I Loved a Rogue The Prince Catchers (13 page)

Eleanor returned her attention to Prince, her face still taut.

Falling into the bittersweetness of the past again, as he had unwisely done for a moment on that hill when she pressed her mouth to his, would not serve him now. But if Robin Prince harmed her, he would kill him.

Chapter 11

The Storm

“E
leanor.” Fanny bent to peer into a box of trinkets. “How is that you come to be traveling with Mr. Wolfe? It isn’t quite regular, of course.” Slender chestnut brows arched high, she peeked over the stacks of old shoes and mismatched furniture stuffed into the tiny parlor. “Oh, but do you mind that I ask? Robin says I am far too intrusive. Henry used to say the same. But I like to know everything, you see.”

Fanny’s curiosity about everything certainly aided in this task. This hopeless task. Every corner of Sir Wilkie’s mansion seemed crammed with flotsam and jetsam.

“I don’t mind that you ask, Fanny.” Except that she didn’t have an answer that wouldn’t make her blush to the roots of her hair.
Because she had accepted the gauntlet he’d silently thrown down before her in the library at Combe
.
Because she had hurled herself impetuously into a quest in order to escape her life. Because a dragon must have a handsome knight to battle
. None sufficed. “My sisters and their husbands were not able to travel with me. Mr. Wolfe is a dear friend of my family.”

Fanny’s lashes beat once, swiftly.

“He is vastly handsome,” she said quite bluntly, as if women who barely knew each other said such things.

Eleanor pretended to study the contents of the crate before her. “I daresay.”

“Is he . . . That is to say . . . The rings in his ears are so distinctive, of course, and he is as dark as a sailor. I think he is a Gypsy. Is he?”

“He is.”

“You will think me everything impertinent, Eleanor, I’m sure. But I ask because . . . Well . . . He doesn’t quite look like a Gypsy, does he? His dress and speech mark him as a gentleman.”

Not only his dress and speech. He had never quite looked like a Gypsy, at least not like his uncle’s family. But that was to be expected. He was an orphan, just as she and her sisters were, taken in by his uncle and aunt out of charity.

She met Fanny’s curious stare. “Perhaps you should ask him.”

Fanny’s lashes fanned out. “You put me in my place, Miss Caulfield. I am now ashamed to have spoken.”

“I did not intend to put you in your place. I’m making an honest recommendation. He can certainly tell you more about himself than I can.” She knew next to nothing about him now, only that he had been to jail. That he owned many horses. That his eyes had taken on the shadows of midnight. That his kiss could still make her think of little else, even the purpose of her journey.

“Thank you.” Fanny seemed chastened. Her lashes batted again. Eleanor was coming to see those lashes as an indicator of their mistress’s temper. “But would he share anything? He seems more the strong and silent sort than talkative.”

Hardly
silent
.

“He isn’t shy.” Rather, the opposite when he wanted something. “He knows three languages.” Four, including the language of his people. “You might feel perfectly at ease engaging him in any of those tongues.”

Tongue
. Lips. Scent. Heat.

Her cheeks flamed.

She had so little experience of life that a single kiss preoccupied her entirely. She should be focused on the sudden appearance of a man named Prince. But the memory of Taliesin’s hand touching her back carved an aching heat through her, like moonlight dancing through darkness.

Today he had departed early, leaving word that he would return by nightfall. Where he had gone she hadn’t an idea. But his absence suited her. With the gold and ruby ring burning in her pocket and Lussha’s prophecy whispering like a ghost, she couldn’t seem to meet Taliesin’s gaze without her cheeks erupting in fire.

That wretched kiss. That perfect kiss.

It was contrary. She was contrary. If Robin Prince was the fulfillment of the Gypsy prophecy, then
he
should be making her cheeks burn. His charm seemed unrehearsed, his conversation intelligent, and his manners without pretension. He and his sisters were normal people, well spoken and amiable. And he was attractive. Betsy had rhapsodized on his blue eyes and square jaw the entire time Eleanor dressed that morning.

But it was all ridiculous. Prince was not the same as
prince
. For heaven’s sake, if she allowed that logic, Sir Wilkie could be the fulfillment of the prophecy. Ravenna would laugh herself silly over that.

But Arabella . . . Arabella would take one look at Sir Wilkie’s handsome grandson, his firm jaw and twinkling blue eyes, and pronounce Eleanor betrothed on the spot. Then on the wedding day her duchess sister would produce the ring and demand that Mr. Prince tell her all he knew about their past. Bella was just mad enough to do it.

“Three languages.” Fanny’s lashes were butterfly wings. “I should be thoroughly intimidated if I had any thought of making an impression on him myself.”

Eleanor’s stomach twisted. “Making an impression on him?”

“My sister, Henrietta, has just turned eighteen. She will make her debut in London next month.” Fanny poked into a box. “But already she has become acquainted with any number of eligible gentlemen in Bath.” She drew forth a packet and began to untie the string. “I have never once seen her as tongue-tied as she was last night at dinner.”

“She is not usually timid?”

“Not at all! She is more talkative than me, if you can believe it.” She chuckled. “After dinner I asked her what cat had caught her tongue, and she said, I quote, ‘Mr. Wolfe is quite, quite wonderful, isn’t he?’ She would not say another word after that, though I begged her to elaborate.” She set the half-opened packet in her lap.

Fanny had donned what she called a “work dress” for the day’s dusty activities. It was finer than the gown Eleanor wore to church on Sundays. Sitting amidst the chaos of this parlor, her cheeks smudged with dirt, and her curls sparkling in the light of lamps they had arranged throughout the gloomy room, she looked positively taking. While pretty enough, Henrietta was a pale reflection of her elder sister.

“So, you see, I must know more about him to assure myself that my sister does not lose her head over a man unsuited to her,” she explained. “To that end, my brother invited Mr. Wolfe out shooting this morning.”

Shooting?
Taliesin?
“Did he go?”

“Robin said that he declined then rode off without taking breakfast. I suppose I must interview Mr. Wolfe directly. I have no scruples about it, you know, Eleanor. There is nothing in the world I wouldn’t do to ensure my brother and sister’s happiness.” She smiled quite like her brother, identical lapis eyes twinkling. She opened the parcel in her lap. “A china doll. I don’t suppose this came off a wrecked ship, do you?”

A rumble of thunder shuddered the windowpanes.

“Oh,” Fanny exclaimed. “I hadn’t an idea that it would storm today. I wonder if Henrietta has returned?”

“Where did she go?”

“For a ride about the park. Grandfather keeps the prettiest little mare for her. He spoils us all atrociously. I hope she has returned.” A flash of light from beyond the windows illuminated her in white. A hard crack of thunder followed.

Eleanor dashed the dust from her skirt. “Let us go find her downstairs. Then we can all have tea and congratulate ourselves for being inside during this storm.”

“I like the way you think so positively.” Fanny linked their arms. “I absolutely abhor dark and gloomy people. And dark and gloomy houses. I loathe visiting Grandfather, though I am deeply fond of him. But Robin likes to make certain he’s well. As I have nothing else to do, I come too.”

They walked companionably to the landing, and Eleanor liked Fanny’s arm in hers. It reminded her of time with her sisters. Arabella would like Fanny. Ravenna too.

“It’s really extraordinarily tedious being a widow, Eleanor.” Fanny sighed. “I should much rather be married, with children to spoil and a husband to amuse. Bath—that is where we live now, you know—Bath is horridly unfashionable these days, filled with rheumatic people drinking the wretched waters and being generally crotchety.” She laughed. “But I like gossip and there’s plenty of that.” She squeezed Eleanor’s arm. “Oh, I do like you, Eleanor. When my tongue trips along like it always does, you don’t make me feel in the least bit foolish. I think you are quiet by nature.”

Quiet, bookish, and with too many thoughts. While Fanny, like her brother, was entirely charming. Sitting beside her at dinner the night before, Taliesin had certainly seemed charmed. Every time Eleanor had looked at him, he’d been speaking with Fanny.

As they stepped onto the creaking wooden planks of the foyer, the front door flew wide. Mr. Prince entered in a gust of rain and wind. He struggled to shut the door against the wind, shook his coat, and came to them across the foyer.

“Henrietta has returned, I trust? Without her horse?”

Fanny went to her brother and took his dripping hat. “What do you mean, without her horse?”

“She cannot possibly be out in this storm. Yet her horse is not in the stable. Has she returned on foot? Perhaps she lost hold of the animal somehow. That little mare’s temperament is flighty.”

“Oh, dear. Henrietta is not here. We haven’t seen her since breakfast.” Fanny hurried to the corridor. “Mr. Fiddle!”

Mr. Fiddle, Betsy, and the housemaid were all questioned. Only Betsy had seen Henrietta.

“Having a right close chat with that stable boy this morning, she was, sir.”

“Perhaps he recommended a new trail for her and she simply got lost.” Donning his hat again, Mr. Prince went out the door in a swirl of rain.

“Eleanor,” Fanny said, her voice tight, “do you think she is stranded in the midst of this horrid storm?”

Eleanor grasped her hand. “Your brother will find her. You mustn’t worry.”

Mr. Prince returned shortly. “The stable boy is gone. The pony too. I suspect he and Henrietta are holed up in a farmer’s cottage waiting out the storm.”

“What if they aren’t? The ford overflows during a storm, Robin.” Fanny’s brows twisted. “What if they tried to cross it and met with misfortune?”

“Now, Fanny, you mustn’t imagine the worst.” But his mouth was tight. “We will wait, and when the rain lets up I will ride out again. Has Wolfe returned? I should like his assistance in this.”

“That
gentleman is not in the house,” Betsy said with an arch sniff.

Mr. Prince and Fanny exchanged glances. “Well,” he said, “let us all go into the drawing room. Tea will restore our spirits. Fiddle?”

An hour passed before the storm abated enough so that Mr. Prince could again take his horse into the rain. From the drawing room window, Eleanor and Fanny watched him ride to the gate. Another horseman appeared there in the rain. They spoke, and then Mr. Prince rode to the front door and leaped down from his mount. Fanny ran into the foyer to pull the door wide.

“She is safe,” Mr. Prince said upon a heavy exhalation.

“Oh! Thank heaven! Who was that man, Robin? Where did he come from?”

“Wolfe’s house. It seems that Henrietta took herself farther from Drearcliffe than she intended. She became lost trying to find her way home. Wolfe came upon her, and as the storm was breaking and they were closer to Kitharan than here, he brought her there.” He turned to Eleanor. “Neither of you mentioned that he was my grandfather’s neighbor, Miss Caulfield.”

“In truth, I did not know it until this moment.”

“Ah!” Fanny said with a delighted clap of her hands. “A man of mystery. I like that. And now he is a hero too. I am immensely relieved Henrietta is safe. As soon as the rain abates, we will drive over there and collect her.”

“That won’t be possible today.” Mr. Prince’s brow was sober. “The ford has overflowed. The fellow Wolfe sent over said he was obliged to ride all the way to the footbridge to cross the river, and it was a hairy business. We must wait until tomorrow when the river has quieted.”

“What about on horseback? You could ride over and bring her back.”

“It will be dusk within an hour. Henrietta is safe. Tomorrow will be soon enough to bring her home.”

“Robin. Our sister cannot stay overnight in the home of an unmarried man. She will be ruined.”

“Fanny, we haven’t a choice in the matter. No one will know of it but us,” he said with a deep frown. “If Wolfe is a man of honor, he will tell no one. And I suspect Miss Caulfield won’t either.”

“The servants will talk,” Fanny said. “You know they will. The news will spread to Gillie that our sister spent an unchaperoned night with a man, then it will spread farther. She will be barred from every polite drawing room in London before we even reach town this spring.”

“As there is nothing to be done about it at present,” he said shortly, “I suggest you try to calm yourself and tomorrow we will make the best of it.” Removing his gloves seemed to steady him. “Miss Caulfield, I understand that Mr. Wolfe is well known to your family. They must trust him to have allowed you to make this journey with his escort alone.”

She tried to breathe. Succeeded only marginally. “They do.”

“There it is, Fanny. We must trust in his honor and hope that, if it comes to it, he will do the right thing by Henrietta. Now, I am soaked to the core and must change my clothing. I will meet you shortly for dinner.”