The Devil Earl

by Deborah Simmons

  “Of course, some people have the opposite complaint and need help seeing long distances,” Martin said. “Are you having trouble with your eyes, my lord?”

  Sebastian choked on a bitter laugh. “No. Not my eyes, Martin.” Just every other damned part of him.

  Bidding a sharp goodbye to his steward, Sebastian walked up to the main rooms, his feet dragging when he reached the familiar apartments. His uncle’s furnishings, the lacquered cabinets and elaborately carved tables that had always seemed satisfactory, now appeared garish and uncomfortable, more suited to an expensive brothel than to a home.

  He could not picture Prudence here.

  Sebastian’s heart pounded painfully as he realized the significance of his statement. Prudence never would be here, but for once in his life, he saw that as all to the good. She did not belong here.

  “My lord?” His butler’s puzzled voice broke through the turmoil that had seized him.

  “Yes, Burroughs?” he asked. He turned toward the servant, as if for salvation, but no warmth was to be had there. Too late he remembered that he had hired Burroughs because of the man’s amusingly stiff neck. He had never seen his butler crack a smile, nor utter a nice word. Two of a kind, they had always been…

  “I heard that you were home, my lord, but since I did not see you enter…” Burroughs paused, glancing about as if he suspected Sebastian of having several females secreted about his person.

  “I am alone, Burroughs,” Sebastian said coldly.

  “Alone? Very good, my lord,” the butler said. He took Sebastian’s gloves and hat and waited expectantly.

  “I am going to bed,” Sebastian said.

  “Bed?” the butler asked, glancing swiftly at the ormolu clock.

  “Bed,” Sebastian repeated.

  Burroughs looked stunned. “Are you ill, my lord?”

  “No.”

  “But it is not yet ten o’clock,” the butler protested.

  “Correct,” Sebastian said, tiring of this game. “And I am going to bed. Alone.” He ignored Burroughs’s puzzled look and stalked toward the stairs. Maybe sleep would still the riot that had erupted inside him. He could only hope that, when he awoke tomorrow, he would be dead again.

  He was not. The first thing that crossed Sebastian’s mind the next day was how it would feel to wake up with Prudence beside him, all dazed and sleepy-eyed without her glasses. Without her clothes.

  Cursing, he sat up in bed and rubbed a palm across his chin. Sunlight peeked around the edges of the heavy draperies like a stranger afraid to come in. How long had it been since he had awakened in the morning, reasonably refreshed? The answer cut through him like a knife. Not since his bucolic youth in Yorkshire—before Otho had groomed him to inherit the title and the doomed mantle of the Ravenscars.

  Memories that Sebastian had thought long buried rushed up to greet him like souls on Judgment Day. Simple pleasures returned to taunt him, such as sunshine and hay mows and tall trees that were challenging to climb, and fishing and hunting, without the trappings of his class. Flowers. The smell of the dew. Fresh, clean, innocent wonders.

  Good God.

  Sebastian struggled with himself for a long moment before surrendering. Then, for the first time in years beyond counting, he abandoned his jaded veneer, the accoutrements of his uncle’s sophistication, and remembered. He dug deep inside himself to find who he had been then, to find his hopes, his dreams, his joys and sorrows. He saw his mother before she had died of disappointment in her firstborn, and he asked her forgiveness. And when he finally returned to the present, Sebastian left a trail of tears behind—both for the innocent boy that he had been and for James. He sorely missed them both.

  Chapter Eleven

  Prudence caught her breath and felt a painful tug in her chest that had nothing to do with her lungs. She had not expected to see him here, so tall, so elegant and so in command, filling the dim salon with his larger-than-life presence. Like her deepest desires come to life, the earl of Ravenscar stood dark and silent and aloof, a menacing figure well befitting his reputation.

  It had been two long weeks since their last meeting, and though she had sent round a note begging for a reconciliation between them, Prudence had received naught but a curt reply. It had said that he would not be in London long enough to pursue their acquaintance. Apologies and good wishes were included, impersonally. The end.

  There were rumors, of course. Ravenscar seemed to produce them as effortlessly as other men sneezed. This time, the talk was that he was selling his town house and moving to a foreign land. Venice, perhaps, or some sultry island in the Indies, Prudence thought, her heart picking up speed. Already, she was concocting exotic locales for him and wishing…wishing that she could join him there.

  Prudence smiled ruefully, for she needed no special setting in which Ravenscar might work his magic. No matter where they were, he took her to places she had never been and made her feel things she had never imagined.

  And she had thought never to see him again.

  Inwardly, Prudence blessed Lord Raleigh, who had urged her so strongly to attend this small gathering at his parents’ residence. She had imagined a scholarly crowd, a group interested in her writing, composed mostly of older people, with a few of Raleigh’s young friends thrown in. Hugh, who had insisted she bring him along, was a given, but she had never hoped for Ravenscar.

  Prudence had schooled herself to accept his abrupt exit from her small sphere without regret. It was a difficult task at best, and yet what hold could she claim upon the earl? The deep kinship she felt with him must surely be all her own doing, for what would a man like that see in her? As Hugh had told her often enough, Ravenscar had been amusing himself at her expense. That was all. And yet… now that he was here, only a heartbeat away, Prudence found that hard to believe. It came over her quickly, the strange exhilaration that flooded her at the sight of him, and she welcomed it as one who has been too long denied her lifeblood.

  At that moment, Ravenscar lifted his head and turned toward her, just as though he had sensed her presence, alone with him in the shadowy room. Prudence shivered in response, anticipation sizzling through her. His steely gaze found hers, and in his face she read surprise, followed by a longing that stunned her with its strength. Then it was gone, so swiftly that she might have produced it out of her own fevered imaginings, and in its stead was the harsh expression to which she had become accustomed.

  Prudence knew him well enough not to be disappointed. For an instant, she suspected that he was not even going to acknowledge her, but, though he glanced toward the door, as if seeking that escape, he held his ground.

  “My lord,” she said softly, suddenly assailed by the memory of another time, another place, they had shared. Although its white-and-gilt decor differed drastically from Lady Buckingham’s library, the salon was dimly lit and relatively secluded.

  As if his thoughts traveled in tandem with hers, Ravenscar cast a glance around the cozy setting. “Prudence. What are you doing here…alone?”

  “Lord Raleigh suggested that I might be interested in the first editions he has collected here,” she answered. Smiling tentatively, she lifted the book she held in her hand as evidence.

  “So he left you here by yourself, did he?” Ravenscar asked. His tone conveyed a bitter mockery that Prudence could not understand. “How surprising, when he knows that I often find solace here myself.”

  Prudence furrowed her brow and adjusted her glasses. “Are you suggesting, my lord, that the viscount conspired to throw us together?”

  “Perhaps,” Ravenscar drawled softly. For some reason, the word and its implications sent a quiver tingling up her spine.

  “But, why?” Prudence asked. Her voice, try as she might to keep it steady, gave away her awareness of her companion in its breathy reply.

  “Why, indeed?” he asked, flashing her a brief, wicked grin that harked back to his reputation.

  The Devil Earl.

  Prudence cleared her
throat and turned to replace the volume she had been studying. She refused to succumb to his charms when he put on that mantle, playing a role that he thought others expected, but Ravenscar moved silently and swiftly, coming up behind her just as she pushed the spine back into its place upon the shelf.

  “I suppose that, since he is our host, I really must oblige him, and my newly resuscitated conscience be damned,” he said.

  “Whatever do you mean, my lord?” Prudence asked, her words faltering at the nearness of him. Her hand still poised over the books, she was unsure what to do or where to go. In front of her were the shelves. Behind her, the earl loomed so close that she could feel the heat from his tall body and the brush of his breath against her hair.

  “This is what I mean, dear Prudence,” he said, and before she could understand what he was about, Prudence felt his finger on her shoulder, touching her…She held her breath while he tugged down the puffed sleeve of her evening gown, very slowly, exposing her flesh to the air, and then to the warm, moist touch of his mouth.

  The shock of his lips against her skin made her dizzy, but Prudence could not summon the will to protest. As her senses clamored to life, he trailed kisses from the edge of her dress to her throat. When she felt his lips upon her nape, beneath her upswept hair, Prudence felt as if every nerve in her being was centered there.

  Although her heart hammered faster than ever, its life force did not seem able to sustain her limbs, and she sagged back toward Ravenscar’s tall form. Heat enveloped her immediately. Strong hands encircled her waist, holding her upright against the hard, masculine body behind her.

  “By God, how I want you!” he whispered.

  Prudence felt faint from the force of his seductive words. She longed to turn into his embrace, but the doubts planted by Hugh in the past weeks had taken root. By his own admission, Sebastian had seduced countless women. Why, then, would he desire her?

  “Nonsense,” Prudence protested weakly. “I am…I am far from attractive, my lord.”

  “Prudence! Are you being coy?” He teased her with his voice, even as his lips teased her throat, and she felt that bond between them, as if they were old friends but newly met again.

  “No! I am simply being honest, my lord. I am well aware of both my talents and my…deficiencies.”

  “Ah…” he drawled softly. “And what deficienties are these?”

  “Well, I…” Prudence took a deep breath. “For one, I am too tall—”

  Sebastian cut her off with a low sound of disagreement. “Ridiculous,” he said. “You fit me perfectly, dear Prudence, as if you were made for me.”

  “My coloring is too sallow,” Prudence said, echoing what she had heard Mrs. Bates remark many times.

  “Sallow?” he scoffed. “I have no liking for ghostly women with no blood in them. Your skin, on the other hand, is so smooth and golden that I am tempted to take a bite of it.”

  Prudence felt his teeth gently nip her shoulder, and she well understood just how he had conquered those innumerable women. “My hair is not as blond as is fashionable.”

  “Pru, Pru,” he scolded in a husky voice. “I have no use for fashion. Your hair is as beautiful as your skin, and, by God, I would like to run my hands through it.” She felt his breath against her nape, heard the urgency in his tone, and knew it to be as real as her own. Still, she struggled with her more practical leanings.

  “My mouth-”

  “Is lush, and made for mine.”

  “My figure-”

  “Is perfection. Do you know how often I have thought about your slender body and your long legs wrapping around me? Your trim waist,” Ravenscar noted, squeezing it slightly. “Beguiling hips and flat stomach,” he added, lightly caressing the areas under discussion. “And your breasts…” He lingered over the word, and Prudence felt a rush of warmth at the mention of so personal a feature. “They will comfortably fit my hands.”

  As he spoke, Ravenscar’s palms moved slowly upward, in the lightest of strokes, and the unfamiliar intimacy fired her senses so dramatically that Prudence no longer felt in command of herself. Although Sebastian’s touch barely grazed her, she felt his possession clear down to her bones. When he brushed against her nipples, she shivered uncontrollably.

  “But Phoebe—” she began.

  Ravenscar cut her off with a low laugh that tickled her ear. “Phoebe! Your sister’s charms are fine for the likes of James, but Prudence, dear perceptive Prudence, do you really think I could prefer such a one to you?”

  Unable to answer, because his hands were continuing their exotic journey up and down her body, Prudence could barely conjure up a strangled sound from deep in her throat. And still, Ravenscar stroked her with his fingers and his voice.

  “She is a pretty doll, while you are something else entirely,” he whispered. “Clever and gentle, bold and intriguing. And passionate. So passionate. By God, you have brought a dead man back to life! Never doubt that I want you, Prudence, and only you.”

  “My lord!” Prudence managed to protest when she could speak.

  “Sebastian,” he mouthed into her ear.

  “Sebastian,” she echoed faintly. “My cousin says you have been toying with me, to take revenge for my book, perhaps.”

  Finally, something she said affected him, for Prudence felt him still behind her. “And what do you think?” he asked softly, his tone strained and serious.

  Prudence’s chest constricted. Of course he would assume she believed the worst of him, because he believed the worst of himself. Silently, Prudence told Hugh and the rest of the world to go hang, for she was, and had always been, certain of Sebastian in her own heart. She could feel his need as if it were a part of her, and the sensation filled her with brave abandon.

  “I am at the point where your motivation matters very little to me,” she replied, quite frankly. “What you are doing is too wonderful, by far, for me to question you!”

  Sebastian chuckled softly. It was a rich, erotic sound that both made her smile and sent desire throbbing through her blood. He kissed her ear, his tongue snaking out to trace its patterns, and she quivered helplessly in response. He resumed his caresses, but now his hands were bolder, his strokes heavier, as if he would put his mark upon her body with his touch.

  Prudence felt herself drifting upon waves of sensations, where nothing existed but Sebastian and his hot whispers, his mouth and the pressure of his palms. They were more potent than any spell she had ever imagined her dark villains working on an unwilling maid, and she was far from unwilling. Aching with want for something she could not have named, Prudence let her body speak for her. Arching her back, she pushed her chest into Sebastian’s palms and felt his hands close over her breasts.

  “Oh, my!” she murmured.

  “Yes. Oh, my!” Sebastian replied, in a husky voice. His words held wicked delight, along with something deeper and more poignant, but Prudence was too dazed to probe for meaning. She felt as if the earth had tilted crazily, plunging her into that world she shared only with Sebastian, a world full of mystery and excitement, of unknown adventures and untapped desires.

  Convulsively Prudence curled and uncurled her fingers, searching for purchase, until, as if sensing her distress, Sebastian lifted her arms and settled her hands behind his neck. The vulnerable position made her tremble, for it seemed as if she could do nothing but surrender helplessly to the earl’s dark passions.

  Sebastian, too, seemed affected, for he cupped her upthrust breasts with renewed urgency. His lips were hot and wet upon her throat as he kneaded her, his thumbs flicking against her nipples until they were hard and pointed. His teeth grazed her shoulder, biting her softly, and Prudence cried out in surprised pleasure.

  He groaned then, the low sound conveying his growing impatience, and Prudence knew an answering insistence thrumming in her veins. Sebastian drew her tighter against him, and she felt something rigid pressing into the small of her back. She shivered, unaware of its source, but yielding to some ancient
instinct that beckoned her closer. The sound of Sebastian’s erratic breathing spurred her own, and she whimpered, wanting something…

  “Prudence, dear Prudence,” he whispered, as if in answer, and she felt his fingers tugging at her bodice before they moved inside to close over her bare breast. He had removed his gloves, and the heat of his skin against hers fired her very being.

  “Oh, my!” she said in soft surprise.

  “Yes. Do you like that?” Sebastian asked, his voice a low caress. His other hand slid lower, to the juncture of her thighs, and he cupped her there, his palm pressing against her, and Prudence reeled in astonishment at the life that surged to that heretofore ignored part of her anatomy.

  Without wondering why or how he had managed such magic, Prudence surrendered herself to his will. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to nothing but sensation: his thumb rubbing her nipple, his fingers, hot through the thin material of her gown, stroking between her legs, his mouth moving demandingly over her throat, and the hardness that pressed more firmly into her back.

  “Ah…” He sucked in a long, unsteady breath, and she waited, wanting…something…while he shifted behind her, lifting her so that her buttocks was pushed against his thighs and the strange hard ridge was nestled between her cheeks.

  He made a noise, somewhere between a groan and a fierce growl of pleasure, and Prudence realized that she was moaning desperately herself. Pleasure was growing like an exotic pressure inside her, caught as she was between Sebastian and the hands with which he held her close. His warmth, his very essence, enveloped her, and she could only quiver helplessly under his ministrations.

  Through a haze of desire, Prudence heard him catch his breath, and then, suddenly, she felt the jarring reality of the floor underneath her feet once more. She whimpered in protest when Sebastian took hold of her wrists and dragged her arms from around his neck.