“Well, yes, apparently he was still wealthy enough to buy a bride for himself. She was a distant cousin, I believe, and no one really knows whether she had a say in the marriage.’
“Ah…” The word dragged out between them before he nodded for her to continue.
“Once they were wed, he brought her back to Wolfinger, and, naturally, she was soon forced to see his true nature. As the story goes, when she protested his misuse of one of his people, he locked her up in the tower room, starving her and ill-treating her until she went mad.”
Mrs. Broadgirdle shifted in her seat next to Prudence. “A lot of old gossip and untruths, if you ask me,” she muttered. “Banbury tales, that is all!”
“No, I believe that most of what I have been telling you is well documented in letters and records of the time,” Prudence answered calmly. She thought she saw a flicker of a smile on Sebastian’s face, but it was difficult to tell, when he leaned back in the shadows.
“And then?” he urged. His voice was so low and exotic that she could not suppress a shiver, and beside her Mrs. Broadgirdle moved again, as though finding the soft cushions suddenly uncomfortable.
“Well, one night during one of the storms we are famous for, it seems that she managed to escape from the tower. In a wild fit, she attacked the Devil Earl with a kitchen blade. Of course, by this time, what few servants he could keep were well used to screams in the night, and they all stayed away from such doings. The next morning, both the earl and his wife were found lying in pools of blood upon the floor, having, everyone assumed, murdered each other.”
“And their shades?” Sebastian prompted.
“Both have been seen over the years,” Prudence replied, matter-of-factly. “The earl, naturally, searches for new victims among those who would dare to enter his domain, while his wife is most often seen as a white specter, wandering the halls with a bloody knife in hand.”
This time there was no mistaking Mrs. Broadgirdle’s shudder, and the silence that followed Prudence’s words seemed to settle eerily in the black confines of the coach, until it was broken by a huge roll of thunder.
“Mary, mother of God!” Mrs. Broadgirdle exclaimed, clutching her throat. “Why, it is positively frightful out there! I refuse to go on in such dangerous weather! I insist that you stop this coach at once!”
“It is too late for that,” Sebastian said. From his place in the shadows, he gave the chaperone a slow smile that was deliberately menacing. Knowing it was designed to make the woman’s hair stand on end, Prudence opened her mouth to scold him, but he held up a gloved finger for her silence. “There is no place to rest along the moors, and we shall soon be at Wolfinger.”
“I thought we were going to your cottage, Prudence,” Mrs. Broadgirdle argued, her wary speech the first hint of weakness Prudence had ever seen her display.
“Well, I…” Prudence began. It did not matter to her exactly where they went. Naturally, she was anxious to see the abbey, but propriety forbade her remaining there, even with her chaperone. Then again, the weather had to be a pressing factor. If they were closer to the abbey, perhaps they should stay there until the storm abated.
“We have no choice,” Sebastian said ominously, as if reading her thoughts. With rather bemused wonder, Prudence watched him lean forward like a dark phantom, the dim light flickering across his hard features while he fixed Mrs. Broadgirdle with his steeliest gaze. Obviously, he was trying to frighten the woman, and one glance at the chaperone’s white face told Prudence he was succeeding.
“My lord—” she began, but he cut her off.
“The storm, you see,” he explained. “Wolfinger lies directly ahead on the better roadway, and you did want to stop soon, did you not?”
Mrs. Broadgirdle nodded nervously, just as a great crack of lightning sent thin, glowing streaks through the edges of the draperies. Prudence was about to protest Sebastian’s efforts to torment her chaperone, but fascination with the tempest made her peek out the window.
The view rushing by reminded her eerily of the first time she had ever seen the earl, racing in this very same coach and four through the elements, as if daring them to touch him. The memory sparked Prudence’s blood and filled her with the same exhilaration she had known then.
If she had not known better, she would have thought Sebastian a product of her own imaginings, and yet, he had proved far more exciting than any character she could conjure. Slanting a glance across the seat at him, Prudence. thought he had never looked more handsome—or more wicked.
The sight of him filled her senses, making her aware of the rapid rise and fall of her breasts and of a strange longing that swept through her body. With startling insight, Prudence realized that she wanted the earl’s hands and mouth upon her, right here, right now, while the world raged outside them.
She stared at him in amazement until Mrs. Broadgirdle twitched and muttered something, drawing her back to reality. The thrumming in her blood lingered, however, accentuated by the speed of the coach, gathering as if to outrun the ferocious weather outside. The growing sense of anticipation that filled the carriage seemed to peak, drawing her attention to the window, and Prudence looked out just as a streak of lightning smote the sky, outlining their destination starkly.
“We are there!” Prudence said, pointing excitedly. As if in response, the vehicle finally slowed and rolled to a stop, and the sounds of the earl’s men were heard faintly as they climbed down to open the carriage. The door swung wide suddenly, and the coachman stood before them, rain dripping from his greatcoat in rivers and a lantern held high in his grasp.
“Here we be, my lord,” he said. As Prudence and her chaperone stared out the door, lightning struck again, perilously close, and illuminated the Gothic splendor of Wolfinger Abbey. Its dark walls rose from the dank ground into the black sky, its arched windows, like eyes in the night, beckoning them inside to delve into its secrets.
Prudence was ecstatic, but Mrs. Broadgirdle apparently did not share her pleasure. “Mary, mother of God!” the chaperone exclaimed, before collapsing back against the seat in a dead faint.
Chapter Thirteen
Prudence was stunned to see her formerly invincible chaperone reduced to a heap of lifeless bones. Leaning toward the woman whose sharp tongue was now silenced, Prudence took her hands and tried to revive her.
“Mrs. Broadgirdle! Wake up!” When her words had no effect, Prudence shot an accusing glance toward Sebastian, who looked suspiciously pleased in his shadowy corner. “This is all your fault, for tormenting the poor woman!”
“Me?” The sight of the Devil Earl twisting his harsh features into something resembling angelic innocence would have been laughable, but for the moans coming from Mrs. Broadgirdle’s prone form.
“There you are, Mrs. Broadgirdle,” Prudence said, patting the woman gently. The chaperone’s eyelids fluttered open, but the second she saw Prudence, she gasped and snatched her fingers away in terror.
“I am not going in that place! Take me back home!” she shrieked as she lurched upright once more. “You, sir!” she shouted at the driver, who was still standing at the door. “Turn this conveyance around immediately, and take me to the nearest inn!”
“Calm yourself, Mrs. Broadgirdle,” Prudence said in a firm but soothing manner. “We are safe. Come, let us get out of the rain.”
“No! You are as unearthly as he is!” the chaperone said, pointing a shaking finger at Sebastian, who smiled wickedly from his seat across from them. “You are an unnatural miss. I have always thought so, with your strange ideas and your horrid books. Enamored of ghosts and specters and anything that looks like that!” she said, turning her accusatory digit toward the abbey. “Well, you will not drag Harriet Broadgirdle into your black lair. God, deliver me!” she wailed.
Prudence’s patience was beginning to wear thin. The wind was whipping rain into the interior, soaking them all, and the coachman looked likely to drown. “Please, Mrs. Broadgirdle, there is nothing to be afraid o
f, I assure you!”
The chaperone cringed, eyes wild with fright, and backed up against the cushions, as if she were afraid Prudence might attack her. “Mrs. Broadgirdle!” Prudence exclaimed, astounded by such behavior.
“Come, Miss Lancaster,” Sebastian said softly. Easing past her, he leapt to the ground, his lithe body easily handling the jump into the mud below, his very arrogance seeming to repel the sheets of rain. Then his hands closed about her waist, and Prudence felt herself being lifted down to join him.
“Morley, turn the coach about and take it back to the Cock and Walk,” Sebastian said to his man.
“Yes, my lord,” Morley grumbled.
Prudence tugged at the earl’s sleeve. “But, your poor driver! It is hardly fair to send him back out in this weather,” she protested. Although she found the storm exhilarating, she could sympathize with the poor, wet coachman, who had to try to see through it.
“The worst of it is moving west, so he should be back out of it soon,” Sebastian said. “And you can hardly force the woman to stay against her will. She looks quite…distraught.”
Prudence sighed, glancing at the frightened figure, huddled in the corner of the coach, who had once been her formidable chaperone. “I suppose you are right. Will you join Phoebe, then?” Prudence asked the woman, but Mrs. Broadgirdle only stared at her warily.
With a shake of her head, Prudence stepped back, letting Sebastian close the carriage door and lead her up the stairs to the abbey. “I do hope she is all right,” she murmured.
“I suspect she shall be fine, once away from here. Wolfinger does not appeal to everyone, you know,” Sebastian shouted above the noise of the storm.
Prudence could hardly deny the truth of his statement. Although it was but evening, the world was as black as night around them as they mounted the steps. The wind tore at her cloak, the thunder roared in her ears, and the abbey’s dark stone rose up before her in a solemn greeting.
Lightning danced over the gargoyles prominently displayed along the rooftops and flickered off the markers in the nearby graveyard, but not a single light could be seen inside the enormous edifice. Like a huge tomb it seemed, waiting to lock them inside forever.
A hand on her elbow guided Prudence toward the great doorway, and she glanced up at the tall figure beside her. His face was hidden in shadows, but the power of his being was evident in the very way he held his body. It seemed to pulse from him, drawing all around him into his orbit, whether they willed it or not. Dashing a hand up against the rain that threatened to obscure her vision, Prudence knew that this was the eeriest moment of her life.
She had never been happier.
It felt as if they stood before the massive archway for hours, getting soaked to the skin, until the door swung back to reveal a middle-aged woman holding a lamp aloft. “Go away with you! Have you not sense enough to go on by this place?” she said, her features twisted into a scowl.
Sebastian brushed past her. “Your hospitality is less than expansive, Mrs. Worth, though perhaps well suited to the abbey. Kindly let us in, before we drown.”
Prudence caught a startled expression on the matron’s face before she nodded and moved back. “My lord! But we just closed up again. That man of yours said that you were not coming—”
Sebastian cut her off smoothly. ”A slight change of plans. Miss Lancaster and I find ourselves victims of the weather. If you could show her to a room, so that she might dry her clothing, and see that her trunk is brought up so that she has something to wear. We shall need a bit of supper, too.” He rattled off the orders in his usual commanding fashion, and Prudence watched the housekeeper’s mouth fall open.
“But, my lord, we have no cook! It is just me and Worth, and he went into town hours ago and hasn’t come back.”
Sebastian fixed her with one of his arrogant stares, looking for all the world as if he could not understand why she was wasting his time with such inane conversation. “You have but to show Miss Lancaster to her room and notify the men who are unloading the trunks of her whereabouts. Then, surely, while we are dressing, you can put on some soup, or a meat pie. Even bread and cheese will do.”
“Bread and cheese?” Mrs. Worth echoed, looking at Sebastian as if he had lost his mind. “But you never have less than ten courses at your table!”
Sebastian quirked an eyebrow at her. “Yes, well, we all must adjust to a change in our circumstance, at times. And I trust you shall not let us starve.”
For a moment, the woman simply gaped at him, and then, apparently recovering herself, she held the lamp high. “If you will follow me, miss. The state bedroom is always kept at the ready.”
Prudence wanted to protest that she only needed a bit of space before a fire in which to change, but she was too busy gawking at her surroundings. The abbey was incredibly dark, without even hall sconces to illuminate their path, but the lantern cast a glow around them that showed her bits and pieces of the interior she had always longed to see.
She caught a glimpse of high, intricately carved and beamed ceilings arching skyward, walls draped with tapestries, spiral stairs, wrought-iron posts and old, heavy furniture. Drafts, creeping in through the tall windows or under doors, wafted past her wet clothing, and the wind seemed to effect an odd, keening sound above her.
It was the most wonderful place she had ever seen.
The state bedroom was of an enormous size, encompassing far more space than all of Prudence’s small cottage, and seemingly coated entirely with gilt. It gleamed off the gigantic bed, the surfaces of furniture, the huge mantelpiece and a dazzling array of decorative objects. Even the high ceiling seemed to glitter fantastically.
Mrs. Worth lit a candelabra that stood near the fireplace and bent to set the fire that was already laid there. Soon the crackling of wood sounded above the eerie echoes of the wind, and bright tendrils of flame chased away some of the surrounding shadows.
“There, now,” Mrs. Worth said, standing back and surveying her critically. “You should be warm enough soon. If I had my help, I would fetch you some towels and a drying rack, but I had best lay something on for supper, or the master will displeased.”
With one last look, she moved toward the door, her skirts rustling in the quiet. “Cannot see how a body can be expected to tend a place this size, with no notice,” she muttered as she disappeared into the darkened hall.
Prudence turned back toward the room in amazement. It was a study in contrasts, for the carpet beneath her feet was thin and worn and the old heavy drapes stirred whenever a breeze crept through the ill-fitting windows. The silkcovered walls looked dark and shabby, and yet, there was no mistaking the gold that shone off everything from the ceiling medallions to the ferocious, snarling wolf heads that were mounted on the fire irons.
Prudence hugged herself with delight. It was as if she had been transported into one of her own stories of Gothic horrors. She heard a tapping sound and started happily, eagerly hoping to see a ghost, but it was only a knock upon the door.
Rushing to open it, Prudence was met by one of the earl’s men, carrying her trunk upon his back. “Oh, my! Steady, there,” she urged, directing him inside. He set it down carefully by the bed and looked around, shaking his head.
“Never did like this place, and I still don’t,” he mumbled, hurrying off, just as though he would rather be outside in the foul weather than inside the abbey. Ignoring his gloomy opinion, Prudence stripped off her wet things, hanging them out as best she could before donning a fresh gown.
Not one to pay much attention to her clothing, she initially took up a sturdy muslin, but the dress looked far too simple for such a place as Wolfinger. Next, Prudence pulled out a dark green silk and tried to smooth its wrinkles, before deciding that it would never do, either. Then, suddenly struck by an idea, she rummaged through her garments for the one frivolous piece in her wardrobe.
Straightening, Prudence shook out the matching black sarnet slip and black crape evening dress. Phoebe, with her
penchant for pretty pastels, had thought the outfit absurd, which was why Prudence had never worn it. And yet, she knew, deep down, that it would be perfect attire for Wolfinger.
The long, loose sleeves, gathered at the wrists, would keep her warm in the cool abbey, Prudence told herself, with her usual practicality. Fingering the black trim and the jet beading, she studied the less prosaic aspects of the gown and decided that the offset shoulders would definitely appeal to Sebastian. Her heart pounding wildly at the thought, she began to dress.
By the time Prudence heard the knock upon her door, she was ready, but when she took one look at the earl, she felt as though she could never quite be prepared for him. He carried a candelabra that sent light flickering across his harsh yet handsome features, casting eerie shadows across the sharp planes of his face.
He was dressed entirely in black, but for his white neckcloth, and his hair, still damp, gleamed like the beads on her gown. He looked just as if he had stepped out of the pages of one of her novels, and his gray eyes roved over her with a fierceness that made her giddy.
“My dear Prudence, I do believe you are dressed for the occasion,” he said simply. And suddenly she felt more beautiful than any of her heroines.
The dining hall was as immense as the rest of the abbey, if not quite so elegantly appointed as the state bedroom. Mrs. Worth had not managed to light the chandeliers, so they ate by the glow of a few candelabras, the vast length of the table between them. Along with bread and cheese, there were slices of thick country ham, and potatoes and jellies, and even a bit of apple tart, and when it was gone, they sat back in their chairs, sipping brandy, just as though Prudence were one of the earl’s cronies and not a female guest.
Obviously disapproving of such behavior, Mrs. Worth cleared away the dishes with a doleful eye, while Sebastian walked to the tall, arched windows. The moment he parted the draperies, lightning flashed, and the walls seemed to rattle with the force of the elements.
“When the storm abates, I will take Miss Lancaster home,” he said. Letting his hand fall to his side, he turned back toward the two women.
The Devil Earl Page 17
