Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

He sounded like a pompous disapproving parent. Disappointment bloomed in her, and a dollop of nice cold anger. She wanted to kick him, then she wanted to throw herself at him and take him down to the sandy cave floor. Then she didn’t know what she wanted to do, but she did know she’d make sure tongues were involved. What other sorts of things?

But it was not to be. Julian held firm. He took her hand and dragged her to the cave entrance. When they walked out into the overcast morning, rain hovering over the next rise, Sophie said, “The cave is fairly well hidden, and only a dozen feet from the river shore. I believe its destiny was to be a smuggling cave.”

He was a moron to let her be a part of his final hoorah. Her first and last adventure. She’d be safe enough, he’d make sure of that. No one knew about this cave, no one—well, Richard did, but there was no way Richard would find out what he planned. He nodded and led her to the edge of the River Horvath. “A boat can swing into the river and be here in fifteen minutes.” He looked back at the cave. If one wasn’t really looking for it, it couldn’t be seen, what with the vines hanging over the entrance and the bushes growing wildly around it. One last time, he thought, one last time.

But what if something did go wrong? No, nothing could happen. Nothing.

39

Roxanne walked into the drawing room to find Sophie seated in a wing chair, smiling. “Whatever are you so pleased about, Sophie?”

Sophie, who had Cletus and Oliver on her lap, stroking their silky, long ears, looked up. “Pleased? Well, it is a lovely day, now, isn’t it? It hasn’t begun raining yet.”

“I know you. You were humming. You’ve been humming since this morning. And now that I really look at you, I realize you look different. I can’t tell what it is about you, exactly, but—”

Sophie lifted Cletus under one arm, Oliver under the other, and rose. “Do you know, I fancy I like Ravenscar.” And its master, the prince. She gave Roxanne a brilliant smile and walked from the drawing room.

“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.”