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“It is…it is him, miss,” Mary said in a hushed tone. Looking about her furtively, she leaned close to whisper, “The one what murdered his brother.”
For a moment, Prudence could only stare in astonishment. Then she spoke the revered name in a rush. “Ravenscar! Are you telling me that the earl is here…in our parlor?” Prudence asked, with no little amazement. At Mary’s nod, she nearly clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, but this is wonderful!” she said, rising from her chair.
“If you say so, miss,” Mary replied skeptically. And with that she disappeared hastily into the kitchen, while Prudence stood, straightened her gown as best she could, and hurried off to meet the man of her dreams.
He was standing with his back to her, staring out the window, and Prudence took advantage of the opportunity to study him. She noted again how tall he was, well above six feet, and lean, but broad-shouldered. No need for padding in his coats or his hose, she decided, as her gaze traveled down well-muscled thighs encased in doeskin to the tops of his shining Hessians. He wore a coat as simple and black as the straight hair that trailed along his collar. No dandy, this one, she mused with approval.
Just as her gaze moved up his body, Ravenscar turned his head to pin her with a cold gray stare so intense that Prudence nearly took a step back. Her blood, already stirred by the mere sight of him, roused further to flow through her with alarming speed. Here was a man to reckon with, she thought giddily. Here was a man.
“Where is she?” he asked suddenly. And Prudence, for the first time in her life, felt strangely stupid.
“Who?” she whispered.
His scowl was positively ferocious, and she could see a small muscle working in his jaw. Unleashed fury, she realized, was held in check within that composed exterior, though why he should be angry at her, Prudence had no idea.
“Your…sister,” Ravenscar said, investing the word with both derision and skepticism.
“Phoebe?” Prudence asked. Her brain was still working sluggishly, though the rest of her insides seemed to be moving at a remarkable pace.
“That is the name the maid gave me,” Ravenscar said, his face a dark mask of disdain.
Prudence quelled a tiny shiver of excitement at his unyielding manner. She wondered where he had gotten the scar under his eye. A duel, perhaps? He overwhelmed the room with a personal presence far stronger than anything she had ever seen before, and for an instant, she felt as though she were one of her own heroines, struggling against the compelling force of a mysterious villain.
Rather reluctantly, Prudence gave herself a shake and returned to reality. She was, after all, not Millicent, and the man before her, whatever his reputation, was no fiend, but an earl, and she had yet to greet him properly.
“Please, sit down, my lord,” she said evenly. “I had sent Phoebe off to rest, but if you wish to see her, then I shall, of course, summon her at once.”
To her disappointment, he nodded curtly, his lips moving into a cold, contemptuous smile that in no way reached those startling eyes of his. They, more than anything else, proclaimed him a dangerous man, hinting at untold depths and experiences that Prudence could not pretend to comprehend.
More than the starkly handsome cast of his features or the lean appeal of his tall form, they drew her to him, and Prudence ignored his blatantly threatening stance to stare at him once more. He looked, she decided, as if he had stepped right out of her pages and into the parlor.
What the dickens did he want with Phoebe?
Chapter Four (#ulink_c5e584f9-b5fa-5b98-9d82-79349f671b5e)
Why was she staring at him like a simpleton? Sebastian glared at her more fiercely. He was accustomed to a certain sort of response from people, and this was not it. Finally, as if she could hardly bear to tear herself away from his presence, she turned to call for the maid, and Sebastian felt a measure of relief.
At last! By all means, summon the girl from her “rest” for me, he thought with a malicious smile. Now he was finally getting somewhere, and the strange female was starting to make sense.
Looking around him, Sebastian had to admit that the small, tidy and slightly worn cottage did not look like any fancy house he had ever seen, but perhaps business was poor along this isolated coastline and appearances of propriety were maintained. His gaze traveled to the straight back of the slender, bespectacled creature who appeared to run the place, and he decided he had never seen a less likely looking abbess in his life.
Surely she did no personal business with the customers! He could hardly imagine any young bucks, or even a desperate old member of the local gentry, slavering over that one. And yet she was somehow attractive, in a rather sterile way. Perhaps that was her appeal, Sebastian decided. A man could peel her like an orange, layer by layer of stuffy clothing disappearing to reveal the choice center of the fruit.
Surprised by the tenor of his own thoughts, Sebastian turned away to look out the window again, where Wolfinger rose from a curling mist, a dark wonder in cool stone. He had forgotten the sheer beauty of the place. But he had been a young man when he last saw it, and then only briefly. Raised at his family’s modest estate in Yorkshire, he had done little enough traveling until his uncle, the previous earl, took an interest in him. And, certainly, Otho had no love for the abbey, preferring the hells and bawdy houses of London to these lonely, windswept shores.
Sebastian’s jaw tightened as his thoughts were brought forcibly back to the matter at hand. Apparently, despite all his best efforts, the Ravenscar blood was running true. James had inhented the family’s penchant for wine, women and cards. And debts.
“Here she is, my lord, my sister, Phoebe. Phoebe, you remember Lord Ravenscar, of course.”
Of course, Sebastian thought, pivoting on his heels to fasten his gaze on the girl. In the light she looked even younger, a frothy bit of fluff of the sort that could be had a hundred times over in town. She had a good figure, he would give her that, but she was too tiny and blond and bland-looking for his taste. He could see, however, how she had captured young James’s attention. No doubt she gazed at him in adoration with those bright blue eyes and nodded eagerly, bouncing her pretty little curls like a mindless doll at whatever he might say.
“Where is he?” Sebastian asked, without preamble.
The girl cringed, obviously frightened, and stepped back against the older one. Miss Prudence, the maid called her, which Sebastian thought as absurd a name for a Cyprian as he had ever heard.
“Who?” the so-called Prudence asked, eyeing him with a level gaze that he was forced to admire. Obviously, she was the sharp one. Very sharp. He wondered how long it would be before she would mention money…
Sebastian stalked across the room toward them, stopping just short of the small one. He towered over her, and she shrank back against her elder. “My brother,” he said, in a softly threatening tone that had the girl fairly trembling.
“Your brother?” Far from being intimidated, Prudence stepped toward him, so quickly that the girl leaning against her nearly fell upon the floor. Catching herself, the child took the opportunity to hide behind the elder’s skirts like an infant, disgusting him further. How the devil could James find such a creature pleasing?
The tall one, on the other hand…Sebastian paused to peruse her. She had enough of the look of the other to pass for a sister, but her beauty was of a far different, starker nature. What he could see of her hair was darker, with streaks of gold that disappeared under a silly, spinsterish cap. Her eyes, hidden by the ridiculous glasses, were not an insipid blue, but a lovely hazel that gleamed like her hair. Looking closer, he thought he saw just the barest hint of green…
“Why should Phoebe know anything of your brother?” she asked him, interest blazing behind those ridiculous spectacles. Sebastian had the distinct impression that her eyes would window her soul, if only he could remove what shielded them. He fought a nagging desire to do so.
The rest of her face, Sebastian decided, was as fine and distinctive as a rare wine. She had high cheekbones and clear skin and a wide mouth that was infinitely more intriguing than the dainty Cupid’s bow her sister sported, and he found his interest lingering on it. He forced himself to look away.
“Why, indeed?” he asked her. Her eyes appeared unafraid, and so guileless that for a moment Sebastian thought he must surely be mistaken about her. His lips tightened into a grim line. “Perhaps because James had made use of her…services…recently.”
“Services?” She gazed up at him with such puzzlement that he almost believed her to be innocent.
“Must I make it more plain, Miss…Prudence?” Sebastian asked, circling around her like a cat stalking its prey. In the corner of his vision, he saw Miss Phoebe sink into a chair with a strangled moan, but Prudence only turned, gracefully, to meet his stare.
She was fearless, Sebastian confirmed, for he had spent years cultivating his own special brand of intimidation. It had served him in the fight for his title and position, as well as in the less-than-savory places in which he had often found himself. In all his long memory, he could never recall meeting a woman who could withstand the full force of his enmity for long. Yet this one, instead of cowering or fleeing or making a gallant retreat, was returning his gaze calmly, her back straight, her eyes openly curious.
He would have thought her wholly unaffected, but for the rapid rise and fall of her small but shapely bosom, which gave the lie to her seeming composure. The girl felt something, Sebastian thought with an odd sort of triumph. He gave her a sly smile, but she only appeared more confused.
“Perhaps you should speak more plainly, for I fear I am failing to follow you,” she said finally.
Sebastian whirled away, so that he could watch them both react. “Very well. I am speaking of James paying for the privilege of climbing under your…sister’s skirts.”
The stunned looks on both their faces took him aback. Surely, these two must be the most accomplished of actresses, wasting their talents away here in Cornwall, or. Sebastian narrowed his eyes, unwilling to consider the alternatives. Just as he began to feel an eerie sense of dismay that he had not known since his youth, he heard laughter, clear and golden as a sultry summer afternoon
He knew who it was immediately, of course. James’s dainty damsel would not be capable of such a robust sound; she would undoubtedly giggle annoyingly, if amused. Prudence, on the other hand…Prudence was laughing gaily, while Phoebe, her face red, was clutching her throat as if she might expire momentarily upon the worn cushion of her seat.
“Oh, my!” Prudence said. Obviously she thought his erroneous assumption sincerely funny, for she put a slender hand to her mouth and gulped for air in an unladylike fashion that struck a chord deep within him. Suddenly Sebastian felt as if he had been run down by a coach and four. His breath caught, his vitals tightened and his head spun; the reaction was so unlike his usual bored detachment that it left him incredulous.
And she was the c .use of it.
A lock of shiny hair escaped her silly cap, and her spectacles slipped down her straight nose, making Sebastian battle an urge to remove them entirely. He watched her long, slim fingers in fascination as they moved the glasses back into place. Were those ink stains on her hand? How could he ever have thought her a doxy?
“Oh, my! I am sorry, but I guess we cannot blame you. Mrs. Bates warned us that we must not live alone, just us two, but I am so very old, you see, that I thought it would be quite all right,” she said.
For a moment, Sebastian simply stared at her, taking in her absurd explanation as he let his gaze travel from her flawless features down over her straight shoulders, shapely breasts and narrow waist to her gently flaring hips. Being so tall, she would have long legs that went on forever, that could wrap around a man—Abruptly Sebastian returned his attention to her face. “You, Miss Prudence, are definitely not old,” he replied, his voice strained.
Her laughter died, and Sebastian saw her return his regard with a wary but definite interest, so unexpected that it stunned him. With surprising intensity, his body responded, and he turned toward the window to hide the effects. He rested his hands upon the sill and looked out at Wolfinger rising in the distance.
“I apologize for my obviously incorrect assumptions,” he said. “I can only offer the excuse that my brother’s behavior has addled my wits.”
“We were so sorry to learn of his disappearance, my lord,” Prudence said. “But you know young men often behave precipitately. I am sure he will reappear soon enough.” Sebastian heard her voice, gentle and reasonable, and wanted to lean into it. What was the matter with him? With her? Surely she could know nothing of him, or she would not speak to him in such a fashion.
“I am certain that, as usual, he does not realize the repercussions of his actions,” Sebastian said tightly. He turned to face her again, his odd passion for her under control now. “I know James does not care for Wolfinger, so when I saw your…charming sister, I suspected that she might be responsible for his lingering stay. He seemed quite taken with her, and I thought he might have confided in her.”
Actually, Sebastian originally had feared an elopement, but he was not about to mention that, when the situation was so glaringly not what he had anticipated.
Prudence nodded in agreement, her expression serious and sympathetic, and he felt a ridiculous urge to unburden himself to this strange woman. He was fighting it when Phoebe, reclining ignored upon her chair, let out a soft wail and burst into tears.
He could see that Prudence was as startled as he by the noise. She paused briefly, as if surprised to find anyone in the room but Sebastian and herself, then went to kneel by the younger girl. “What is it, Phoebe?” she asked, taking her sister’s hands, and Sebastian was stricken by a bizarre jealousy. He wished she was touching him with those gentle fingers, looking at him with eyes full of understanding and succor. Good Lord, he was losing his mind!
“He did confide in me! He was w-w-wonderful!” Phoebe whimpered.
“Who?” Prudence asked.
“Mr. Penhurst! He w-walked with me.”
“What?” At Prudence’s tone, Sebastian realized that her alarm was genuine. Apparently she was not so sharp as to see the attraction between the two young people that had been so conspicuous to him. He watched her consideringly, sensing that there were complexities to Miss Prudence Lancaster that begged for further study.
His interest in her was definitely out of the ordinary. Usually he limited his dealings with women to a certain sort, who were very easily read. He liked having the terms well understood before engaging in any liaison, the payments and expectations agreed upon beforehand. Although his title gave him access to the rich and pampered ladies of the ton, most of them barely tolerated his presence, and those few who were interested struck him as far more calculating than any of the demimonde.
But Prudence would hardly qualify as either. She was, it seemed, a woman of decent birth, good manners and high morals—the kind who would be comfortable with the local gentry or at the vicarage. He had forgotten that such simple, kind-hearted people existed, for it had been a long time since he had associated with his parson or the squire’s vast brood—a very long time.
“Oh, do not scold me, Prudence!” Phoebe cried. “I could not bear it! We simply walked along the beach. It was I-lovely, and we talked, and Mr. Penhurst was every bit a gentleman. He never said anything about going away.”
Sebastian saw Prudence’s frown and knew a new surge of irritation with his brother. Had the whelp no thought for those who would be affected by his disappearance? He wanted to thrash James for causing her distress, then nearly laughed aloud at the bizarre impulse. A little late for him to play the hero, was it not? His role had been cast long ago, and the part did not appeal to women like this bespectacled, ink-stained creature.
“I think there is a lot you do not know about Mr. Penhurst,” Prudence said to her sister in that same gentle voice. “And nothing to excuse you from walking out alone with a gentlemen—” she shot Sebastian a quick, pained glance “—without telling anyone.”
Phoebe pouted prettily. “There was no harm done, and no one else to walk with me, with Mary and Cook being too busy, and you always at your desk writing and not wanting to be disturbed,” she whined piteously.
With a scowl, Sebastian recognized James’s well-worn tactic of trying to turn the blame back upon one’s elder. Prudence, apparently oblivious of this manipulation, was hugging the little schemer and murmuring softly in comfort.
Taking matters into his own hands, Sebastian stepped closer and snagged dainty Phoebe with his stare. “And what exactly did James say? Did he mention his plans for the future, or anywhere he might want to go? Was he to meet you somewhere, perhaps?”
The blue-eyed creature cringed and whimpered and buried her head against the curve of her sister’s breasts. For a moment, Sebastian let his gaze linger there, wondering what the mild-mannered Miss Prudence would be like without her glasses and all those clothes. Then, with a frown of annoyance at his absurd thoughts, he turned his attention back to her sister.
“Are you sure, Miss Phoebe?” he asked, using his most malevolent tone. “Just in case he talked you into eloping, I must advise you right now that my brother is penniless. He is, in fact, deeply in debt, and can no more support a wife than any other wayward schoolboy.”
The little blonde let out a wail that belied her small size, and set up sobbing afresh. Although Prudence’s arms automatically tightened around her sister, she glanced up at Sebastian, hesitating, as if torn between the two of them.
Since he knew of no earthly reason why this strange woman should show him any loyalty, Sebastian was more than a bit surprised by her behavior, and yet he felt a surge of unfamiliar emotion in reaction. What would it take to earn Prudence Lancaster’s trust—and devotion?
Something he did not possess, Sebastian told himself, and his thoughts were confirmed when Phoebe clung to her, easily reclaiming her regard. “Prudence! Oh, make him stop talking to me so! He frightens me! He is responsible for all of these dreadful happenings!”
Sebastian stiffened immediately. Although he had heard such allegations as the girl’s often enough before, and had sometimes even found a kind of perverse enjoyment in his own wicked reputation, he realized that he did not like listening to them here in this quiet parlor—in her sister’s presence.
“Now, Phoebe, stop that at once,” Prudence muttered, a bit awkwardly, but it was too late. Already Sebastian felt his brief animation fading away, and his usual ennui taking its place.
“It is true!” Phoebe argued. “Mr. Penhurst would never, ever leave without telling me. It is as Mrs. Bates said. I know it is! That—that fiend there,” she said, pointing at Sebastian, “murdered his own brother!”
Sebastian smiled coldly, the ranting of a dim-witted little blonde sliding effortlessly off his thick skin. However, he could not so coolly dismiss her sister, and he realized suddenly, painfully, that he did not want to see the change come over her face, to see the open, serious features look upon him with fear and loathing, the straight shoulders shrink back in horror and disgust.
He did not want to see Prudence Lancaster’s disapprobation.
Before he could witness it, Sebastian spun on his heel and stalked from the room, saving them the effort of asking him to leave. He knew there was no use in trying to deny the charges against him; he had wasted many long years in such vain efforts. Finally, he had come to understand that there was no recourse for him. People assumed the worst, and Prudence Lancaster would, too.
He nearly laughed aloud at his brief flirtation with humanity. He must be growing feeble, to attach some sort of importance to the reaction of a woman who wore spectacles and sported ink stains on her hands.
Not waiting for the frightened maid to do it for him, Sebastian opened the door himself and strode outside. He welcomed the cool mist that met him, dampening his absurd ardor and chilling his deadened spirit. His steps were sure, despite the fog, and he did not falter even when he imagined her calling after him.
That was something Sebastian would not do, for he had learned long ago never to look back.
Prudence nibbled the end of her pen, frustrated, yet again, with her writing. She had finished her second novel, Bastian of Bloodmoor, in record time, and, according to her publisher, it had met with even greater success than her first effort. But now, her energies were flagging. She suspected that she needed renewed inspiration.
With a sigh, Prudence turned toward the window—and Wolfinger. The dark edifice seemed doubly lonely after its short occupation, and she felt it calling to her anew, as if she held the key to its future. Prudence shook her head, rather sadly, for even in her wildest dreams she could not pretend that was true. If she could not manage to gain entry to the abbey, how could she fill it with life and people?
Five months after his disappearance, James Penhurst was still missing, and his brother, the earl, had long since departed Cornwall. Prudence had learned, afterward, that he had left the very day he visited the cottage, his black coach and four sweeping from the abbey on the wings of another storm, leaving age-old superstitions and gossip in its wake.
They called him a murderer, anyone who dared, and yet, since his brother’s body had never been found, nothing was done—or said—officially. Still, everyone else talked, and Prudence had heard awful rumors that painted Ravenscar as black as his ancestors. As a gothic authoress, Prudence found the tales rather thrilling. As someone who had met the earl, however, she could hardly countenance them.
How often had she been tempted to write to the man! And how often, just as quickly, had she dismissed the notion. Although Prudence longed to give the earl the support she sensed he needed desperately, she could not gather her courage to do so.
What would she say? Offering comfort to one such as Ravenscar would be no easy task, Prudence knew. And how would it reach him? One simply did not send an unsolicited letter to an earl, she mused with a frown, especially one as arrogant as Ravenscar. No doubt he would toss her message away, amused by her provincialism, Prudence decided, and she forced herself to put the matter aside.
“Prudence!” A loud shriek made her spit out her pen. Good heavens, was that Phoebe? Prudence rose from her chair in surprise. Poor Phoebe had fallen into a fit of the dismals after Mr. Penhurst’s disappearance, and had yet to fully recover, so Prudence was pleased to hear her sounding so cheerful. When she turned to see a pink-cheeked Phoebe, bubbling with excitement, she smiled with relief.
“Pru! Just look at the size of this bank draft!” Ignoring the obvious—that her sister had opened her post—Prudence glanced down at the amount, and was stunned by what she saw. Apparently her last book had been more than well received, if her success could be measured by the amazing sum staring up at her.
They were flush! The knowledge was dizzying.
When Prudence had begun to write, they had not been starving. Indeed, they could always have lived, if meagerly, on the small stipend left from their grandmother, but they had been forever scrimping, and had had little left over for trifles. Then she had sold her first work, The Mysterious Alphonse. It had done far better than she expected, allowing them to fix up the cottage and still put something by.
They had settled in, quite comfortably, but now…Now they had more than enough to see to their needs. Prudence gaped, dumbfounded, at the figure, while Phoebe whirled round and round, finally coming to rest before her sister with glowing features.
“You are plump in the pocket, Prudence! What are you going to do with all of it?” Phoebe asked, waving the paper happily. Before Prudence could answer, her sister showed her white teeth and bit her lower lip. “Better yet, tell me, what is your heart’s desire, for you may now have anything?”
Smiling absently at her sister’s play, Prudence let her gaze drift from the handsome draft toward the window. Her fondest wish? In a sudden, weak moment, she envisioned herself not as the head of the family, but as the young, funloving girl Phoebe was—and she had never been.
In the distance, the black walls of Wolfinger rose out of the mist like a living thing, pulsing with its distinctive power, calling to her like some siren’s song, and Prudence felt herself drift into her own imagination. Abruptly she knew, without a doubt, what she most desired. “I wish to visit Wolfinger,” she said softly.
“Oh, pooh! That old place!” Phoebe said, obviously disappointed with both her choice and her serious tone. Phoebe did not like anything somber, least of all the abbey. She shivered and pouted prettily. “That is impossible, anyway. You must choose something that your newfound money can buy.”
“All right,” Prudence answered. Well used to giving in to her younger sibling, she turned her back on the ancient structure and faced Phoebe with a smile. “Then I would wish for a season in London for you!”
“Oh, Pru! Really? Do not tease me!” Phoebe begged.
“Really.”
“Oh, Pru!” Phoebe cried as she threw herself into Prudence’s arms. Engulfed in a cascade of pale blond curls and her sister’s sweet feminine scent, Prudence put her mind to the practical aspects of their trip. Spring was coming on quickly, and if they were to go to London this season, she had lots of preparations to make.
