There it was, nestled beside its taller mates, just as she’d left it. The slim red book seemed to beckon her. Anna drew it out and opened it to the title page. The print was ornate and barely readable: The Raven Prince. There was no author given. She raised her eyebrows and flipped several pages until she came to an illustration of a giant black raven, far larger than the ordinary bird. It stood on a stone wall beside a man with a long white beard and a weary expression on his face. Anna frowned. The raven’s head was tilted as if it knew something the old man didn’t, and its beak was open as though it might—
“What do you have there?”
The earl’s deep tones startled her so badly that Anna did drop the book this time. How had such a large man moved so silently? He crossed the carpet now, with no regard to the muddy tracks he left, and picked up the book at her feet. His expression went flat when he saw the cover. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
Then he looked up. “I thought I’d order tea,” he said prosaically. He tugged at the bellpull.
The big dog thrust his muzzle in his master’s free hand. Lord Swartingham scrubbed the dog’s head and turned to place the book in the drawer of his desk.
Anna cleared her throat. “I was just looking. I hope you don’t mind—”
But the earl waved her to silence as a parlor maid appeared at the door. He spoke to the maid. “Bitsy, have Cook put together a tray with some bread and tea and whatever else she has about.” He glanced at Anna, seemingly as an afterthought. “See if she has some cakes or biscuits, too, will you?”
He hadn’t asked if Anna preferred sweets, so it was just as well that she did. The maid bobbed and hurried out of the room.
Anna pursed her lips. “I really didn’t mean—”
“No matter,” he interrupted. The earl was at his desk, pulling out ink and quills in a haphazard manner. “Look around if you choose. All these books should be put to some use. Although, I don’t know that you’ll find much of interest in them. Mostly boring histories, if I remember correctly, and probably moldy to boot.”
He stopped to peruse a sheet lying on the desktop. She opened her mouth to try again but was distracted by the sight of him stroking the quill while he read. His hands were large and tanned, more so than a gentleman’s hands should be. Black hairs grew on the back. The thought popped into her head that he probably had hair on his chest as well. She straightened and cleared her throat.
The earl looked up.
“Do you think ‘Duke’ is a good name?” she asked.
His face blanked for a second before it cleared. He glanced at the dog in consideration. “I don’t think so. He would outrank me.”
The arrival of three maids bearing heavily laden trays saved Anna from making a reply. They set up the tea service on a table near the window and then withdrew. The earl gestured her to the settee on one side while he took a chair on the other.
“Shall I pour?” she asked.
“Please.” He nodded.
Anna served the tea. She thought she felt the earl watching her as she went through the ritual, but when she looked up, his gaze was on his cup. The quantity of the food was intimidating. There was bread and butter, three different jellies, cold sliced ham, pigeon pie, some cheese, two different puddings, small iced cakes, and dried fruit. She filled a plate for the earl with some of each, remembering how hungry a man could be after exercise; then she chose a few pieces of fruit and a cake for herself. Apparently the earl didn’t need conversation during the meal. He methodically demolished the food on his plate.
Anna watched him while she nibbled at a lemon cake.
He lounged in the chair, one leg bent at the knee, the other extended half under the table. Her eyes followed the long length of his mud-splattered jackboots, up muscled thighs to trim hips, over a flat stomach to a chest that widened out to quite broad shoulders for such a lean man. Her gaze skittered to his face. His black eyes gleamed back at her.
She flushed and cleared her throat. “Your dog is so”—she glanced at the homely animal—“unusual. I don’t believe I have ever seen one like it before. Where did you get it?”
The earl snorted. “The question should be, where did he get me?”
“I beg your pardon?”
The earl sighed and shifted in his chair. “He turned up one night about a year ago outside my estate in North Yorkshire. I found him along the road. He was emaciated, flea-bitten, and had a rope tangled about his neck and forelegs. I cut the rope off, and the damned animal followed me home.” He scowled at the dog beside his chair.
It wagged its tail happily. The earl lobbed a piece of pie crust, which the dog snapped out of the air.
“Haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”
Anna pursed her lips to hide a smile. When she looked up, she thought the earl was staring at her mouth. Oh, dear. Did she have icing on her face? She hastily dabbed at her lips with a finger. “He must be quite loyal to you after you rescued him.”
He grunted. “More like he’s loyal to the kitchen scraps he gets here.” The earl rose abruptly and rang for the tea things to be removed, the dog following his steps. Apparently tea was over.
The rest of the day passed companionably.
The earl wasn’t a silent writer. He muttered to himself and ran his hand through his hair until strands of it became dislodged from his queue and fell around his cheeks in disarray. Sometimes he jumped up to pace the room before returning to his desk to furiously scribble. The dog seemed used to the earl’s compositional style and snored by the fireplace, unperturbed.
When the hall clock chimed the five o’clock hour, Anna started to gather her basket together.
The earl frowned. “Are you leaving already?”
Anna paused. “The hour has struck five, my lord.”
He looked surprised, then glanced out the darkening windows. “So it has.”
He stood and waited while she finished and then escorted her to the door. Anna was very conscious of his presence beside her as she walked down the hall. Her head didn’t quite come to his shoulder, reminding her again of how large a man he was.
The earl scowled when he saw the empty drive outside. “Where is your carriage?”
“I haven’t one,” she said rather tartly. “I walked from the village.”
“Ah. Of course,” he said. “Wait here. I’ll have my carriage brought round.”
Anna started to protest, but he ran down the steps and strode off toward the stables, leaving her with the dog for company. The animal groaned and sat down. She stroked his ears. They waited quietly, listening to the wind stirring the treetops. The dog suddenly pricked up his ears and got to his feet.
The carriage rumbled around the corner and pulled up before the front steps. The earl climbed out and held the door for Anna. Eagerly, the mastiff started down the front steps ahead of her.
Lord Swartingham frowned at the animal. “Not you.”
The dog lowered its head and went to stand at his side. Anna placed her gloved hand in the earl’s as he helped her into the carriage. For a moment, strong, masculine fingers tightened around hers; then she was released to sit on the red leather seat.
The earl leaned into the carriage. “You needn’t bring a lunch tomorrow. You will be dining with me.”
He signaled the driver before she could thank him and the carriage lurched forward. Anna craned her neck to look back. The earl still stood before the steps with the huge dog. For some reason, the sight filled her with a melancholy loneliness. Anna shook her head and faced forward again, chastising herself. The earl had no need of her pity.
EDWARD WATCHED THE carriage round the corner. He had an uneasy feeling that he shouldn’t let the little widow out of his sight. Her presence beside him in the library that afternoon had been strangely soothing. He grimaced to himself. Anna Wren was not for him. She was of a different class than he, and, moreover, she was a respectable widow from the village. She wasn’t a sophisticated society lady who might con
sider a liaison outside of wedlock.
“Come.” He slapped his thigh.
The dog followed him back into the library. The room was cold and dreary again. Somehow it had felt warmer when Mrs. Wren had sat here. He strolled behind her rosewood desk and noticed a handkerchief on the floor. It was white with flowers embroidered in one corner. Violets, perhaps? Hard to tell since they were a bit lopsided. Edward lifted the cloth to his face and inhaled. It smelled of roses.
He fingered the handkerchief and walked to the darkened windows. His trip to London had gone well. Sir Richard Gerard had accepted the suit for his daughter. Gerard was only a baronet, but the family was old and sound. The mother had borne seven children, five of whom had lived to adulthood. Also, Gerard owned a small unentailed estate bordering his own in North Yorkshire. The man balked at adding this land to his eldest daughter’s dowry, but Edward felt sure he would come around in time. After all, Gerard would be gaining an earl as a son-in-law. Quite a feather in his cap. As for the girl . . .
Edward’s thoughts stopped, and for a horrible moment he couldn’t think of her name. Then it came to him: Sylvia. Of course, Sylvia. He hadn’t spent much time alone with her, but he’d made sure the match was agreeable to the girl. He’d asked her point-blank if the smallpox scars repelled her. She had said they did not. Edward balled his hand into a fist. Did she tell the truth? Others had lied about his scars and he had been fooled in the past. The girl could very well be telling him what he wished to hear and he would not find out her loathing until later. But what alternative did he have? To remain unmarried and childless the rest of his life for fear of a possible lie? That fate was untenable.
Edward stroked a finger across his cheek and felt soft linen against his skin. He still held the handkerchief. He stared at it a moment, rubbing the cloth with his thumb; then he carefully folded the handkerchief and laid it on the desk.
He strode from the room, the dog shadowing him.
ANNA’S ARRIVAL HOME in a grand carriage caused an excitement in the Wren household. She could see Fanny’s white face peering through the sitting room curtains as the coachman halted the horses outside the cottage. She waited for the footman to pull down the steps and then descended from the carriage self-consciously.
“Thank you.” She smiled at the young footman. “And you, too, John Coachman. I’m sorry to put you all to such a bother.”
“Twern’t no bother, ma’am.” The coachman touched his fingertips to the brim of his round hat. “Just glad we could see you safely home.”
The footman leapt onto the back of the carriage, and with a nod to Anna, John Coachman clucked to the horses. The carriage had barely pulled away when Mother Wren and Fanny tumbled out of the cottage to bombard her with questions.
“The earl sent me home in his vehicle,” Anna explained as she led the way back inside.
“My, what a kind man,” her mother-in-law exclaimed.
Anna thought of the way the earl had ordered her to take the carriage. “Quite.” She removed her shawl and bonnet.
“Did you meet the earl himself, then, mum?” Fanny asked.
Anna smiled at the girl and nodded.
“I’ve never seen an earl, mum. What was he like?”
“He’s just a man like any other,” Anna replied.
But she was uncertain of her own words. If the earl was like any other man, then why did she have a strange urge to goad him into arguments? None of the other men of her acquaintance made her want to challenge them.
“I heard he has terrible scars on his face from the smallpox.”
“Fanny, dear,” Mother Wren exclaimed, “our inner selves are more important than our outer husks.”
They all contemplated this noble sentiment for a moment. Fanny puckered her brow as she worked it through.
Mother Wren cleared her throat. “I heard the pox scars ran across the upper half of his face.”
Anna quashed a smile. “He does have pox scars on his face, but they aren’t very noticeable, really. Besides, he has nice, thick black hair and handsome dark eyes, and his voice is very attractive, beautiful even, especially when he speaks softly. And he is quite tall, with very broad, muscular shoulders.” She stopped abruptly.
Mother Wren looked at her strangely.
Anna twitched off her gloves. “Is supper ready?”
“Supper? Oh, yes, the supper should be ready.” Mother Wren shooed Fanny toward the kitchen. “We have a pudding and a lovely roasted chicken Fanny got for quite a good price at Farmer Brown’s. She has been practicing her bargaining skills, you know. We thought it would be a treat to celebrate your employment.”
“How nice.” Anna started up the stairs. “I’ll freshen up.”
Mother Wren laid a hand on her arm. “Are you sure you know what you are doing, my dear?” she asked in a low voice. “Sometimes ladies of a certain age get, well, ideas about gentlemen.” She paused, then said in a rush, “He isn’t of our class, you know. It would only lead to hurt.”
Anna looked down at the fragile old hand on her arm; then she deliberately smiled and glanced up. “I am well aware that anything of a personal nature between Lord Swartingham and me would be improper. There’s no need to worry.”
The older woman searched her eyes a moment longer before patting Anna’s arm. “Don’t be too long, dear. We haven’t burned the supper yet tonight.”
Chapter Four
The duke turned and saw a huge raven perched on the wall of the castle. The bird hopped closer and cocked its head. “I will help you defeat the prince if you give me one of your daughters as my wife.”
“How dare you, sirrah!” The old duke quivered in indignation. “You insult me to imply I would even think to wed one of my daughters to a dusty bird.”
“Fine words, my friend,” the raven cackled. “But be not so quick. In a moment, you’ll lose both your daughters and your life.”
The duke stared at the raven and saw that this was no ordinary bird. It wore a golden chain around its neck, and a ruby pendant in the shape of a small, perfect crown hung on the chain. He looked back to the threatening army at his gates and, seeing he had little to lose, agreed to the unholy bargain. . . .
—from The Raven Prince
“Have you considered the name ‘Sweetie’?” Anna asked as she spooned up some stewed apple.
She and the earl sat at one end of the immense dining room table. From the fine layer of dust on the mahogany at the other end of the table, she guessed that this room must not be used much. Did the earl even take his supper here? Yet the dining room had been opened every day of the last week for their luncheon. In that week, she’d learned that the earl was not a conversationalist. After many days of grunts and monosyllabic replies, it’d become something of a game to provoke a response from her employer.
Lord Swartingham paused in the act of cutting a piece of steak and kidney pie. “Sweetie?”
His eyes were on her mouth, and Anna realized she’d licked her lips. “Yes. Don’t you think ‘Sweetie’ a darling name?”
They both looked down at the dog beside the earl’s chair. It was gnawing on a soup bone, sharp fangs glittering.
“I think ‘Sweetie’ may not be altogether suitable for his personality,” Lord Swartingham said, placing the pie slice on his plate.
“Hmm. Perhaps you’re right.” Anna thoughtfully chewed. “Yet, you yourself haven’t offered an alternative.”
The earl sawed vigorously at a lump of meat. “That’s because I’m content to let the animal remain nameless.”
“Didn’t you have any dogs as a boy?”
“I?” He stared at her as if she’d asked if he’d had two heads as a boy. “No.”
“No pets at all?”
He scowled down at his pie. “Well, there was my mother’s lapdog—”
“There, you see,” Anna exclaimed in triumph.
“But the animal was a pug and an extremely irritable one at that.”
“Even so—”
&nbs
p; “Used to growl and snap at everyone but Mother,” the earl mused, apparently to himself. “No one liked it. Once bit a footman. Father had to give the poor fellow a shilling.”
“And did the pug have a name?”
“Fiddles.” The earl nodded and took a bite of pie. “But Sammy called it Piddles. He also fed it Turkish delight just to see it get the candy stuck to the roof of its mouth.”
Anna smiled. “Sammy was your brother?”
Lord Swartingham had raised a glass of wine to his lips, and he paused for a fraction of a second before sipping. “Yes.” He placed the glass precisely beside his plate. “I’ll need to check on various matters on the estate this afternoon.”
Anna’s smile died. Their play was apparently at an end.
He continued, “Tomorrow I’ll need you to ride out with me. Hopple wants to show me some fields with a drainage problem, and I’d like you to take notes for us as we discuss possible solutions.” He looked up. “You do have a riding habit, don’t you?”
Anna tapped her fingers against her teacup. “As a matter of fact, I’ve never ridden.”
“Never?” His eyebrows shot up.
“We don’t have a horse.”
“No, I suppose not.” He frowned down at the pie on his plate as if it were to blame for her lack of suitable attire. “Have you a gown you could use as a habit?”
Anna mentally ran through her meager wardrobe. “I could alter an old one.”
“Excellent. Wear it tomorrow and I shall give you an elementary riding lesson. It shouldn’t be too hard. We’ll not be riding very far.”
“Oh, but, my lord,” Anna protested, “I don’t want to put you to any trouble. I can ask one of the grooms to help me learn.”
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