Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

“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.