The Raven Prince (19 page)

She sighed and donned a nondescript dark dress that she had brought along, bundled in a bag with a hooded cape and boots. Once dressed, she folded the lace gown and stuffed it into the bag. Had she left anything? Glancing around the room, she saw nothing of her own. She opened the door a crack and looked up and down the hallway. All clear. She pulled up her hood, and with her face still covered by the butterfly mask, ventured forth.

Coral had instructed her yesterday to be careful in the hallways and to go in and out only by the back stairs. A carriage would be waiting outside when she was ready to leave.

Anna moved now to the back stairs that Coral had indicated and ran down the flight. She sighed with relief when she reached the door and saw the waiting carriage. Her mask had begun to rub on the bridge of her nose. She untied it. Just as she removed the mask, three young bucks reeled around the corner of the house. Anna hastened toward the carriage.

In a sudden move, one of the men slapped another on the back in a friendly gesture. But the second man was so drunk that he lost his balance and careened into Anna, knocking both of them to the ground. “A-a-awfully sorry, m’dear.”

The dandy was giggling as he tried to push himself off of Anna, elbowing her in the stomach in the process. He got as far as bracing his body on his arms, but stayed there, swaying, as if too befuddled to move any farther. Anna shoved at him, trying to shift his weight. The back door to Aphrodite’s Grotto opened. The light from the door fell across her face.

The buck grinned drunkenly. A gold canine glinted in his mouth. “Why, you’re not too bad at all, love.” He leaned down in what he obviously considered a seductive manner and breathed an ale-filled puff into her face. “What say you an’ me—?”

“Get off me, sir!” Anna hit the man’s chest hard and managed to knock him off balance. He fell to the side, swearing foully as he did so. She scrambled quickly in the opposite direction, out of his reach.

“Come here, you tart. I’ll—”

The dandy’s friend saved her from hearing the rest of the undoubtedly obscene comment. The man hauled him up by the scruff of his shirt. “Come on, chum. No need to play with the downstairs help when we’ve got a couple of highfliers waiting inside.”

Laughing, they dragged off their protesting friend.

Anna ran to the carriage, scrambled inside, and slammed the door behind her. She was shaking from the ugly incident. An incident that could have been much uglier.

She had never been mistaken for a woman of anything other than the highest morals. She felt degraded. Tainted. She took deep breaths and firmly reminded herself that she had nothing to be upset about. She hadn’t been hurt by the fall, and the rude young man’s friends had hustled him away before he had insulted her or even laid hands on her. True, he had seen her face. But it was highly unlikely that she would run into him in Little Battleford. Anna felt a little better. Surely there could be no repercussions.

T
WO GOLD COINS
flipped through the air, flashing in the light from the back door of Aphrodite’s Grotto. They were caught by hands that were remarkably steady.

“That went well.”

“Glad to hear it, old boy.” One of the bucks smirked, looking almost as drunk as he was supposed to be. “Mind telling us what that was all about?”

“’Fraid I can’t do that.” The third man’s lip lifted in a sneer, and his gold tooth gleamed. “It’s a secret.”

Chapter Eleven

Many months passed while Aurea lived in her raven-husband’s castle. During the day, she amused herself by reading from the hundreds of illuminated books in the castle’s library or by taking long walks in the garden. In the evening, she feasted on delicacies she had only dreamed of in her former life. She had beautiful gowns to wear and priceless jewels to decorate herself with. Sometimes the raven would visit her, appearing suddenly in her rooms or joining her at dinner without any notice. Aurea found that her strange spouse had a wide and intelligent mind, and he would engage her in fascinating conversations. But always the big black bird would disappear before she retired to her rooms in the evening.

And every night, in the dark, a stranger came to her bridal bed and made exquisite love to her. . . .

—from
The Raven Prince

“Hail, O defender of the turnip and master of the ewe,” a deep sarcastic voice drawled the next morning. “Well met, my fellow Agrarian.”

Edward squinted through the smoke in the cavernous coffeehouse. He could just make out the speaker, lounging at a table in the right rear corner.
Defender of the turnip, eh?
Winding his way through cluttered, age-blackened tables, Edward reached the man and slapped him hard on the back.

“Iddesleigh! It’s not yet five in the afternoon. Why are you awake?”

Simon, Viscount Iddesleigh, didn’t rock forward under the hearty back slap—he must have been bracing himself—but he did wince. A lean, elegant man, he wore a fashionable white-powdered wig and laced-edged shirt. To many he no doubt appeared a fop. But appearances in this case were deceiving.

“I’ve been known to see the light of day afore noon,” Iddesleigh said, “although not often.” He kicked a chair out from the table. “Sit, man, and partake of that hallowed brew called coffee. The gods, had they known of it, would’ve had no need of nectar on Olympus.”

Edward waved at a boy serving drinks and took the proffered chair. He nodded at the silent third man sharing the table. “Harry. How’re you?”

Harry Pye was a land steward on an estate somewhere in the north of England. He wasn’t often in London. He must be here on business. In contrast to the flamboyant viscount, Harry almost blended into the woodwork. He was a man most would hardly notice in his ordinary brown coat and waistcoat. Edward knew for a fact that he carried a wicked dagger in his boot.

Harry nodded. “My lord. It’s good to see you.” He didn’t smile, but there was an amused gleam in his green eyes.

“God’s blood, Harry, how many times have I told you to call me Edward or de Raaf?” He signaled the boy again.

“Or Ed or Eddie,” Iddesleigh cut in.

“
Not
Eddie.” The boy banged a mug down, and Edward took a grateful sip.

“Aye, my lord,” he heard Harry murmur, but Edward didn’t bother replying.

He glanced around the room. The coffee at this house was very good. That was the main reason the Agrarian Society met here. It certainly wasn’t because of the architecture. The room was crowded, with a too-low ceiling. The short door lintel was known to catch the taller members a nasty crack on the crown on entering. The tables had probably never been scrubbed, and the mugs didn’t bear a close inspection. And the staff was a shifty lot who could be selectively hard of hearing when they didn’t feel like serving, no matter the rank of the customer. But the coffee was fresh and strong, and any man was welcome to the house as long as he had an interest in agriculture. Edward recognized several titled men sitting at tables, but there were also small landowners up for a day in London and even working stewards such as Harry. The Agrarians were known for the strange equality of their club.

“And what does bring you to our lovely, if odoriferous, capital?” Iddesleigh asked.

“Negotiating a marital alliance,” Edward replied.

Harry Pye’s eyes sharpened over the rim of his mug. His hand was wrapped around the cup. There was a disconcerting space where his ring finger should have been but wasn’t.

“Oh, braver man than I,” Iddesleigh said. “You must have been celebrating the impending nuptials when I saw you last night at the fair Aphrodite’s Grotto.”

“You were there?” Edward felt oddly reticent. “I didn’t see you.”

“No.” Iddesleigh smirked. “You looked quite, ah,
relaxed
when I saw you exit that establishment. I, myself, was engaged at the time with two eager nymphs, or I would have greeted you.”

“Only two?” Harry asked, deadpan.

“We were joined later by a third.” Iddesleigh’s icy gray eyes sparkled almost innocently. “But I hesitated to admit the fact for fear it would cause you two to doubt your manhood by comparison.”

Harry snorted.

Edward grinned and caught the boy’s eye. He held up a finger for another mug. “Good God. Aren’t you getting a trifle long in the tooth for such athletics?”

The viscount placed a lace-draped hand on his breast. “I assure you, on the honor of my dead and moldering forefathers, that all three wenches were wearing smiles when I left them.”

“Probably because of the gold they were clutching,” Edward said.

“You offend me deeply,” the viscount said as he smothered a yawn. “Besides, you yourself must’ve engaged in debauchery of one sort or another at the goddess’s domain. Admit it.”

“True.” Edward frowned at his mug. “But I won’t be for very much longer.”

The viscount looked up from inspecting the silver embroidery on his coat. “Never say you intend to be a chaste bridegroom?”

“I see no other option.”

Iddesleigh’s eyebrows arched. “Isn’t that a rather literal—not to mention archaic—interpretation of the bridal vows?”

“Perhaps. But I think it will make for a successful marriage.” Edward felt his jaw clench. “I want it to work this time. I need an heir.”

“I wish you luck, then, my friend,” Iddesleigh said quietly. “You must have chosen your lady carefully.”

“I did indeed.” Edward stared into his half-empty mug. “She is from an impeccable family; it goes back further than mine. She isn’t repulsed by my scars; I know because I asked her myself—something I omitted to do with my first wife. She’s intelligent and quiet. She’s handsome, but not beautiful. And she comes from a large family. God willing, she should be able to give me strong sons.”

“A Thoroughbred dam for a Thoroughbred sire.” Iddesleigh’s mouth quirked. “Soon your stables will overflow with hearty, squalling progeny. I’m sure you can hardly wait to begin getting offspring on your intended.”

“Who is the lady?” Harry asked.

“Sir Richard Gerard’s eldest, Miss Sylvia—”

Iddesleigh made a muffled exclamation. Harry glanced at him sharply.

“Gerard. Do you know her?” Edward finished slowly.

Iddesleigh studied the lace at his wrists. “My brother, Ethan’s wife was a Gerard. As I remember, the mother was something of a tartar at the wedding.”

“She still is.” Edward shrugged. “But I doubt I’ll have much contact with her after we’re married.”

Harry gravely raised his cup. “Congratulations on your betrothal, my lord.”

“Yes, congratulations.” The viscount lifted his cup as well. “And good luck, my friend.”

A
COLD NOSE
against her cheek woke Anna. She peeked and saw brown canine eyes only inches from her own. They stared at her urgently. Pungent doggy breath panted in her face. She groaned and turned her head to glance at the window. Dawn was just brightening the sky from a drowsy peach color to the more alert bright blue of day.

She looked back at the watching canine eyes. “Good morning, Jock.”

Jock took his forepaws from the mattress beside her head and backed up a step to sit down. He was very still, ears up, shoulder bunched, eyes alert to her every move. The very epitome of a dog waiting to go out.

“Oh, all right. I’m getting up.” She padded over to the basin and made an abbreviated wash before dressing.

Dog and woman crept down the back stairs.

Coral lived in a fashionable street near Mayfair, which was lined with white stone houses only a few years old. Most of these were quiet now except for an occasional maid washing the front steps or polishing a doorknob. Normally, Anna might feel uncomfortable walking about in a strange place without an escort, but she had Jock to accompany her. He leaned closer as if to protect her whenever anyone else approached. They strolled in companionable silence. Jock was busy sniffing out the intriguing smells of the city, while she was lost in her own thoughts.

During the night, she’d thought over her situation, and when Anna awoke this morning, she’d already known what she must do. She couldn’t meet him tonight. She was playing with fire, and she could no longer hide the fact from herself. In her need to be with Lord Swartingham, she’d flung aside all caution. She’d recklessly hared off to London and traipsed about a bordello as if it were a Little Battleford musicale. It was a miracle he hadn’t discovered her. And the incident the night before with the drunken bucks was too close. She could’ve been raped or hurt or both. How hypocritical of her to scold men for doing the very thing she’d done for the past two nights. She winced at the thought of what Lord Swartingham would have said had he found her out. He was a very proud man with a terrible temper.