The Devil Earl

by Deborah Simmons

  “Prudence, if we do not stop now, I will take you right here. Right now,” he said unsteadily from behind her. “I will bend you over, lift up your skirt, and bury myself inside you.”

  Bewildered and aching with want, Prudence turned in his arms. “Then do it, Sebastian, for I admit I am quite frantic!”

  “Hush, hush,” he whispered, taking her face in his hands. His thumbs gently stroked her cheeks, catching the tears of frustration that pooled against her lashes.

  “Sebastian, help me!”

  He released a long, ragged breath as his mouth curved wryly. “Pru, my dear, I am afraid that if I help you, I will lose what little control I have left.”

  “Would that be so terrible?” she whispered, laying her hands upon his chest. Underneath his silk waistcoat, she could feel his heart thundering as rapidly as her own, giving credence to his words. Yet his face was harsh and somber, as dark and unyielding as Wolfinger Abbey.

  “It would be reprehensible,” he said finally. “Dear, dear Prudence. Although you tempt me beyond endurance, I do not think I could live with myself, if I made such use of you. I have only just become more comfortable within my own skin. Do not ask me to go back.” With a bitter smile, he ran his fingers along her throat, to her shoulders, but they lingered there only a moment before sliding down her arms to entwine with her own. And then that brief touch was gone, too, as he turned away, distancing himself from her in both thought and deed.

  Prudence watched him walk away, a study in contrasts. Elegant yet menacing in the dim light, he could be both arrogant and understanding, commanding and gentle, wicked and…fine. Prudence’s heart still pounded furiously, but the ache at the center of her being had lessened, and as her head cleared, she began to realize that she had been very reckless indeed.

  The doors to the small room stood wide open, the candles casting a faint but distinct light upon Sebastian and herself. Outside, in the gallery, the sound of laughter and footsteps reminded her of the other guests, any one of whom could have come upon them when—

  Prudence flushed hotly in remembrance, and straightened her gown with trembling hands. She tucked an errant lock of hair back into place, glancing toward Sebastian questioningly, but Sebastian was not even looking in her direction. He had picked up a music box from a small side table, and the haunting strains of some half-remembered melody soon filled the air. Prudence swallowed convulsively at the sight of him, lean and dangerous, bending thoughtfully over the romantic ornament.

  She saw him absently rub his thumb against the gilt edge, and it struck her suddenly that he was a very tactile man, who wasted so much of his need to touch on objects. If only he would come out from behind the barriers he had erected and caress her with such idle affection.

  “I am selling my town house,” he said abruptly, his back to her.

  “Why?” Prudence asked, undaunted by the change from would-be lover to cool conversationalist.

  “It no longer suits me,” he replied, setting the music box gently back in its place. “I am bored with London. I thought to go back to the country for a time.”

  Prudence could not control the surge of hope that rushed through her at his words. “Wolfinger?” she asked, hardly daring to voice her desire. As soon as she spoke, he stilled, as if startled by her question, and Prudence seized upon his hesitation.

  “I would so like to see it, you know, not only in the hope of shedding some light upon James’s disappearance, but for my own selfish reasons,” she admitted.

  He turned to face her, and she went on heedlessly, unable to stop herself. “Oh, Sebastian, I have always wanted to see it! Growing up in its shadow, wondering what secrets it held…It fascinated me and, of course, served as my inspiration to begin writing.”

  His features, softened by the candlelight, or by her pleas, perhaps, nevertheless gave away nothing as he stepped toward her. Prudence held her breath as he closed in, his hands going to her shoulders as if of their own accord, and she felt his restraint like a pulse, vibrating through him.

  She knew, without a doubt, that he wanted her very much, and the knowledge made her tremble. His fingers tightened, digging into her flesh, and he made a convulsive movement, before releasing her. “You shall have it then, Pru, dearest.”

  “What?” she asked, dazzled by the promise.

  “Wolfinger. Me. Whatever you…desire.”

  “Oh, my,” Prudence whispered, as a vast array of possibilities presented themselves to her imaginative brain. The earl stepped back abruptly.

  “I am leaving Friday. Will you join me?”

  “Of course!” she replied.

  “I will call for you then,” he said, before slipping out of the room as quickly as he had come in.

  Standing there alone in the shadows of the bookcases, Prudence once again felt both stunned and dazed by what had transpired. Now that Sebastian was gone, she wondered if she had not dreamed the entire episode, conjuring him up like one of her specters, to fulfill all her fantasies.

  And yet…Cocking her head, Prudence recognized the fading melancholy music coming from the open box on the side table, and she knew that the earl had been here, working his magic upon her.

  By the time Sebastian sought out Raleigh, the viscount was half in his cups, sprawled across one of his parents’ Grecian chaise longues, flirting with Lady Bromley. Getting rid of her with a calculated glare, Sebastian took her place on a delicate Hepplewhite chair, across from his host.

  “Really, Ravenscar,” Raleigh said, slurring his words. “I can see why the females don’t go for you, when you treat ’em so shoddy. Deplorable, it is.” He hiccuped loudly.

  Sebastian carefully took a shilling from his pocket and tossed it across the space between them. It bounced once off Raleigh’s intricately embroidered waistcoat before he caught it. “What’s that for?” he asked, gazing at Sebastian curiously. “Is there a wager I’ve forgotten?”

  “No,” Sebastian said, leaning back and crossing his legs. “That is for the use of the premises. The book salon, I believe your parents call it.” He watched, expressionless, as Raleigh struggled to right himself in his seat. “It is customary, is it not, to pay the procurer a fee?”

  “Procurer? Now, wait just a minute, Ravenscar!” Raleigh said, sputtering. His elegantly shod feet hit the floor with a thump as he sat up straight, his face registering more than a little alarm.

  “Why, yes, I do believe that is the word—or is it pimp?” Sebastian asked, in a deceptively mild tone. His lips curled in satisfaction at the shocked look on the viscount’s handsome features. “What else am I to think, Raleigh, when you send her to me in my sanctuary—”

  Raleigh’s outraged gulp cut him off. “Ravenscar, you ain’t telling me that you…took the girl right there in the book salon?”

  Sebastian should have been amused at Raleigh’s horror, but the accusation was too close to the truth to be humorous. “It would not be the first time I had my way with a woman under this roof,” he said, hedging his answer to make Raleigh squirm longer.

  And squirm he did. Across Raleigh’s face paraded a wide array of emotions that made Sebastian’s rejuvenated feelings pale in comparison. The earl felt no sympathy with his victim, though; whatever guilt Raleigh suffered was well deserved. In one misguided effort, the viscount had undone all of Sebastian’s fine character-building and unleashed his host of demons upon the one woman who did not deserve them.

  For weeks, Sebastian had successfully avoided her. He had risen above himself, listened to the prompting of his resurrected conscience and left her alone. In only a few more days, he would have disappeared into Yorkshire, never to set eyes upon Prudence Lancaster again, a feat he had found both difficult and rewarding. The surprising ache that had assailed him at the thought was rather liberating, for a man who felt pain could not be dead, could he? And Sebastian had numbered himself among the walking corpses for years.

  But it was not to be that simple. His great sacrifice had come to naught when Raleig
h had coaxed him into coming tonight. For some reason, one of the few men he counted as a friend was determined to throw them together, and Sebastian had succumbed. He had given in to his baser nature, silencing the clamoring of his conscience far too easily.

  “Why did you do it, Raleigh?” he asked roughly. “You know me.”

  Raleigh, who was looking a deal more sober now, shot him a penetrating glance. Whatever the viscount saw made him relax slightly, and he leaned back against the tasseled cushions of the sofa. “You did not touch her,” he said simply.

  “The devil I didn’t!” Sebastian snarled, with far more feeling than he intended. “She is deuced lucky that I did not throw her skirts over her head right in front of your literary guests.”

  “But you didn’t,” Raleigh said, smiling.

  “You are drunk,” Sebastian said, in exasperation. Obviously, he was wasting his time trying to get an answer. Undoubtedly, the whole thing had been some pointless prank of Raleigh’s, a bit of entertainment to dispel the ennui in which all their lives were mired.

  “You like her,” Raleigh said, the idiotic smile lingering on his besotted countenance.

  “Well enough not to throw her at the head of someone like me! Have you gone daft, man? Or was it some jest of yours to play the pimp?” Sebastian asked in a low voice. He could feel a rush of unreasoning anger as he glared at Raleigh.

  Other men might have paled at Sebastian’s enmity, but the viscount only chuckled. “I prefer to think of myself as a matchmaker,” he said.

  “You? A matchmaker?” Sebastian laughed coldly. “And just when did you take on that mantle?”

  “I believe that Wycliffe was my first success. And then there was Melbourne, of course, and—”

  “Wycliffe?” Sebastian echoed in derision. “You had nothing to do with that match. Everyone knows the earl’s wife is his vicar’s daughter.”

  Raleigh shrugged, the careless gesture at odds with his penetrating look. “Believe what you will, Ravenscar, but I would know why you are acting so oddly about your authoress.”

  “She is not my authoress,” Sebastian argued. “And I am behaving no differently than I might with any other female. In short, Raleigh, I am living up to my well-deserved reputation. I hope you are pleased with what you have wrought.”

  Without another glance back at Raleigh, Sebastian rose to his feet and stalked from the room. He did not even pause when he heard Raleigh calling after him in an apologetic tone. He had to get away from the vague insinuations and perceptive eyes of the viscount. He walked, in an effort to rid himself of his anger and frustration, but even the brisk, smoky, late-spring air of London did nothing to dispel his mood.

  As much as Sebastian wanted to disagree with Raleigh’s assessment, he knew, bone-deep, that his relationship with Prudence was different. He had spent the past several years in a perpetual state of boredom, his so-called conquests as meaningless as everything in his life, the pursuit itself only mildly more interesting than the sexual act. In short, he had seen it all and done nearly all of it himself, increasingly taking little or no pleasure in anything.

  And yet, when he thought of Prudence, he leapt to life, surging with long-dead feelings, like rage and excitement, protectiveness…and desire.

  It made little sense. Prudence Lancaster, with her ridiculous spectacles and her bookish ways, was hardly a temptress. Her figure was certainly unassuming, Sebastian reflected, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, the memory of touching her small, perfect breasts made him tense with need.

  With a low oath, Sebastian realized that he might as well give up struggling and surrender to forces that were obviously beyond his control. No matter how he tried to reason with himself or wrestle with his conscience or argue with the lady herself, their eventual union had a certain inevitability—as if he had been fated for this course since their first stormy encounter on the steps of Wolfinger.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Sebastian thought longingly of the Cornish coast, where the air smelled only of clean mist and sea foam. Picturing Prudence in the residence she so admired gave him an odd sort of satisfaction, an exhilaration he had never known.

  Ridiculous, Sebastian told himself. Although his ancestral home was not his usual site of choice, still he was planning a seduction, just as he had countless times before. The abbey, with its dark, mysterious appeal, simply added a measure to his anticipation.

  And yet…somehow Sebastian was unable to shake the feeling that something more was involved, that instead of engaging in a simple sexual encounter, his black soul was about to be redeemed at Wolfinger Abbey.

  Chapter Twelve

  Shrugging off his strange mood, Sebastian walked through the servants’ entrance, as had become his habit of late. The town house was cold and quiet, however, for the kitchen staff were abed, and only a few lights burned over sleepy footmen. Stepping over assorted trunks and the odd piece of furniture that was destined to go with him, Sebastian moved to the doorway of the room where his steward was still shuffling papers, and rested his hand against the jamb. Suddenly he wondered if the man ever slept.

  “There has been a change of plans, Martin,” he said softly.

  The steward’s arm jerked, and his head came up in surprise. “Oh, you startled me, my lord!” he muttered, obviously embarrassed.

  “I have been known to do that,” Sebastian said with a wry smile. Pausing for Martin to recover his composure, the earl glanced around the room, where crates stood waiting to be moved. “I shall not be going to Yorkshire, as yet.” If ever, he thought, surprising himself. Perhaps his destiny lay not in returning to his roots but in putting down new ones, and what more fitting place than Wolfinger, which had harbored his kind for centuries? “I have decided to go to Wolfinger, after all.”

  “But I just told them to close it up again,” Martin protested. Amused at the unusual outburst, Sebastian watched as Martin brought himself under control. The steward had good cause to be exasperated, for Sebastian had, indeed, been toying with Wolfinger’s charms for some time now.

  “I am sorry, my lord. I will send a messenger to the abbey, of course,” Martin said.

  “Do not bother. I am leaving Friday.”

  “Friday? But I can hardly get a man there in time!”

  “Do not worry yourself over it, Martin,” Sebastian said. He had never let himself become upset over such mundane details. The house would be opened and staffed as soon as possible, and that would have to do well enough. Pulling away from the door, he suddenly stopped and rubbed a palm across his chin thoughtfully.

  Perhaps the delay could work to his advantage, Sebastian mused. He pictured Prudence standing alone in the vastness of Wolfinger, wandering the dimly lit galleries like one of her heroines, and he smiled slowly. He knew as surely as he breathed that she would love it, and in pleasing her, he knew, he would well please himself. Sebastian wrestled with an unfamiliar stab of excitement and raised an expressionless face to his steward.

  “In fact, it might be better if the house were not officially opened,” he said, ignoring Martin’s dumbfounded stare. “I will take care of all the arrangements when I get there.”

  “But, my lord, you will need quite a few servants for a residence the size of the abbey. I believe that a couple are kept on retainer, and some you may hire locally, but still, you will need kitchen help, maids, footmen, stablemen, grooms. I can attend to it personally, my lord,” he offered. “Some of those who were to go to Yorkshire with you may be sent to the abbey, instead, so that you need suffer no hardship.”

  Hardship! Sebastian wanted to laugh. He had grown up with no more than a cook and a day girl in the household, and had suffered nothing from it. He remembered how awed he had been by the retinue that followed his uncle, attending to Otho’s every need, yet now he had those very same people serving him, and what pleasure did he gain from it? He had become so accustomed to innumerable servants that they seemed no more than elaborate fixtures. These days, privacy was his unheard-of lu
xury, and it appealed to him suddenly.

  Unless he was to ruin Prudence totally in the eyes of her friends and neighbors in Cornwall, certain proprieties would have to be observed, but without the eyes of the staff upon them, they would definitely have more freedom. Sebastian pictured the Gothic structure practically deserted, except for Prudence and himself, and he felt himself surge to life. He remembered specific rooms, empty of all but shadows and some comfortable furnishings, that would make excellent places for an assignation with his imaginative lady.

  “No,” he said softly. “I shall go along unannounced, and I do not want anyone apprised of my whereabouts, either,” he added. “You may go on to Yorkshire and wait for me there. I do not wish to be disturbed, unless it is something to do with James.”

  Martin looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “But, surely, you wish to take your butler, your valet?” the steward sputtered.

  “No,” Sebastian said smoothly. He turned, then paused again on the threshold as something else struck him. “My butler belongs here, Martin. See if you can find him a position with the new owner. And give my valet the month off, with wages, of course,” he said, waving dismissively. Then he turned on his heel, ignoring Martin’s gasps of surprise, and strode down the dim hallway with a spring in his step.

  After only a moment’s hesitation, he took the back stairway up to his rooms, his feet moving easily over the worn wood. With a kind of heady discovery, he realized that he felt suddenly lighter, as if he were years younger, and his body buzzed with anticipation for the first time in long memory. He could not wait to get to Wolfinger.

  Prudence intended to bring up her impending journey at the breakfast table, for that was the only time she could be assured that the household might all be together. Phoebe had become fast friends with Miss Emma Sampson, a lovely young girl whose dark beauty contrasted with Phoebe’s own blond appeal, and the two seemed always to be busy together. Miss Sampson’s mother, a dainty widow, had proclaimed herself quite taken with Phoebe, and had been squiring both girls around to various functions.