Prince of Ravenscar

  He wanted to make light of it, tell her she shouldn’t listen to gossip, but he didn’t. He looked at her straight on, leaned forward, not touching her, and kissed her lightly. Then he cupped her face in his palm. “You could have died, you’re right about that. I have realized as well that I am keeping things inside me that should be spoken. I will be honest here. I was not looking for a wife. I believed myself too young, even though my parents have been hinting that it is time I set up my nursery. I liked my life, liked the way one day flowed into the next. I was happy, I was content, the days were full, usually quite pleasant—racing, gaming, loving, dancing—I sound like a worthless sot, don’t I? A man with no substance, a spoiled man who’s always played at life, never burrowed in and tried to do anything worthwhile, not like my uncle, who works very hard.

  “Let me tell you, Roxanne, Julian is a power. I think he’s that way because he was the second son, the son who never knew his father, the son who believed he had to prove himself to gain worth. But I’m probably spouting nonsense.”

  “No, it sounds very reasonable, in Julian’s case. But what is wrong with enjoying your life if you are able? You are not worthless, Devlin, you have a fine brain, and yes, you are quite honorable. I know you read a lot—so why didn’t you add that to your list of amusements? Are you ashamed to have something worthwhile in your assessment of yourself? And I have never heard you be malicious or cruel. The fact is, I think you an estimable man. And an estimable vampire. I like vampires.

  “You criticize yourself. Well, what about me? What have I ever done that has helped the world? I have been content, as well, enjoying life as much as any mortal can. But what have I done?”

  “You are a shining light,” he said simply.

  “What? What did you say?” She stared at him, but he only shook his head, a slight smile on his mouth.

  “Well, if I am indeed a shining light, I should like to know what it is I light up.”

  “You light up everyone’s life, Roxanne. You are kind and good, and you give all of yourself to those you love. I believe if you accepted me as your husband, you would be loyal to me until I left this world. You would defend me, you would honor me, not to mention you would be a wonderful mother. You would birth the future Duke of Brabante, and perhaps five sisters and brothers to keep him company.”

  Roxanne cleared her throat. “That is a lot of children, Devlin.”

  “I quite like children. Do you?”

  She nodded, mute.

  “In all fairness, to give you your just due, I shall also add that I admire your pallor. You are nearly as white as I am. You are the vampire’s perfect mate.”

  Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. He laughed, lightly kissed her. He felt the leap of pleasure in her, felt her leaning into him, but he couldn’t allow it, not yet.

  “About my mistresses,” he began.

  “Yes,” Roxanne said, leaning away from him. “About your mistresses.”

  55

  He sat back again on his elbows. He looked out over the water. “Do you know I found one of my many mistresses in an alley, huddled in refuse, unconscious, nearly dead? Her name was Madelyn, she was thirty-two years old, she’d lost her baby, and she wanted to die.”

  She could but stare at him. “What did you do?”

  “I was afraid she would bleed to death. I carried her home with me, fetched my physician, and cared for her. She did not speak for nearly two weeks. When she finally spoke, she said very clearly, ‘I wish you had let me die.’ She turned her face away from me and refused to say anything more.

  “I didn’t know what to do, so I simply let her be, instructed my housekeeper, Mrs. Sampson, to stick close to her, but Mrs. Sampson did more than that. She fetched a needle and thread and a large swatch of fine muslin and left it on a chair beside her bed.

  “When I came to visit her two days later, she was sitting in a chair, wearing one of my dressing gowns, and she was humming as she sewed a gown. Beautiful stitching, I saw.” He paused, looked at Roxanne, smiled. “Her full name is Madelyn Halifax. She’d been a seamstress who was raped by some toughs who broke into the shop when she was there working alone. Her employer blamed her, dismissed her without a reference, something that commonly happens, I am told, but who could do such a thing? She survived only to lose her babe, and so she chose to bleed to death in an alley.”

  “She isn’t your mistress, Devlin.”

  “No, of course not. She is a seamstress again, owns her own shop on Bramble Lane, off Bond Street. She sews all my shirts. She is quite excellent. I, well, I am very proud of her. What’s even better is that she’s forgiven herself—for what, I asked her, and she said, ‘I should have killed myself after he raped me once, but I was selfish and wanted to live.’ I grabbed her, held her head under water in the bedside basin for a moment, then lifted her out, shook her, and told her not to be a damned idiot. Do you know she laughed? She actually laughed.”

  It was in that moment Roxanne realized how much she loved this man, loved him so much she wanted to both cry and sing. She also realized what she felt for him bore little resemblance to the tepid feelings she’d had for the long-ago John Singleton. “So that is one supposed mistress down. Tell me about the others, or are they really not your mistresses at all, and this is all a fiction you’ve created to gain you other men’s esteem and keep people from realizing what an excellent man you are?”

  “I am not a saint, Roxanne. I have always loved women, loved to smell them, loved to touch them, and—well, never mind.

  “I am not a philanderer. I have been with these two women for nearly five years now. They enjoy me, they tell me, as much as I enjoy them. They don’t wish to be married, either of them, but they enjoy having me in their lives. They are friends, and we enjoy ourselves together.”

  “In bed.”

  He nodded. “And out of it.”

  She slowly got to her feet, smoothed down her skirts. “The wind is rising. Do you think it will storm?”

  He leapt to his feet as well. “I asked you to marry me, yet you want to talk about the storm? What of all your fine words about spitting out what you felt rather than keeping it inside you?”

  “This is quite different.”

  He grabbed her arms, shook her. “I have spilled my innards to you as I have to no other woman in my adult life. But now you wish to ignore me and talk about the coming storm? A bloody coming storm?” He shook her again.

  She took his face between her palms and kissed him, a loud smacking kiss. “Ah, Devlin, I find you delightful. No, I have no wish to talk about the storm, but to be honest here, I am afraid about what this all means. You see, I’ve never felt like this before, and I don’t know, I simply don’t know, what to do or what to think. But there is one fact I will admit to you. I have always had a soft spot for vampires.”

  “You are a baggage. When I don’t want to throttle you, I want to kiss you.” She raised her face. He kissed her again, and this time, he didn’t stop. When he was on top of her, kissing her all over her face, as his hands tangled in her hair, she whispered, “I’m a virgin.”

  He said between kisses, “Of course you are. You’re also mine. You really do belong to me, Roxanne. Now and until I am naught more than a shadow in the corner.”

  “I hope that will be a very long time from now.” She gazed up at him, felt his strength, the hardness of him against her belly through all the petticoats, and surely that was amazing, and she couldn’t help herself, she lifted her hips.

  He groaned, closing his eyes against the immense pleasure of it.

  “I cannot share you, Devlin, even with these two women I fancy I should quite like, were you not bedding them.”

  “They shall become friends, to both of us, if you wish, and nothing more.”

  “I do not know much of anything, you will quickly come to dislike me, and you will be miserable.”

  He looked down at her beloved face. “I will enjoy teaching you endlessly throughout the years of our liv
es. Should you like your first lesson now, Roxanne?”

  “Since I am a spinster, it would be nice to get started with the business before I am any older.”

  He gave a shout of laughter and kissed her, nudging her mouth open. She felt his hand on her breast, kneading her through her gown. “I can feel you, the outline of you, but it is not enough. I want you naked. I know you will be white and soft, and your taste will make me howl at the moon.”

  “No, that is a werewolf.”

  “Be quiet. I will do my best to see that both of us howl together at the moon. The moon at midnight.”

  She raised her hand and stroked his face. “Do you know, I cannot wait to see you, and us, together.”

  Devlin realized, even though she didn’t, that the air had grown chill and the sun was now behind dark clouds. Having her naked wouldn’t be pleasant here by the river at this moment, even with lust pounding through both of them, particularly when it started to rain, as it most assuredly would at any time now. He sighed, lifted himself off her. “We must wait. I will fetch you tonight, if it pleases you. Or, if you would prefer, we can wait until we are married.” Those words nearly made him stutter, he hated speaking them so much.

  “Perhaps you are right,” she said, and he loved that she sounded so disappointed. He straightened his own clothes, then hers, patted her hair. He kissed her once more.

  “We must go.”

  As they ran hand in hand back toward Ravenscar, the rain clouds nearly upon them, Roxanne shouted, “Perhaps I shall see you at midnight, perhaps we will dance together, and I shall present you my neck.”

  They beat the storm by exactly four minutes. She said to him when he left her at her bedchamber door, “This is different, Devlin. This is forever.”

  He did not realize until he was drinking a brandy after an excellent dinner that evening with Julian that she had not agreed to marry him. He also realized he hadn’t told her he loved her. I quite like having you around. That was certainly true, but he should still be clouted. Where was his damned brain? He looked at Julian and said slowly, “I am an idiot. Impale me on a pole and throw me into the Thames at low tide.”

  Julian said, “I know this has something to do with Roxanne. Why are you an idiot?”

  “I’m not at liberty to speak of it.”

  “Of course you are. I’m your uncle.”

  Devlin balled up his napkin and threw it across the dining room. “I did not tell her I loved her. Can you believe this? I told her I liked having her around.”

  “Yes, that was remiss of you. However, you have a fluent tongue, Devlin. You will fix it.

  “Do you know, I believe Beatrice is going to have puppies? Cletus is the proud father. He is hovering over her, not letting her out of his sight.”

  “I would like two of the litter. Cletus is very possessive. He will not easily give them up. As for Beatrice, she will lick them endlessly until they have no hair at all. Do you think it reprehensible to sleep with a woman before you marry her?”

  “Yes, I fear I do.”

  Devlin cursed into his brandy. “She is eager, Julian, mayhap as eager as I. Only four nights until we have our last smuggling run—damn, it is an eternity. I am certain my mother will wish to plan an elaborate wedding. How many months will that take?”

  “Tell your mother you will wait no longer than August. Surely you can control yourself until then. After all, you do have two mistresses to ease you through it.”

  Devlin was shaking his head. “I must begin this fidelity business right now. She will make a perfect duchess, don’t you think, Julian?”

  “Yes, I do. I suggest you live at Holly Hill, Devlin, perhaps only visit Mount Burney, say, at Christmas. But don’t worry, she will deal well enough with your mother. Roxanne is made of stern stuff.”

  Devlin raised his snifter, clicked it to Julian’s. “She will enjoy putting her mark on Holly Hill. Do you know Roxanne smells of jasmine with a hint of lemon?”

  56

  Julian stared down at Orvald Manners, who still lay in endless sleep. What held him unconscious? Julian knew he would die soon if he didn’t wake up, from starvation and thirst.

  He felt his pulse, found it slow.

  “No movement of any kind?”

  Julian looked up to see Sophie standing in the doorway. “No, none. He merely lies there, like a dead man who happens still to be breathing.”

  She walked to the bed, stood silently beside him, looking down at Manners. “Do you think Richard hopes Manners will never wake up?”

  Julian sighed. “I don’t know, Richard seemed very sincere in his denial.”

  “There is no one else, Julian.”

  That was true enough. Just as there was no one else but you to kill Lily. He would have to think about this. “It is difficult to believe that even Manners had a mother who must have loved him, at least at one time.”

  Orvald Manners suddenly opened his eyes, blinked, and whispered in a scratchy voice, “I’ve a powerful thirst.”

  Sophie quickly poured him a glass of water and held it to his lips. He drank and drank until, exhausted, his head fell back against the pillow.

  “It is about time you woke up, Mr. Manners,” Julian said. “Are you hungry?”

  He was silent for a moment, and finally nodded. “Aye, I could eat a broiled eel. What’d ye call me?”

  What was this? Julian said, “Your name is Orvald Manners.”

  “Orvald, ye says? I don’t knows as I like no Orvald, sounds furin, like I’m French, or something nasty like that. Where am I? Who’s the purty young missis wot’s starin’ at me as if I ’ad two ’eads?”

  Sophie leaned over him. “I’m the purty young missis who is going to pound your head when you are well again, Mr. Manners.”

  His eyes lit up. “Oh, aye, ye’re welcome to ’ave a go at me, little one. I likes ’em feisty, leastwises I thinks I do. Are ye come to feed me?”

  After Mr. Manners had eaten his fill, not boiled eels but stargazy pie, he fell to sleep. This time, Dr. Crutchfield assured them, shaking his head at the miracle, it was a simple sleep. Whatever had held him from consciousness was gone. “Mayhap it was hearing you speak, Prince. On some level, he heard your voice and it brought him back. I daresay I can’t ask for my fee, since in all honesty, I didn’t do anything for him.”

  Julian laughed, paid Dr. Crutchfield a pound note, watching the old man’s veiny hand shake a bit as he accepted it.

  Sophie said, “Mr. Manners appears not to remember who he is. Dr. Crutchfield, do you have any experience in this sort of thing?”

  “Head wounds—you never know what mischief they will cause inside a man’s skull. Some never remember how they were injured in the first place. Some never remember anything at all. What to expect from this fellow? I don’t know. Good day to you, Prince, Miss Wilkie. I will be interested to hear what happens to the man.”

  “So will I,” Julian said, as he turned back to Sophie.

  “Devlin told me Beatrice is pregnant.”

  “Yes. This will be her first litter.”

  “What are we to do now, Julian?”

  “I fancy there isn’t a lot we can do. She will grow fat and lazy and—”

  She poked his arm.

  “All right. About which of our villains? Manners? Richard Langworth? Don’t leave out your aunt Leah, who could be lurking out in the corridor at this very moment.” Julian said to Manners’s guard, Tom, “Do not tell anyone that Mr. Manners doesn’t know who he is, all right?”

  Tom said, “You wish to confound the guilty one.”

  “That’s right.”

  Tom made a sewing motion across his mouth.

  Sophie was studying Manners’s face. “When he awakens again, I think I should question him, you know, ease him back into himself; maybe I’ll jostle loose some memories.”

  “It can’t hurt. I suppose all of us could take turns with him. But first I think Roxanne should see him. What he did to her, what she did to him, mayhap si
mply seeing her will trigger his memory. We’ll give him another hour of sleep.”

  When Roxanne stood over Orvald Manners, she didn’t think he looked particularly brutish. Indeed, he looked quite benign, lying there, light little snorts ruffling the air. The top of his head was bald, and the hair he did have was a mix of gray and brown. His skin was leathery from time spent in the sun. Well, he had been aboard Julian’s ship. He was perhaps forty years old.

  “He looks harmless, doesn’t he?”

  She touched her fingers to her clean hair, her scalp still tingly from Tansy’s famous head rub. “You know, Leah will find out about this; something this fascinating always gets out.” She lightly slapped Manners’s face. “Well, wake up, you sot, it’s time to face me.”

  He moaned, finally opening his eyes to stare up at her.

  “Would ye looks at all that beauteous ’air, purtier than any bloomin’ peacock’s feathers. Where’d ye get ’air like that, little girl?”

  “From my mother, who was a powerful witch. She taught me, her witch daughter, how to blight evil men, such as yourself. My name is Roxanne Radcliffe.”

  “That’s a powerful fancy name ye gots there; sounds kinda uppity.”

  “It is fine alliteration. It isn’t uppity at all; what it has is style.”

  “Be ye really a witch wot curses off men’s parts?”

  “Yes. You, in particular, should be worried.”

  “Why? I ain’t done nuthin’ to ye.” He frowned. “Well, ’as I?”

  Roxanne told him exactly what he’d done to her. “You smashed this sweet-smelling cloth over my mouth, then once I was unconscious, you took me to this ancient old barn; you were told to take me there by the man who hired you to kidnap me. You were going to rape me.” Manners listened with an air of great concentration. Toward the end of it, despite the fact that Manners kept his face perfectly blank, as if she were reciting a wild tale to him, Roxanne realized there was a good deal of cunning behind his eyes. She paused for a moment, sighed, leaned close to his face, whispered, “Do you know, sir, you didn’t have to rape me. You scared me, and that is why I kicked you. But then I realized I acted too swiftly. I realized I quite fancied you, your wit, your charm, and wondered—” She paused, gave a delicate shudder.