Just as her gaze moved up his body, Ravenscar turned his head to pin her with a cold gray stare so intense that Prudence nearly took a step back. Her blood, already stirred by the mere sight of him, roused further to flow through her with alarming speed. Here was a man to reckon with, she thought giddily. Here was a man.
“Where is she?” he asked suddenly. And Prudence, for the first time in her life, felt strangely stupid.
“Who?” she whispered.
His scowl was positively ferocious, and she could see a small muscle working in his jaw. Unleashed fury, she realized, was held in check within that composed exterior, though why he should be angry at her, Prudence had no idea.
“Your…sister,” Ravenscar said, investing the word with both derision and skepticism.
“Phoebe?” Prudence asked. Her brain was still working sluggishly, though the rest of her insides seemed to be moving at a remarkable pace.
“That is the name the maid gave me,” Ravenscar said, his face a dark mask of disdain.
Prudence quelled a tiny shiver of excitement at his unyielding manner. She wondered where he had gotten the scar under his eye. A duel, perhaps? He overwhelmed the room with a personal presence far stronger than anything she had ever seen before, and for an instant, she felt as though she were one of her own heroines, struggling against the compelling force of a mysterious villain.
Rather reluctantly, Prudence gave herself a shake and returned to reality. She was, after all, not Millicent, and the man before her, whatever his reputation, was no fiend, but an earl, and she had yet to greet him properly.
“Please, sit down, my lord,” she said evenly. “I had sent Phoebe off to rest, but if you wish to see her, then I shall, of course, summon her at once.”
To her disappointment, he nodded curtly, his lips moving into a cold, contemptuous smile that in no way reached those startling eyes of his. They, more than anything else, proclaimed him a dangerous man, hinting at untold depths and experiences that Prudence could not pretend to comprehend.
More than the starkly handsome cast of his features or the lean appeal of his tall form, they drew her to him, and Prudence ignored his blatantly threatening stance to stare at him once more. He looked, she decided, as if he had stepped right out of her pages and into the parlor.
What the dickens did he want with Phoebe?
Why was she staring at him like a simpleton? Sebastian glared at her more fiercely. He was accustomed to a certain sort of response from people, and this was not it. Finally, as if she could hardly bear to tear herself away from his presence, she turned to call for the maid, and Sebastian felt a measure of relief.
At last! By all means, summon the girl from her “rest” for me, he thought with a malicious smile. Now he was finally getting somewhere, and the strange female was starting to make sense.
Looking around him, Sebastian had to admit that the small, tidy and slightly worn cottage did not look like any fancy house he had ever seen, but perhaps business was poor along this isolated coastline and appearances of propriety were maintained. His gaze traveled to the straight back of the slender, bespectacled creature who appeared to run the place, and he decided he had never seen a less likely looking abbess in his life.
Surely she did no personal business with the customers! He could hardly imagine any young bucks, or even a desperate old member of the local gentry, slavering over that one. And yet she was somehow attractive, in a rather sterile way. Perhaps that was her appeal, Sebastian decided. A man could peel her like an orange, layer by layer of stuffy clothing disappearing to reveal the choice center of the fruit.
Surprised by the tenor of his own thoughts, Sebastian turned away to look out the window again, where Wolfinger rose from a curling mist, a dark wonder in cool stone. He had forgotten the sheer beauty of the place. But he had been a young man when he last saw it, and then only briefly. Raised at his family’s modest estate in Yorkshire, he had done little enough traveling until his uncle, the previous earl, took an interest in him. And, certainly, Otho had no love for the abbey, preferring the hells and bawdy houses of London to these lonely, windswept shores.
Sebastian’s jaw tightened as his thoughts were brought forcibly back to the matter at hand. Apparently, despite all his best efforts, the Ravenscar blood was running true. James had inhented the family’s penchant for wine, women and cards. And debts.
“Here she is, my lord, my sister, Phoebe. Phoebe, you remember Lord Ravenscar, of course.”
Of course, Sebastian thought, pivoting on his heels to fasten his gaze on the girl. In the light she looked even younger, a frothy bit of fluff of the sort that could be had a hundred times over in town. She had a good figure, he would give her that, but she was too tiny and blond and bland-looking for his taste. He could see, however, how she had captured young James’s attention. No doubt she gazed at him in adoration with those bright blue eyes and nodded eagerly, bouncing her pretty little curls like a mindless doll at whatever he might say.
“Where is he?” Sebastian asked, without preamble.
The girl cringed, obviously frightened, and stepped back against the older one. Miss Prudence, the maid called her, which Sebastian thought as absurd a name for a Cyprian as he had ever heard.
“Who?” the so-called Prudence asked, eyeing him with a level gaze that he was forced to admire. Obviously, she was the sharp one. Very sharp. He wondered how long it would be before she would mention money…
Sebastian stalked across the room toward them, stopping just short of the small one. He towered over her, and she shrank back against her elder. “My brother,” he said, in a softly threatening tone that had the girl fairly trembling.
“Your brother?” Far from being intimidated, Prudence stepped toward him, so quickly that the girl leaning against her nearly fell upon the floor. Catching herself, the child took the opportunity to hide behind the elder’s skirts like an infant, disgusting him further. How the devil could James find such a creature pleasing?
The tall one, on the other hand…Sebastian paused to peruse her. She had enough of the look of the other to pass for a sister, but her beauty was of a far different, starker nature. What he could see of her hair was darker, with streaks of gold that disappeared under a silly, spinsterish cap. Her eyes, hidden by the ridiculous glasses, were not an insipid blue, but a lovely hazel that gleamed like her hair. Looking closer, he thought he saw just the barest hint of green…
“Why should Phoebe know anything of your brother?” she asked him, interest blazing behind those ridiculous spectacles. Sebastian had the distinct impression that her eyes would window her soul, if only he could remove what shielded them. He fought a nagging desire to do so.
The rest of her face, Sebastian decided, was as fine and distinctive as a rare wine. She had high cheekbones and clear skin and a wide mouth that was infinitely more intriguing than the dainty Cupid’s bow her sister sported, and he found his interest lingering on it. He forced himself to look away.
“Why, indeed?” he asked her. Her eyes appeared unafraid, and so guileless that for a moment Sebastian thought he must surely be mistaken about her. His lips tightened into a grim line. “Perhaps because James had made use of her…services…recently.”
“Services?” She gazed up at him with such puzzlement that he almost believed her to be innocent.
“Must I make it more plain, Miss…Prudence?” Sebastian asked, circling around her like a cat stalking its prey. In the corner of his vision, he saw Miss Phoebe sink into a chair with a strangled moan, but Prudence only turned, gracefully, to meet his stare.
She was fearless, Sebastian confirmed, for he had spent years cultivating his own special