The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(11)

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.