Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

His shirt collar was open, and she saw the pulse in his neck quicken. She wa

ited, 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.”