The Devil Earl (14 page)

“Ah, yes, James,” he said, dropping his gaze. The mood broken, he began walking once more, as if naught had taken place between them, and Prudence thought perhaps she had imagined the entire episode, including her own dizzying loss of will. “If you do not think I did away with him, then what?” Ravenscar asked.

Momentarily diverted from his compelling presence, Prudence concentrated on the question. “Well, I consider myself a student of puzzles, you know.”

“Ah…” he drawled.

“Why, yes, of a sorts, and, of course, through my writing I have gained an understanding of clues and such. By weaving my own mysteries, I believe I have developed a unique perspective.”

“Ah,” he commented again, and Prudence slanted a glance at him. He seemed to take her claims seriously, as few other men would, but she should have known as much. Although Prudence could not say with any degree of practicality exactly how she knew, nonetheless she sensed that Ravenscar would never treat her with disrespect. “And what is your opinion, then?” he asked.

Prudence paused to chew upon her fingertip before answering. “Well, I must admit, I, too, am at a loss as to James’s whereabouts. We can rule out matters of the heart,
since Phoebe was his latest interest, and she knows nothing.”

“That would be our first course of pursuit, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Prudence agreed absently. “Money would be, of course, our second avenue, but we already have the details there.” She hesitated again. “Perhaps he had some grand scheme to recoup his losses.”

“And how the devil would he do that?” Ravenscar asked, with a trace of irritation in his tone.

“That is the question. How can a man make lots of money very quickly?” Prudence asked.

Ravenscar kept walking, but seemed to give her query some thought, for he answered readily, “Gaming? Speculation? Marriage?”

“Well, we can rule out marriage, for James is too romantic to consider such a course. And we can dismiss gaming, as he has proved his lack of skill in that arena,” Prudence said. She was concentrating too intently to respond to the appreciative gleam in Ravenscar’s eyes.

“And speculation…well, I would suspect that your brother does not possess the talents for such things,” Prudence noted in an apologetic tone. She gazed up at him to find him smiling—really smiling—down at her, and her heart tripped up her thoughts.

“So?” he prompted.

“Oh!” Prudence said, a bit breathlessly. “Well, I… There is another road to wealth that you did not mention.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. The New World! Fortunes are supposedly made there quite easily, especially among the West Indies. Although reason tells us that is not so, a younger, more impressionable mind might be more easily swayed,” Prudence noted.

Then she halted her steps suddenly, causing her spectacles to slip down her nose. Sliding them neatly back in place, she fixed her eyes upon the earl and smiled triumphantly. “I
believe, my lord, that your brother wandered down the coast and caught a ship for the warmer waters!”

If Ravenscar’s answering smile was a bit indulgent, Prudence did not care. At least the earl had heard her out, without the pooh-poohing she would surely have heard from Phoebe, let alone Hugh.

“Very interesting,” he said. “But how are we to find him?”

“I do not know, my lord,” Prudence replied, with a sigh. As they walked, she considered the problem, wishing that she could have examined the scene for evidence when the incident first occurred. “I suppose it is too late to look for clues at the site of his disappearance. At the abbey, I mean.”

Ravenscar’s brows lifted in surprise. “You would like to go to Wolfinger?”

Prudence felt a thrill shoot through her when he mentioned his home. Would she like to go to Wolfinger? Only above all else! “Why, naturally, I would like to view the abbey, if only to…assist you in finding traces of your brother,” she said.

Absurdly, Prudence found herself blushing again, and she looked down at the ground. Her heart hammered wildly at the mere thought of Ravenscar inviting her into his ancestral seat, and she could almost feel the dark stone beckoning to her.

“Ah,” Ravenscar said, in that low drawl of his that spoke volumes. “Well, then, we must see what we can do about arranging a visit.”

Hardly daring to believe her ears, Prudence peeked upward. Ravenscar’s face was as hard as usual, but his eyes glittered with promise, and his lips curved ever so slightly. Would she, at long last, gain her most treasured wish? “Oh, my! That would be most…welcome, my lord,” she stammered.

“Indeed,” Ravenscar said, his look making her body leap to life.

Once more, Prudence felt as if she had been transported into one of her books, a giddy heroine being lured to her doom by an enigmatic lord. Trembling, she dropped her eyes and made a show of adjusting her spectacles. “I would like to hear more about the night your brother disappeared, of course. I am afraid that the details I have are sketchy, at best,’ she went on in a businesslike tone.

“Ah…” There was that sound again, but Prudence refused to look up at Ravenscar to gauge its meaning. “I would do my best to fill you in, but this is neither the time nor the place. Too many interruptions,” he noted. “Speaking of which, I believe your companion is trying to get our attention.”

Prudence glanced back at the carriage to see Mrs. Broadgirdle waving her handkerchief in a peremptory fashion. The woman looked so silly that Prudence could only stare at her, while Ravenscar muttered something unintelligible.

“Are you swearing, my lord?” Prudence asked, her interest piqued.

Ravenscar did not answer, but asked, “Where in God’s name did you find her?”

“Who? Oh, Mrs. Broadgirdle. Well, yes, she is rather… grim,” Prudence admitted.

“Grim! The woman is positively Gothic!”

“True,” Prudence said, gazing at the chaperone with a new perspective. “You are right, my lord. She would make a wonderful villainess!” Absently Prudence started chewing on her glove as ideas floated around in her head. A female villain! A witch or an evil sorceress perhaps. The possibilities were endless!

“Prudence. Prudence!” She was dragged forcibly from her musings by Ravenscar, who was practically shouting in her ear.

“What? Did you say something, my lord?”

Ravenscar’s lips twitched faintly. “I do not want to interrupt the plotting of your next book, but if you wish to make arrangements to hear my story…”

“Yes, of course!” Prudence replied. “Can you come to my apartments?”

Ravenscar smiled grimly. “Somehow I do not think Cousin Hugh would be enthused about my presence there.”

“Oh. Perhaps not;” Prudence admitted. “He does appear to have taken a dislike to you, but I would not bother about it. He seems to disapprove of most members of the ton.” Ravenscar’s mouth twitched again, as if he might erupt in laughter, although Prudence did not understand what was so humorous. “Well, then, perhaps I had best come to your rooms,” she suggested.

Watching his harsh face, Prudence caught a flicker of undisguised hunger in his eyes, and she trembled before he masked it skillfully. “Yes, well, as delightful as that sounds, I do not think it would be wise to endanger your reputation.”

“Oh, my,” Prudence whispered as she tried to regain her composure. “I suppose you are correct. Well, then, where shall we meet? At the next ball or fete? We have received a few invitations.”

“Too crowded.”

His swift rejection brought a suspicion into Prudence’s practical mind, and she felt a rush of the excitement that only Ravenscar could engender. She lifted her head and swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “It must be an assignation, of sorts?” she asked, breathlessly. Leery of what she might find in his gray depths, Prudence fixed her attention on Ravenscar’s mouth, but the tactic did little to calm her.

“Precisely,” he said. And as she watched, his firm lips curved into a smile as wicked and inviting as any Bastian of Bloodmoor could summon.

T
oday was the day. Prudence schooled her features to reveal nothing, even as her heart raced. Really, she was too old for such nonsense as clandestine meetings! And yet, she had never felt younger in her life.

Ravenscar had told her to come without her chaperone, and so she had chosen a time when Phoebe was to go out

riding with her young man, Mr…What was his name?

Prudence could not say, for several admirers had called at the apartments for her sister, and she could not keep them straight. Truth to tell, for the first time in memory, Prudence was too busy with her own life to immerse herself in Phoebe’s.

She must ask Phoebe more about the gentleman. After all, she was still responsible for her sister, no matter that they were both occupied by the bustle of London comings and goings. She slid a glance along the breakfast table to where Phoebe was picking at some herring and frowning petulantly. It occurred to Prudence that her sister had been most sullen of late. Perhaps Mrs. Broadgirdle was making herself irksome again. Really, she would have to speak to the woman.

“Hugh! I say, Hugh!” Phoebe said, in a tone far different from her usual soft voice. “Must you bury yourself in the paper at table?”

Prudence looked over at their cousin in surprise. Although she had been too absorbed in her own thoughts to notice, Hugh was, indeed, hidden by the sheets of the
Morning Post.
Prudence supposed that such behavior might be deemed a slight by one’s guests, but, personally, she was relieved not to hear Hugh’s lecturing this morning. She had too much else on her mind.

“What? Oh, quite!” he asked, laying down the newsprint. “I am afraid I am unaccustomed to entertaining ladies at breakfast. Old habits, you know,” he said, giving Phoebe an apologetic glance. He smiled indulgently as he gazed at her, and Prudence watched Phoebe blossom under his warm regard.

Then Hugh settled his attention upon her, and Prudence saw him slowly stiffen. The gentle approval he had bestowed upon Phoebe changed into something quite different. Frustration, perhaps. Censure, definitely. Prudence looked down at her toast, hoping to avoid a confrontation.

“He is toying with you, of course,” Hugh said.

“Who?” Phoebe asked, startled by his sudden vehemence.

“Ravenscar!” Hugh said, telltale blotches of distress appearing on his pale face.

“Oh!” Phoebe flounced back in her chair. “Not again!”

Hugh did not even seem to hear her. “The whole town is tittering over the Devil Earl and his authoress.”

“Nonsense,” Prudence replied. She did not care a fig for what people were saying. She knew, as well as she had ever known anything else, that Ravenscar was a good man, no matter what his reputation. Why could no one else see him as she did? “The Devil Earl was Ravenscar’s ancestor. He died nearly two hundred years ago.”

“So you say!” Hugh replied, with more than a little bile. “And yet, that is but one of the names for him that have been bandied about London for years, perhaps because he follows so well in his predecessor’s footsteps!”

“Nonsense,” Prudence replied calmly as she spread some jam upon her bread.

“Listen to me, Prudence! The more I hear about the man, the more alarmed I become!” Hugh exclaimed. “Do not delude yourself into thinking you are his only conquest. Far from it! The earl has lured innumerable females into his clutches, just like that count of yours!”

“Now, Hugh, you cannot be senous!” Prudence scolded. “A peer of the realm, stealing innocent ladies away to his seaside haunt and murdering them in cold blood? Burying them in the family plot?”

“Well, maybe not killing them, but having his way with them, to be sure!” Hugh argued. “I tell you, Prudence, his reputation is far worse than even I suspected. The more I discover about the man, the more horrified I become. He has been linked to several of the ton’s most dissolute matrons, and, as for his other liaisons, why, I cannot even mention them in the presence of a lady. He is so notorious that simply being in his company is considered questionable!”

Just as Prudence was preparing to give Hugh a rebuttal, Phoebe rose to her feet and threw down her napkin. “Excuse me if I am a bit tired of hearing about
Prudence’s
earl,
Prudence’s
book, and what
Prudence
must or must not do!” she said. “It may come as a surprise to you both, but I, too, am being pursued by some very rich and personable gentlemen! I am going to wait for
my
caller in the drawing room.” With a toss of her pretty curls, she flounced from the table, leaving both Prudence and Hugh to gape after her in astonishment.

Prudence immediately felt a stab of guilt, for she knew she had been neglecting her sister of late. And her cousin was certainly no help. “Hugh, I wish you would cease this constant prattle about Ravenscar—you know how Phoebe dislikes him.”

“As does everyone!” Hugh replied. “I will be honest, Prudence. When you first arrived, I thought that you and I might be able to enjoy squiring Phoebe around town. My responsibility, I assumed, would be to provide guidance for the younger, more impressionable sister. I assumed that Phoebe, as the pretty one, might have her share of suitors and the attendant difficulties. However, I never dreamed that
you
would cause me any distress!”

Prudence stared at him. Although she had always prided herself on plain speaking, she found herself appalled by his bald appraisal of her as the ugly Lancaster. At one time, she might have been able to brush off the remark without blinking, but something had changed in her—something conjured up in Lady Buckingham’s library, when the dark and handsome man of her dreams had leaned close and kissed her as if he desired her…

“I regret your disappointment,” Prudence answered shortly. “Now, I must see to my sister.” She walked from the room, feeling oddly unbalanced, as if the way she saw the world, and herself, had suddenly shifted, altering the course of her life forever.

Although the unsteadiness persisted, Prudence made her way to where Phoebe sat alone in the drawing room, poking at a bit of handwork with a pout upon her angelic features. Prudence wondered idly how her sister could look pretty even while sulking.