The Prince of Ravenscar (25 page)

“Are you going to feed them?”

Sophie shook her head. “It's a walk for these cute fellows. I've got to go to the estate room and fetch Beatrice and Hortense, unless they're with Julian, then I shall have to find him. Have you seen him?”

Roxanne frowned at her niece. Something was going on here, but what? “I believe both Devlin and Julian left to see to the Dower House.”

“What are Leah and Richard Langworth doing?”

“I fear to know.”

Not a half-hour later, when Sophie was standing near the cliff in the spaniel run, watching the spaniels chase one another around, she felt him. She didn't actually hear him over the wind, but she somehow felt him near. How very odd that was, this knowing when another was present. It occurred to her then: ten days until her first foray into smuggling. Would they spend the next ten days at Ravenscar, or would everyone wish to return to London? How would Julian manage coming back? With her?

She turned slowly, the four spaniels racing away from her to Julian. He went down on his haunches and gathered all four of them into his arms and talked to them even as they licked every bit of skin their tongues could reach. He laughed, trying to duck his head, but it was no use. Slowly, even as he continued petting them, he looked up at her.

What he saw was a woman with her back to the channel, the wind whipping her skirts about, jerking her hair out of its heavy plaits.

No,
he thought,
no,
she was too young, too innocent, she had no experience with men. Ah, his ridiculous litany. But he knew he had to keep that litany in the front of his brain—a score of years between him and Sophie. He pictured himself a doddering old man with few teeth in his mouth and little hair on his head—
my father, my bloody father
—and
he
was kissing a girl even younger than Sophie. His mother, he knew.

Their marriage had been a travesty, even though Julian wouldn't have ever drawn breath if they hadn't married. Then he heard Baron Purley's words about his father clear in his head, and his image of the doddering old man fell out of his mind to be replaced by a strong, vigorous man, fierce and proud, with a mouthful of teeth and abundant hair. But he had no face. Were there portraits of his father at Mount Burney?

“What are you thinking, Julian?”

He rose to his feet. Again, the words simply poured out of his mouth. “Baron Purley told me about my father when he was a younger man. He told me things I'd never before heard. He told me my father had great physical strength. He was known for his fairness, and he loved”—Julian swallowed—“he loved me, the baron said, loved me more than Constantine, his first son and heir. He said I would do great things. The baron said my father knew his life couldn't simply continue on forever, and it saddened him that he would never know me as a man. So he died, and I never knew him.”

Sophie said nothing until she stood only a foot from his nose. The spaniels began jumping on her until Julian ordered, “Sit, all of you!”

The spaniels sat, their tails wagging madly. Then a seagull flew close and they were off, yipping, trying to catch it.

She lightly laid her hands on his shoulders. “I am very glad you have found someone to tell you about your father. He sounds an estimable man.”

“I asked the baron to tell me all his memories of my father.”

“Why, then, don't you invite him and Vicky to dinner this evening? I should love to hear stories about your father as well. I'll wager your mother can add her own.”

“No, she can't. He died when she was your age. She knew only the old man.”

Julian took Sophie's hands and gently lifted them from his shoulders. “It will rain soon.”

“Yes. You can taste the rain in the wind. Roxanne asked me what was going on, since she said I looked different and she'd heard me humming all morning, a sure sign something was up. I wonder if I should tell her I kissed you and there were tongues involved in this kissing, and it was very fine indeed. I wonder if Roxanne has ever been kissed with tongues.”

He stared down at her, mesmerized. “She's twenty-seven. Surely she has.”

“Ladies are not like gentlemen, Julian. A lady can be one hundred and untouched, a virgin still. There are no societal dictates that allow an unmarried lady any sort of freedom at all.”

“Surely she has been kissed.”

“I do know there was a gentleman a long time ago, but her father, my grandfather, Baron Roche, discovered he wanted her money, and so Roxanne kicked him out. There hasn't been any gentleman since. I am afraid she will start wearing caps any day now.” Sophie tightened her hold on him, then gave him a brilliant smile. “There is no one about save us, Julian.” And she went on her tiptoes and kissed him, her skirts whipping madly about his legs.

The spaniels forgot the seagull and barked and leapt around them.

When Julian raised his head, he felt lust roiling thick and hot in his blood. He wanted to kiss every beautiful inch of her, listen to her moan, laugh when he kissed her toes—instead, he stood very still. Sophie lightly patted his cheek. “It will be all right, Julian, you'll see.” She whistled for the spaniels and strode like a young boy toward Ravenscar, not looking back. To Julian's surprise, his dogs left him to race after her. How had she gained their loyalty so quickly?

He walked to the cliff and looked out over the vast expanse of turbulent water.
Rain,
he thought,
any minute now.
What the devil was he going to do? He could still taste her in his mouth.

I
f Richard was surprised to see his father and sister when he escorted Leah into the drawing room early that evening, he gave no outward sign of it. He stood for a moment in the doorway, looking toward the windows, listening as the rain slapped loud against the glass, the wind whipping up in a mad fever, lashing the trees sideways. Leah, however, said, “Goodness, my lord, how very nice to see you. And such a surprise. Good evening to you, Vicky. What a dreadful night to travel.”

The baron lifted Leah's hand, lightly touched his lips to her wrist. “It was a very short trip, my dear, and the rain wasn't coming down quite so fiercely. I'm sure the horses are happy to be cozy in your stable, Julian.”

He crossed to where Corinne sat, resplendent in a black gown, Julian's beautiful pearls in three loops around her neck, and eased himself into a chair opposite her.

“We are quite a party this evening,” Corinne said, brow raised as she surveyed her guests. “Despite this hideous storm, Cook was singing, a sure sign her pickled salmon will be ambrosia.”

“I did not know you intended to visit, Father,” Richard said, his voice stark.

“Julian sent me an invitation,” the baron said easily. “Truth be told, it is rather quiet at the manor, and Vicky gave one or two very deep sighs, so I decided, despite the weather, this would be a welcome diversion.”

Richard wasn't happy, it was clear to everyone in the room. Why, Julian wondered. Had Richard intended to try to gullet him this evening, at least verbally, and now he couldn't in his father's presence? Or didn't he want his father to know he was bedding Sophie's aunt?

He heard Devlin laugh, turned to smile at him. He was talking to Vicky and Roxanne, and if Julian wasn't mistaken, it seemed Vicky bloomed under his attention. He watched Roxanne take a small step back, turn, and speak to Sophie.

He'd tried to avoid looking at her, but now he looked his fill. She looked amazing in a cream satin gown, and her breasts—no, he wouldn't remark upon her breasts. Julian turned back to the baron, drew him aside.

Pouffer appeared in the doorway, bowed to Corinne. “Dinner is served, your grace.”

The old man looked natty, Julian thought, his linen as white as Julian's, his black suit shining, his black boots a mirror. His shoulders were ramrod straight, his head thrown back. He was obviously enjoying himself immensely. Julian felt a stab of guilt. He'd been gone for three years. And Pouffer could have died. Thank God he hadn't. And now everything was different. He wasn't at all certain why it was different, but it was. This was his father's home, and now it was his, and Ravenscar deserved more than a part-time master. No, not a master, a prince. The Prince of Ravenscar. It was his kingdom. His father had ordained it so.

“I have brought you something, Julian,” Rupert said. “I had it well wrapped against our inclement weather.”

Julian smiled at the baron, his head cocked to one side.

“Come, Rupert, what did you bring Julian?” Corinne asked, coming to her feet. “Ah, I see, you wish to surprise him, to have him stew about it over dinner. Well done. Do tell me as we walk to the dining room.” The baron took her arm and led her away, his head lowered to hers.

After a dinner of excellent pickled salmon, buttered grouse, squab pie, and a mélange of peas and carrots and onions, Cook presented her own special Banbury cakes for dessert. Julian watched his guests, wondered what the baron had brought him, and kept wondering, but he knew he wouldn't ask, just as, he suspected, the baron did. Julian had always loved surprises, even as a small boy. He would never forget the morning his mother had awakened him and told him to follow her. He had skipped and run all the way to the stables, where a chestnut pony stood, eating oats from the bin. He'd never forgotten the joy that had welled up in him. Clancy had died only four years earlier, old and content. What had the baron brought him?

Everyone else at the table was also curious, and guesses abounded, but Julian offered none at all. Roxanne said thoughtfully, “Perhaps it is another spaniel, Julian. What shall you name him? Wait, the baron wouldn't have bundled him up like a package, would he?”

“No spaniel, Miss Radcliffe,” Rupert said, and toasted her with his wineglass.

Richard said, “You gave him something that belonged to Lily, perhaps? Some token for him to ponder throughout what time he has left?”

His father frowned at him. “No, I have nothing that belonged to your sister, save her small portrait.”

Vicky said, her voice firm and adult, “I think it must be one of your valued books, Father. About animal husbandry, perhaps?”

The guesses continued, the baron shaking his head with each one, a small smile playing over his mouth.

Julian held his peace until the ladies rose to leave the gentlemen to their port.

Not an instant after they'd passed out of the dining room, he rose as well. “I am ready for my surprise, sir.”

Rupert laughed. “You have been so restrained, my boy, I shan't tease you any longer. Come with me.”

Julian walked into the drawing room, nodded to the ladies, then stared as Baron Purley pointed. Hanging over the mantel was a portrait of a man. Julian's heart started to pound. It was his father, he knew it to the soles of his feet. He was young, Julian's own age. He stood tall and lean, radiating as much power as the beautiful black stallion beside him. His large hand lay on the animal's sleek neck. A wry smile played over his mouth. He was an eighteenth-century gentleman, his black hair powdered, his eyebrows as black as a sinner's dreams. He looked like a king, a magnificent being in control of everything in his universe.

Julian was his image. He walked numbly to stand in front of the portrait, simply stared up at it, saying nothing at all. He was scarcely aware that everyone had stilled; there was no sound at all now in the drawing room, as if everyone was holding his breath, waiting, watching him.

Julian swallowed. He didn't turn, merely asked, “Sir, where did this portrait come from? I have never seen it. Indeed, I have never before seen a painting of my father. He—he is a young man.”

Corinne said quietly, beside him, her hand on his forearm, “I have never seen it, either, Rupert. Oh, my, had I known him then, I should have flown through the vilest storm to get to him. Even old, he was formidable.” She paused, swallowed. “You are his image, dearest. I had not realized—” She swallowed again and turned. “Where did you get this painting, Rupert?”

“Actually, his grace gave it to me not long before he died. He said since we were close, he hoped that I would also be close to you, his son. He asked me to guard it until you were a man grown, Julian. He said that once you were a man, perhaps you would see yourself in him.

“I had forgotten it, truth be told, until I was telling you about your father. It is about time you had it, don't you think?”

Julian felt swamped with feelings so intense they were nearly unfathomable, and they ebbed and flowed through his racing blood. He turned to face the baron. He said simply, “Thank you, sir. I thank you very much.”

Corinne said, “I thank you, too, Rupert.” She threw out her arms. “Do you know, I believe this grand surprise calls for dancing. Shall we?” She raised her voice and called out, “Pouffer, we need a waltz!”

The old man must have been standing outside the door, because he was in the drawing room and seated at the pianoforte in an instant. Soon the strains of a waltz bounded throughout the room. Julian had always wondered how those arthritic old fingers made such beautiful music.

Julian found himself turning toward Sophie. She wasn't moving, merely smiling at him.

He cocked an eyebrow at her and held out his hand.

His mother looked toward him, smiling, before she accepted the baron's hand. “That was very well done of you, Rupert.”

He said, as he waltzed Corinne slowly in wide circles, barely missing Devlin and Roxanne, “Julian—the prince—is special, as his father told me he would be so long ago. Perhaps it is best I forgot the painting until now. They are of the same age, and Julian can now understand who and what his father really was when he was young.”