Prince of Ravenscar (Sherbrooke Brides 11)

Long, strong legs. He wanted to see her legs, the whole length of them, wanted to kiss them, draw them around his flanks.

“Julian, what is wrong with you? Why are you looking at me that way? Why do you want to know if I walk a lot? Come, let me see your father’s note to you.”

He settled the saddle on Cannon’s broad back, not looking at her. “My father must have been long lapsed into his dotage when he devised this elaborate word puzzle. I fear it is a story spun by his aged brain.”

“Your mother said your father was lucid until he closed his eyes in death. May I copy the letter for you?”

He gave one last yank to the saddle girth, swatted Cannon’s neck when he turned to nip him, and said, “Come, Sophie, do you honestly believe there is something hidden away for me—something magic that didn’t work for my father but will for me if my brain is tuned to it? And what does ‘tuned’ mean?”

“Yes, I believe there is a hidden ring. Magic? We will see when we find it.” She held out her hand. “I will copy it.” He handed her the small square of paper.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m meeting Devlin at the Brazen Crow in Ravenscar Village. It has been owned and run by Mrs. Casper for thirty years.”

“May I come with you? I haven’t seen the village yet.”

Julian smiled at her. “No, not this time. It is none of your affair. Both of us will be back soon enough.” He frowned. “Keep yourself safe, and my father’s note as well.” He swung onto Cannon’s back and was gone.

Safe? What was the matter?

She walked thoughtfully back to the house to climb the wide stone steps, glistening like soft gold in the morning light, the night’s storm gone by dawn, the old duke’s letter in her hand.

She passed Pouffer, who gave her an absent bow, muttering to himself all the while. She smiled at Tansy, who held a pressed gown over her arm, and nodded to two maids and to a footman dressed in Ravenscar’s colors—royal blue and gold.

She went up the wide staircase, down the long corridor to her bedchamber, only to stop at the sound of two women’s voices—Roxanne and Leah. If God himself had ordered her to keep walking, she doubted she could have done it.

She pressed her ear to the crack in the doorway. She heard Roxanne say, “I hope you slept well, Leah.”

“Naturally. Why should I not have slept well?” And she began humming to herself. “Isn’t it a lovely day, Roxanne? Would you look at that brilliant sunlight pouring through the windows? Richard and I are having a picnic beside the river. The sun is so brilliant it should dry the ground quickly, so Richard tells me. I believe he is speaking with Mrs. Coltrak at this very moment. He told me she’ll make us a wonderful lunch, since she always liked him, even as a little boy.” She picked up her skirts and began twirling around her bedchamber.

Better to spit it out. “I must speak with you, Leah.”

Leah stopped twirling, turned, and eyed her sister, her younger sister, with that roof thatch of common red hair piled atop her head that most people were stupid enough to admire. “What do you have to say, Roxanne?”

“I know about you and Richard Langworth. I know he was with you last night.”

A lovely blond brow shot upward. “I don’t know how you know about Richard and me last night, but I don’t really care. It is none of your business. Don’t you dare turn up your common little prude’s nose at me! I am a widow, unlike you, who will probably remain a virgin until you die. Unlike you, I have no father to order me about. I am independent; I can do exactly as I please.”

Meaty insults, every one of them, but that wasn’t important. Roxanne said calmly, “Father has never ordered me around. He never ordered you around, either.”

“He certainly didn’t want you to leave, did he? I know how he drove away John Singleton. He wanted to keep you under his thumb, and you, you weak little ninny, you cast off the only man who wanted you.”

Defensive words nearly popped right out of Roxanne’s mouth. No, it was absurd to argue with Leah. It wouldn’t gain her anything at all. She said calmly, “It’s very possible Richard Langworth is using you, Leah, to get to Julian. You know he believes Julian murdered Lily. I had to tell you. There was no choice.”

Leah merely shrugged. “Julian very probably did murder her, why not? Richard disagrees with me, but I believe Lily did have a lover. Richard has told me Julian has always been very possessive of anything he sees as his. He would certainly see Lily as belonging to him. Julian wouldn’t tolerate a lover, and so he shot his wife dead.”

“You are wrong about that, Leah. Lily had no lover. No one believes she did, because there was no other man about to fill the role. Not a single one.”

The sneer in Leah’s voice matched the sneer on her mouth. “Both you and Sophie, you think Julian a hero. He is only a man, as they are all only men. And tell me, how would Julian be so certain she had no lover? Few men see what is under their noses. Precious Julian didn’t, either. What is this? You want Julian? You want a murderer? Beware, Roxanne, if he murdered one wife, he could easily murder another. He got away with it, after all.”

“Julian is not a murderer.”

Leah laughed. “So his wife killed herself? A stranger wandered into the Hardcross gardens and shot her? Why, I ask you? She was so miserable she killed herself to escape her husband? Any possible explanation is unsavory, isn’t it? Go away, Roxanne. You bore me with your pathetic defense.”

“Richard is using you, I tell you, Leah. He has this obsession with Julian; i

t consumes him. He would do anything to get back at him. Do you know Richard tried to kill him in London? When you were there?”