The Prince of Ravenscar (16 page)

“Let us go in to dinner. My ribs are rubbing against my backbone. Also, I wish to meet Corinne's protégées, one of whom I hear you are to wed.” He frowned, consulted his watch. “It is late.”

“No wedding, sir.”

The baron lifted a brow at this but said nothing more. As Julian preceded the baron out of the library, he turned. “I wish to know every single memory you have of my father.”

Rupert said, “If you wish.”

D
inner, Sophie thought later that night when she lay in bed next to a sleeping Roxanne, was a meal she would as soon forget. Richard had watched her closely, as if trying to see if there were any spots on her face. Then he watched Roxanne. He scared her to her toes.
Does he think Julian will wed one of us? And he wants to know where to focus his vengeance?

There was a light knock on the door.

There was no answer. Slowly, the door opened. Sophie felt her heart drop to her feet.

“Who is there?”

“It is I, Sophie, Corinne. I could not sleep. I do not like my bedchamber, and so I came to beg a place in your bed. I asked Barbie to sleep in my bedchamber—a strange house, you know—but alas, I quickly discovered she snores. Oh, you and Roxanne are sleeping together? How did this come about?”

“I couldn't sleep, either. I am like you, uncomfortable in a strange house. The bed is very large. The three of us will fit nicely.” Sophie lightly shoved Roxanne over to make room for the Dowager Duchess of Brabante. Sleeping next to a duchess, it boggled the mind. Her father had accused her of being too proud. Well, if he knew she shared her bed with a duchess, his eyes would surely goggle and he would change his opinion. Perhaps. Perhaps not.

When Corinne slipped in beside her, pulling the soft covers to her chin, she whispered, “Thank you. I tell you the truth, Sophie. I was lying there in that mammoth bed, all snugged in, listening to Barbie snore, when I heard something move near the windows. You know my chamber faces the front of the house, and there was a half-moon shining directly in, but I saw nothing. After I settled again, I swear to you I heard a rustling noise. I nearly choked dead with fear. Barbie never stirred, even when I bounded off the bed and thankfully remembered this was Roxanne's room.”

Corinne moved closer and whispered, “I know someone was in my bedchamber, besides snoring Barbie. It wasn't my imagination, and it wasn't a dream, for I hadn't slept yet.”

Not likely,
Sophie thought, but whispered back, her voice soothing, “The three of us should be safe together, ma'am. It must be odd, being Baron Purley, knowing his son blames Julian for Lily's death. Do you think the baron still blames him?”

“I don't know, this evening he didn't seem to. However, Rupert was always shifty; one simply never knew what was behind his eyes. Rupert was what I called a worshipper, had been since he'd been only a boy. I was told he would have followed Julian's father about like a puppy if Maximilian had allowed it, even after Rupert became Baron Purley, even after he wedded and his wife birthed a son—namely, Richard.

“My husband believed Rupert was enamored of me, which is ridiculous, let me tell you. No, it was always Maximilian who drew Rupert to him, like that proverbial moth. He had no interest in me, no, indeed, Rupert did not care a fig about me, never did, still doesn't. But he wanted what was best for Maximilian's son, and so he helped me to get through the endless chores that surround one when a husband dies.”

“I wondered why the duke spent more time at Ravenscar than at Mount Burney.”

“Ravenscar, he told me once, was in the very marrow of his bones. It was deep in his heart and brain.”

“Why do you think the baron was so drawn to the duke?”

“I don't know why Rupert loved my husband. Like a father? I don't know. It was so long ago, I was so young, and he was dead only a year and a half after I'd met him in London at my coming-out ball. It was given by my great-aunt, since my parents hadn't a sou. But with the dowry the duke gave them to marry me, they died happy, I can tell you that. Well, I suppose my cousins—their heirs—were even happier.”

Sophie sighed in the darkness. She felt Roxanne warm and unmoving on her right, Corinne on her left. She realized she felt safe. She admitted it, she was afraid of Richard Langworth and the violence in his eyes, the sneer marring his mouth, and afraid of this house, where there were too many shadows. As for the baron, he'd been nothing but charming and kind to her and Roxanne. Was he sincere in his wish to end the strife? Sophie listened to the other women's steady breathing, and closed her eyes.

Roxanne rose straight up in bed and said in a chatty voice, “How I wish Devlin could have come with us. Mayhap he'll finish that dratted business his father asked him to deal with and come to us today. He would suck Richard's blood and the bounder would fall over dead, all white and empty.” She fell back again, sound asleep.

Had someone been in Corinne's bedchamber? Sophie wondered. Should she tell Julian about it? She was on the point of crawling over Corinne to go to Julian's bedchamber, when she pictured Julian sleeping, sprawled on his back, not a stitch of clothing covering him. That brought a lovely hazy image to her mind, and she stilled, and wondered what it would be like if she—if she what? Leapt on top of him, kissed him silly, and then what? She would certainly like the answer to that question. She forced herself onto her back and stared up at the black ceiling for a good five minutes before she fell asleep.

Three bedchambers down the corridor, Julian dreamed he'd found his wife wildly kissing another man. He couldn't see the man's face in his dreams any more than he'd seen the man's face then, in the Hardcross gardens that horrendous day three years ago. Had there even been a man?

S
ir, may I ask you something?”

Baron Purley looked up from his letter to see Sophie Wilkie standing in the library doorway.
Lovely,
he thought, and felt a brief stab of envy—for Julian? He smiled at her as he rose. “Come in, Miss Wilkie. It is quite early. Have you breakfasted yet?”

“Yes, my lord. Your cook has a fine way with baked eggs.”

“It is her specialty. I trust you slept well?”

She thought of Corinne and Roxanne, both turned against her sometime during the night, and when she'd awakened, she was so stiff she creaked when she'd crawled over a still-sleeping Roxanne. “Perfectly, thank you.”

“Please sit down, Miss Wilkie.”

When he faced her across his desk, he said, “How may I help you?”

“I would like to know what you believed really happened the day Lily was killed.”

His shirt collar was open, and she saw the pulse in his neck quicken. She waited, saying nothing more.

“I do not know you, Miss Wilkie,” he said slowly. “Indeed, I do not know what place you hold in Julian's life. My son tells me Corinne wishes him to marry you. Is this true?”

“Yes, it is true.”

“Will you marry him?”

“He believes himself too old for me, sir, believes I must consider him in the way of being an older uncle in whom I should confide my girlish woes.”

The baron gave a bark of laughter. So Richard had been right. “And have you? Confided your woes to him?”

“Not yet.”

“Forgive me, but I can see Julian saying exactly that. Perhaps he is too old for you, though most would not agree. Mayhap he comes to that opinion because his father was so much older than his mother—more than fifty years between them. It renders him more sensitive than most men to the years that separate a husband and wife.”

“He is not fifty years my senior.”

“No, he most assuredly is not. So there is no question of marriage between the two of you, despite his mother's fondest wish?”

Sophie paused, shook her head. She sat forward, her hands clasped. “Sir—”

The baron sighed. “Forgive me, Miss Wilkie, but as I said in my letter to Julian, I wish to end the acrimony. Does my son? I do not know, but I will tell you truthfully, I doubt it. Richard seems even more obsessed with avenging his sister now than he did three years ago. What has changed? I do not know.”

Sophie slowly rose to her feet, leaned forward, and splayed her hands on the desktop. “You say you invited Julian here to make peace. Let me be blunt. I do not like your son, sir, there are bad things lurking in his eyes. I believe he is dangerous, primarily to Julian, perhaps also to her grace, maybe to me and Roxanne. When he looks at me, I feel he would like to throw me into your very lovely lake, a rock tied around my neck.”

“May I ask you why you came, Miss Wilkie?”

She eyed him, sitting there, so at ease, and wanted to kick him. She said easily, “I believe you must ask her grace about that, my lord,” and walked out of the library, straight to the front doors of the manor and out onto the wide, deep stone steps. It was a glorious morning, the air a bit chilly, but there was no wind to speak of, and spring flowers scented the air. She looked toward the home wood. She knew from Corinne that the lake lay just beyond. She raced back up to her bedchamber to see Roxanne standing in the middle of the room, Tansy dressing her, both quiet as mice, since Corinne still slept.

And as luck would have it, Roxanne was dressing in a riding habit. Sophie whispered to Emmy, “Me next. I wish to go riding, too.”

Thirty minutes later, both Sophie and Roxanne were at the stables, viewing the two mares the head stable lad brought out for their inspection. But Sophie was eyeing Cannon, lazily munching on oats, ignoring everything going on around him.

“I would like to ride Cannon,” she said to Bicker.

“I don't think so, miss,” Bicker said. “'E's a rare 'un, old Cannon is, can be sweet as a shorn lamb or mean as 'is lordship when the snit carries 'im into a rage.”

“Which lordship? What do you mean, snit?”

“Ah, the baron. It be jest an old expression, if ye please, miss. Ye'll not want to ride old Cannon, trust me on this.”

Roxanne watched this exchange and felt sorry for Bicker. Ten minutes later, Bicker tossed Sophie lightly onto the sidesaddle and handed her the reins. He didn't look happy. He kept looking back toward the manor. Did he want Julian to magically appear and remove Sophie from his horse's back? “Ye'ave a care now, miss, please, ye'll not kill yerself.”

“I promise I won't, Bicker. I am really a very good rider. Horses love me.”

Bicker took another look toward the manor, then turned to Roxanne. “Pigeon is a sweet'um, she'll not give ye a moment's cut-up.” He patted both Pidgeon and Cannon on their glossy necks and led them out of the stable.

“Ye young'uns 'ave a care, now!”

Roxanne grinned at him. She hadn't been a young'un for a long time now. As for Sophie, she laughed as she lightly kicked her heels into Cannon's sides. He shot forward. “Ah, your name, it is fitting,” she sang out, and waved to Roxanne. He was, she realized, being sweet as a new-shorn lamb.

When they reached the home wood, they saw several well-marked trails. When they came out of the woods some minutes later, it was to see a small meandering lake before them, blue as the sky, the water still. There was a small dock, two boats tethered to it.

“It's a beautiful morning, the water's calm, let's row out on the lake.” Roxanne was off Pigeon's back in an instant, tying her to a low-hanging maple tree branch so she could graze as she wished.

“A pity Devlin isn't here yet,” Sophie said, as she tied Cannon to a yew bush. “We could stake him out. The sun is shining very nicely. Surely it would do the trick.”

“What trick, exactly?” Roxanne asked, as she dipped an oar in the water.

Sophie said, “I don't know. Maybe he'll finally have to admit his vampireness is his jest on society.”

“If,” Roxanne said, “it is a jest,” and waggled her eyebrows.

Sophie threw a cupped hand of water at her.

Once they found their rhythm, they rowed smoothly to the middle of the lake. They brought in the oars and sat back to enjoy the quiet rocking of the boat, the sounds of the birds, the occasional silver streak of a fish rippling through the calm water.

“This is lovely,” Sophie said. “Not like that blasted house. There is so much bad feeling boiling right beneath the surface. Well, with Richard, it's all out there for anyone to see. But the baron? And the daughter, Victoria?”

“Actually, I was thinking about Corinne's noises in her bedchamber last night. Corinne isn't a wilting twit, Sophie; there was something in her bedchamber. Someone besides her and Barbie.”

“I'll wager it was Richard Langworth. He probably was looking for Julian and found her instead.”

“Richard Langworth appears to be many things, but stupid he isn't. He knows which bedchamber Julian is staying in, just as he knows which room is Corinne's and which room is mine—now ours. She could have dreamed it, I suppose, it makes sense—a strange house, and all of it on top of that delicious dinner that tasted like grated ashes in that cold, stiff, very uncomfortable company.”

Sophie said, “The baron tried to keep topics light and amusing, but it wasn't to be. Too many tangled emotions swirling about at that table. As for Victoria, like you, I asked her questions, very interested and polite I was, but she said nothing at all, or just gave me nods and an occasional yes. She never looked away from her brother and father. Do you think she was afraid Richard was going to leap over the table and try to kill Julian?”

A shout went up from the shore.

They turned to see Julian and Devlin standing on the end of the dock, waving to them.