Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

“It is to me,” Julian said.

Devlin laughed again, stretched his arms behind his head, and regarded his step-uncle. “Do you remember when you and I sailed to the Isle of Wight in your yacht Désirée and those drunk young men from Oxford plowed into us?”

“I do, although they were about your age, as I recall.”

“Possibly, but I was more mature, more governed in my habits. In any case, do you remember that one very young girl we saved when she got tossed overboard?”

“I remember. What was her name?”

“Giselle, quite French, she told me, as she coughed up water all over my shirt, like your French Sophie.”

“What happened to her? You never said in your letters.”

“Ah, I brought her to London. We quite enjoyed each other for a time. She is now in Plymouth, I believe.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “Trust you to save a girl and take her to bed.”

Devlin said in his world-weary voice, “Do tell me your point, old boy.”

Julian laughed, couldn’t help himself. Three years had made a difference in his half-nephew. Devlin was more sophisticated, he supposed, much more confident, at ease in his world. He realized he loved his half-nephew and quite enjoyed his vampire affectation. How strange life was, he thought. Julian’s very old father had married his very young mother, produced him, and he’d instantly become the half-uncle to the future Duke of Brabante. As for Devlin’s mother—the evil witch Lorelei, according to Julian’s mother—he found her amusing and blessedly predictable in her bone-deep dislike of him. He said to Devlin, “I daresay she considered you a fine protector.”

Devlin said, “It is always quite nice when there is only a question of recompense involved between a man and a woman. Now I will take you to my tailor and boot maker. You are in grave need of polishing up, Julian, before you meet this Sophie, spelled in the French way.”

5

London

Radcliffe Town House

16 Lemington Square

Roxanne Radcliffe bounded out of her chair when her niece, Sophie Wilkie, appeared in the doorway to the drawing room.

“My dear girl, you are hours late. I’ve been so worried!”

Sophie tossed her cloak to Mint, the Radcliffe butler, whose mouth pinched at such careless behavior in a young lady. He’d traveled from Allegra Hall with Miss Roxanne to attend her during her upcoming travails in this huge city that was a cesspit of both wickedness and delight. He’d said to Mrs. Mifflin, the Allegra Hall housekeeper, and his occasional mistress, “I fear it will be a proper travail, what with that wild sprat, Miss Sophie, ready to turn her poor aunt’s hair gray.”

He had assured Lord Roche that he would protect Miss Roxanne with his life. He recalled Lord Roche had nodded gravely and thanked him. He did not know, however, that Lord Roche was quite certain that if such an unlikely occasion should arise, it would be Roxanne to protect Mint, who was of a very modest size, unlike his mistress. Mint watched Miss Roxanne skip like a wild sprat herself to Miss Sophie and embrace her.

“Oh, goodness,” Sophie said, “I forgot how wonderful you smell. What is it? Jasmine with a hint of lemon?”

Roxanne laughed. “Yes, a hint. What delayed you?”

“A carriage wheel broke outside of Marleythorpe, but let me tell you, I quite enjoyed myself at a local inn—the Screaming Gander—drinking lemonade. Well, mayhap there was a minuscule dollop of brandy mixed in, made me shiver all the way to my toes and laugh at everything the owner, Mrs. Dolly Grange, said to me. She joined me, but I fear there was more than a dollop of brandy in her glass. Do you think Cook could prepare this sort of lemonade? No matter, ah, it is so good to see you, Roxanne. Why would a gander scream?”

“Doubtless she was being pursued by a lusty goose.”

Sophie laughed, hugged her aunt again, then danced around the Radcliffe drawing room, her full skirts a beautiful kaleidoscope of greens. She untied the ribbons beneath her chin and gently laid her very new and stylish green crepe bonnet on a chair. “It is so good to be with you. At last I am to be presented. I had wanted to be with you a fortnight ago, as you know, but my father was overset by some local matters—ah, you know how he is—”

Roxanne knew exactly how he was.

“—but that’s not important now. I’m here to dance until there are holes in my slippers, and”—she looked utterly wicked—“I can flirt and flutter my eyelashes and slay all the gentlemen within ten feet of me. What do you think?”

“I think at least fifty feet, and slaying is always a fine idea.”

Sophie blinked, laughed. “Ah, I forget. You don’t ever wish to take a husband.” She shot a look toward Mint, hovering in the doorway, her lovely pale green velvet cloak still spilling over his arm, no expression at all on his plump face. She had no doubt he was paying close attention to everything they said, and gave him a little finger wave. “Do you know, even the rain feels different in London?”

Roxanne smiled and shook her head. She said to Mint, “I know Mrs. Eldridge is at sixes and sevens, but perhaps she has some tea and cakes?”