Authors: Deborah Simmons
“Indeed?” Lady Buckingham lifted a dark brow questioningly, as if she saw right through Prudence’s ruse. Although Prudence held the lady’s gaze, she could not help coloring brightly.
Her companion -stepped into the breach. Fixing Lady Buckingham with a cool stare designed, Prudence suspected, to shrivel the woman to dust, he drawled, “Believe what you will, Louisa. We all know how little regard you show for the truth.”
Lady Buckingham bristled and stepped back, as if she had teased some dangerous animal that might turn upon her at any moment. Turning to Prudence, she smiled evilly. “Perhaps rumors of Ravenscar’s little escapades have not reached your remote corner of the world, Miss Lancaster, but there was a bit of nastiness recently. His brother, you know.”
Prudence watched Ravenscar react impassively to the gossip, only a slight movement of his jaw telling her that he was not immune to innuendo. Prudence fixed Lady Buckingham with her own calm gaze. “Are you acquainted with Mr. Penhurst?” she asked, quite frankly.
Lady Buckingham appeared nonplussed, a small victory for which Prudence was inordinately grateful. “No, I cannot say that I knew the fellow,” she said, fanning herself languidly in recovery. “Obscure relatives usually do not move in my circles.”
“Understandable, I am sure,” Prudence said. “I, however, do know Mr. Penhurst, and I can assure you that he is
a headstrong young gentleman who will come home when he is done with his little rebellion.” She smiled serenely, then looked to Ravenscar for confirmation. His face remained starkly composed, but for a flicker of something in his eyes. Was it surprise again, or something else?
“I see,” Lady Buckingham said, managing to convey by the incredulous look on her face that she did not. “Well, Ravenscar, it appears that you have yourself a little champion. How quaint.”
Prudence nearly gasped in astonishment at the woman’s words. How dare the woman speak so rudely, not only to her, but to the earl? And this so-called lady was one of society’s leading lights? Prudence’s initiation into the ways of the ton was leaving her stunned—and sadly disappointed.
“I prefer to call it refreshing,” the earl said, and Prudence got the distinct impression that the two aristocrats were speaking in some foreign tongue, the nuances of which escaped her.
“I am sure that you do!” Lady Buckingham replied. She gave him an arch glance before dismissing him entirely to fix her attention on Prudence. “Miss Lancaster, I sought you to join us for supper. If you can tear yourself away from Ravenscar, I shall have Nevvy escort you in.” With a mocking smile and a nod of her head, Lady Buckingham left her once more standing alone with the earl.
Prudence bit back an argument. She had no desire to be escorted anywhere by the obnoxious Nevvy, but Lady Buckingham was her hostess, and Prudence felt obligated to behave accordingly. Turning to Ravenscar, she opened her mouth to excuse herself, then promptly shut it again when she realized she might not see him again. The small soiree Nevvy had promised was more like a crowded ball, and she had no assurance that the earl would be staying for long.
Prudence found the prospect of his departure most alarming, presumably because she had yet to ask him about his brother. She had hoped to do so, for Phoebe’s sake, and
because of an abiding interest in the matter. Now, however, was obviously not the time, nor the place, for such conversation.
“My lord,” she said seriously, “I wonder if I might have a moment with you alone, for private discussion.”
This time there was no mistaking Ravenscar’s surprise, though it was quickly masked. His interest he did not try to hide, however, for his gray eyes sought hers, crashing over her like waves against the cliffs. With one look, he threatened to suck her in, draw her down and toss her about as helplessly as a splash of sea foam. And, oh, what a voyage it would be!
Prudence shook her head at her unruly thoughts. Her imagination was running away with her, importuning itself in a most disconcerting fashion into her daily life. It gained impetus from Ravenscar, who seemed to be providing her with a little too much inspiration. She frowned.
The sharp sound of Nevvy’s voice snared her attention just as the earl leaned close. “I believe that Lady Buckingham is quite famous for her extensive book collection,” he said, his voice low and seductive. “I would be happy to show you the library. After supper?”
Prudence barely had time to nod before she was forced to turn and greet Nevvy. As she went through the motions and mumbled a standard response, she was aware of her own heightened perceptions. The room glowed brighter, the brilliantly colored clothes and her own cheeks flushed radiant, and her heart beat in rhythm to the efforts of the small group of musicians stationed in the gallery.
Drawing a deep breath, Prudence tried to steady herself, but her sense of unreality lingered, along with the surreptitious thrill that had shot through her at the earl’s words. Whether by his intention or no, Ravenscar’s suggestion resembled nothing so much as a furtive assignation from one of her own novels.
* * *
Despite her better judgment, Prudence’s odd sense of anticipation grew throughout the many courses of the meal. Although she discussed her writing at length with several curious and attentive supper companions, her thoughts were ever upon the earl.
Ravenscar continued to affect her as no one ever had before; it was as though he were the embodiment of her dreams. Her very practical mind told her she was being ridiculous, but some heretofore-hidden part of her was confirmning something else entirely.
With an eagerness that she knew ought to embarrass her, Prudence hurried to Lady Buckingham’s famous library. Although as beautifully decorated as the other rooms, it was rather dim. The light of several candelabra glowed faintly upon the red silk of the walls and the bookcases lining them in an atmosphere hardly conducive to reading.
It reminded Prudence eerily of something out of one of her novels: a large vaulted room with shadowed corners and dark, musty volumes. She half expected a wraith to float through the mantelpiece and drag her down to a long-forgotten dungeon, but she put the enticing image aside, certain that Lady Buckingham was the most ghastly thing in this ornately appointed home.
The woman’s words still rankled, and as Prudence’s gaze traveled over the editions so nicely displayed, she wondered, rather uncharitably, if Lady Buckingham had ever opened any of them. She reached up for a volume, and was about to remove it from its place when a deep voice sounded behind her.
“Prudence.” She started so dreadfully that her spectacles slipped down upon her nose, and for a moment, she could almost have believed that a specter had materialized amid the deserted furnishings to haunt her. Enthralled by the prospect, she whirled around, only to find that the speaker was no ghost, but a flesh-and-blood man.
Prudence was not disappointed, however, for it was, of course, Ravenscar standing at her elbow, his lips twisted in a wry greeting. How had the man managed to enter the room without her taking notice? Prudence’s heart pounded with the residual effects of his sudden arrival, along with his use of her first name, while she grappled for her usual selfpossession.
“My lord! You startled me! I did not hear you come in,” she managed. Was that amusement sparking in those gray depths? Prudence wondered suddenly whether Ravenscar had deliberately unnerved her, not for his pleasure, but for
her own…With a sigh, she ruthlessly reseated her glasses,
disgusted with herself for imputing to the earl such absurd motives. A man such as he did not have the time, nor the inclination, to cater to a spinster’s silly wishes.
And yet…Prudence could not stop the shiver that ran up her spine at the sight of him, here alone with her in the stillness of the library. He was too near, really, for proper decorum, but when had Ravenscar bowed to the dictates of others? Although Prudence told herself that his stance was obviously one of long habit, the knowledge did nothing to ease the strange agitation that had seized her.
He loomed over her, a great dark being, more masculine than anyone she had ever encountered, so close that she seemed to feel the heat radiating from his body and could catch a whiff of his scent, a musky cologne that reminded her of deep passageways and secret corners.
Ravenscar’s presence discomposed her so much that Prudence momentarily forgot just what she had wanted to discuss with him, and her normally efficient mind groped blindly for clues until she recaptured her errant train of thought.
“I wanted to ask you about your brother,” she said shakily. “Have you heard anything? Made inquiries?”
With a soft sound of some indeterminate emotion, the earl stepped back and turned away from her. Was he annoyed
at her question? Disappointed? Prudence found him very difficult to read at times. For an instant, she thought he was going to leave her without answering, but finally she heard his low voice, cool once more as he masked his concern for his sibling.
“I have heard nothing, though I have spoken with the finest Bow Street has to offer,” he said. At the dainty inlaid desk, he turned suddenly, and Prudence realized that he moved abruptly but gracefully, in a most disconcerting manner. “Why do you ask?”
Prudence was nonplussed at the change in him—from so close and compelling to distant and unapproachable. She watched as he picked up a gilt figurine. “I am interested, of course,” she answered honestly. “Having met Mr. Penhurst, I hope he does not do himself more harm with his headstrong ways, and having met you, I—” Prudence faltered when his head came up swiftly at her words “—I wish that your name might be cleared.” She finished in a rush, lifting her chin, as though daring him to dispute her words.
Ravenscar said nothing for a while, simply holding the golden serpent in his gloved hand, and yet she sensed he could not be still. As she watched, his thumb idly stroked the object in a way that riveted Prudence’s attention.
She found herself going hot and cold and hot again, all at the sight of his long fingers touching the surface again and again. Cursing the fashion for gloves, Prudence wondered just what his hands might look like bereft of them—and what they might feel like against her skin. She swallowed.
“I must confess to being a bit puzzled by your behavior,” Ravenscar said. “After all, your own sister believes me to be a killer. Why do you continue to defend me?”
It took Prudence a full minute to wrest her gaze away from the absent action of his fingers. “Why, it is too silly, my lord, to imagine that you murdered the boy. Would that get you your money back? Certainly not,” she answered. “It would make it impossible to ever regain your funds.”
“Ah…” Ravenscar dragged out the sound, as if filling it with all sorts of obscure meanings. His lips curled into a wry grimace as he replaced the statue upon the desk. “So, it is logic that motivates your conclusion.”
“Of course, my lord,” Prudence replied.
“But what of the cursed blood they make so much of in Cornwall? How do you know that I was not consumed by an uncontrollable rage that drove me to kill?” he asked, stepping toward her. “We Ravenscars are well-known for our passions, are we not?”
For a moment, Prudence was at a loss as to his reasoning, until she caught a glimpse of those bleak gray eyes. It came to her then that this was a test of sorts. He expected her to flee him as she had seen so many others do this evening, but, naturally, she would not. She was made of sterner stuff than these Londoners, who, she had come to discover, seemed only too happy to believe the worst of their fellows.
Prudence did not flinch when he fixed her with a grim stare that threatened some indefinable retribution. “I consider myself quite a good judge of character, my lord,” she replied. “And although I sense you are a man of—” Prudence cleared her throat, suddenly all too aware of his choice of words “—strong passions, I simply cannot believe you would toss your brother into the sea without compunction. Especially when you came to our cottage the very next day, attempting to save him from what you believed to be ladies of ill repute.”
He grinned. The effect was so startling, that Prudence nearly gaped at him. Ravenscar smiled as he did so much else, in an unknowingly wicked way, so that his white teeth were not at odds with his harsh features. And yet, he was transformed by the simple act into a devastatingly handsome man.
Prudence felt giddy.
Gone was the distant, grim-faced earl with the steely stare. The dark, compelling man with the stormy eyes that rattled her composure was back, and he moved past the desk with the lithe grace of a cat, looking for all the world as if he were stalking her.
“I sense that you, too, are possessed of strong passions,” he said, in a low voice that sent chills up her spine. Prudence stepped back. Ravenscar stepped closer. She forced herself to hold her ground then, for she knew he had a way of intimidating people with his body. She had watched him do it—using his height and his powerful personality to frighten or overwhelm those who would snub him. Perhaps he even did it without thinking, Prudence mused as he loomed over her, seemingly taller and darker than ever.
“Me?” she asked, but it came out in a squeak that did not resemble her usual no-nonsense voice.
Ravenscar nodded, and Prudence wondered how in the world someone could invest a simple affirmation with such deep, troubling meaning. Involuntarily she inched backward until her progress was stopped by the bookcase, and, suddenly, she realized her pose was strikingly similar to that of her heroine, cornered by the compelling and dangerous Count Bastian. She stared up at Ravenscar with no little surprise.
“Yes, you, Prudence,” he whispered. “You are a very rare woman, a woman with great talent. Have I told you how much I admire your writing?”
His voice seemed to weave itself around her, and Prudence felt her body tingle to life in answer to the closeness of his. “Thank you, my lord. You are most generous,” she said, a bit breathlessly.
“No,” Ravenscar said softly. “You are the generous one, Prudence. Generous and brave and intelligent. And beautiful, Prudence, so beautiful…”