my behalf are laudatory, but probably useless.”
“Oh, do not say so!” Prudence cried, halting her steps. “Must we go back so soon?” She flung a glance toward the carriage with dismay, for she had no wish to leave Ravenscar. She likened his company to writing or chocolate; the more one partook of it, the more one wanted. And, suddenly, she felt very greedy.
“Certainly not! You wound me, Prudence,” he said. “I would hope that you are not walking with me solely to repair my reputation?” He asked the question with a wry twist of his lips that made Prudence stare at them.
“Oh!” she muttered. Tearing her gaze from his mouth, she glanced up, only to find that his steely eyes had settled upon her. They were as wild and dark as a coastal storm, and they seemed to probe into her very soul. “Naturally not,” she replied, with as much dignity as she could muster. “I mean, of course, I am…honored to be with you.”
Ravenscar laughed softly. “Prudence, I do believe that your pen is cleverer than your tongue.”
The mention of something so…intimate as her tongue made Prudence blush again, and she turned away to hide her face in confusion. Must Ravenscar’s every word dredge up the same image—that of herself pinned against the library shelves by his tall form? Frantically Prudence searched for something else to occupy her thoughts, and she pointed at the bluebells scattered about their feet.
“Shall I pick some for you?” Ravenscar, ever attentive, asked in a smooth voice that sent chills up her back.
“Oh, no! Well, perhaps I shall take but a few,” Prudence said, aware that she was acting more like a silly miss than like her usual levelheaded self. Not wishing to soil her expensive new gloves, she stripped one off and knelt to snap a stem.
When she straightened, Ravenscar’s stormy, gray eyes were fixed upon her fingers, and Prudence wondered if she had committed some faux pas. Perhaps London ladies carried scissors in their reticules, or did not bare their hands.
“You have not been writing lately?” he asked suddenly, lifting his gaze to her face.
“No, not since coming to town,” Prudence replied, with some surprise. “How did you know?”
Without answering, Ravenscar reached out to take her hand, and for a moment Prudence simply stared down at his long, slender fingers touching her skin, amazed at her reaction to the contact. When the butter-soft leather on his thumb met her palm, a shudder ran through her from her toes to the roots of her hair.
“No ink stains,” Ravenscar said, his mouth curving wryly upward, and Prudence felt her heart heave into her throat. How had he come to know her so well, so quickly? She felt, for an instant, as if they shared not only interests, but spirits, as well, like kindred souls…
The sound of an approaching horse penetrated Prudence’s delirium, and Ravenscar broke away. While he
turned toward the rider, she put her glove back on with shaking fingers and clutched the flowers tightly.
Ravenscar nodded to the passing gentleman with a kind of haughty grace, then put his arms behind his back and motioned for her to precede him. Marveling at his composure, Prudence forced her limbs to move again in imitation of a casual walk. But she did not feel nonchalant. She felt…wonderfully alive.
It really was quite astonishing, and Prudence called up some of her scattered wits to examine her reaction to him. After all, she had talked with countless men in her life, from the local squire to the village fishermen. More recently, she had met her publisher, and a number of society’s finest. Why, then, of all members of the male species, did only Ravenscar affect her so?
Because he was the embodiment of her dreams, Prudence found herself answering. Darker, more mysterious and more intriguing than any other, the owner of Wolfinger seemed to have stepped right out of her imagination into her life. Prudence’s more practical side wondered if she ought to pinch herself—or perhaps Ravenscar—to make sure that he was real.
Really, she was becoming far too fanciful! “My lord,” she said, roundly bringing her thoughts back to more prosaic things. “About your brother…” Before she could finish, the earl stopped in his tracks, fixing her with a steely glare that hinted at his intimidation skills.
“Do not excite yourself, my lord,” Prudence said. Something flickered in his eyes, and her heart pounded out an answer. She promptly stilled it and gave him a stern look. “What I mean is, I know that the topic distresses you, but I would like to hear what the Bow Street Runner had to say.”
Ravenscar turned cool again, his face expressionless, and only the small jump of a muscle in his cheek gave him away. “The topic does not distress me, my dear Prudence,” he said, in mocking tones that she immediately forgave. “I will
be happy to impart to you exactly what the esteemed investigator has reported to me—absolutely nothing.”
“What do you mean?” Prudence asked.
At the question, Ravenscar’s mouth curled into a contemptuous curve. “I mean that the man has found no trace of James anywhere.”
Ignoring the earl’s hostility, Prudence brought a finger to her lips and chewed absently on her flawless new glove. “But what about in Cornwall?” she asked suddenly.
“Nothing,” Ravenscar repeated, giving her a black scowl. “In fact, it appeared to the Bow Street man as if James disappeared from Wolfinger into thin air—or perhaps the ocean?” His eyes bored into her with a dark intensity that annoyed Prudence no end.
“Stop that!” she said, and Ravenscar’s brows lifted in surprise. “Stop that intimidating nonsense,” Prudence repeated, waving her hand toward him. “I dislike it when you behave as if you actually
want
people to believe the worst of you.”
Ravenscar stood stock-still, staring at her with what might have been bemusement or annoyance—Prudence was not sure which. “My reputation has served me, in its way,” he said shortly, before striding forward once more.
“Ha!” Prudence said, hurrying to keep up with him. “You mean that if you expect less of others, you are never disappointed.”
This time, Ravenscar stopped so suddenly that Prudence nearly knocked into him. He turned toward her, and it was as if the park fell away, leaving just the two of them, alone in the world.
The gaze that had been stormy with anger now seethed with a very different kind of emotion. His firm lips curved upward slowly, and for a moment, Prudence thought he might kiss her again, right there in Hyde Park. Far from uttering a protest at such a shocking suggestion, her body quivered slightly in anticipation.
“You are a woman of rare intelligence and…perception, Prudence,” he muttered. Something flitted across his features, but she could not divine his thoughts. He seemed to be struggling with himself, and Prudence felt as if she, too, were caught in a maelstrom, drawn to him by forces outside her control.
A breeze suddenly stirred her skirts, and she had the whimsical notion that it was called up by Ravenscar himself, master of the elements—and herself. With difficulty, she wrenched her thoughts back to more practical matters. “Your…your brother,” she squeaked faintly.