The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(44)

“ ’Fraid I can’t do that.” The third man’s lip lifted in a sneer, and his gold tooth gleamed. “It’s a secret.”

Chapter Eleven

Many months passed while Aurea lived in her raven-husband’s castle. During the day, she amused herself by reading from the hundreds of illuminated books in the castle’s library or by taking long walks in the garden. In the evening, she feasted on delicacies she had only dreamed of in her former life. She had beautiful gowns to wear and priceless jewels to decorate herself with. Sometimes the raven would visit her, appearing suddenly in her rooms or joining her at dinner without any notice. Aurea found that her strange spouse had a wide and intelligent mind, and he would engage her in fascinating conversations. But always the big black bird would disappear before she retired to her rooms in the evening.

And every night, in the dark, a stranger came to her bridal bed and made exquisite love to her….

—from The Raven Prince

“Hail, O defender of the turnip and master of the ewe,” a deep sarcastic voice drawled the next morning. “Well met, my fellow Agrarian.”

Edward squinted through the smoke in the cavernous coffeehouse. He could just make out the speaker, lounging at a table in the right rear corner. Defender of the turnip, eh? Winding his way through cluttered, age-blackened tables, Edward reached the man and slapped him hard on the back.

“Iddesleigh! It’s not yet five in the afternoon. Why are you awake?”

Simon, Viscount Iddesleigh, didn’t rock forward under the hearty back slap—he must have been bracing himself—but he did wince. A lean, elegant man, he wore a fashionable white-powdered wig and laced-edged shirt. To many he no doubt appeared a fop. But appearances in this case were deceiving.

“I’ve been known to see the light of day afore noon,” Iddesleigh said, “although not often.” He kicked a chair out from the table. “Sit, man, and partake of that hallowed brew called coffee. The gods, had they known of it, would’ve had no need of nectar on Olympus.”

Edward waved at a boy serving drinks and took the proffered chair. He nodded at the silent third man sharing the table. “Harry. How’re you?”

Harry Pye was a land steward on an estate somewhere in the north of England. He wasn’t often in London. He must be here on business. In contrast to the flamboyant viscount, Harry almost blended into the woodwork. He was a man most would hardly notice in his ordinary brown coat and waistcoat. Edward knew for a fact that he carried a wicked dagger in his boot.

Harry nodded. “My lord. It’s good to see you.” He didn’t smile, but there was an amused gleam in his green eyes.

“God’s blood, Harry, how many times have I told you to call me Edward or de Raaf?” He signaled the boy again.

“Or Ed or Eddie,” Iddesleigh cut in.

“Not Eddie.” The boy banged a mug down, and Edward took a grateful sip.

“Aye, my lord,” he heard Harry murmur, but Edward didn’t bother replying.

He glanced around the room. The coffee at this house was very good. That was the main reason the Agrarian Society met here. It certainly wasn’t because of the architecture. The room was crowded, with a too-low ceiling. The short door lintel was known to catch the taller members a nasty crack on the crown on entering. The tables had probably never been scrubbed, and the mugs didn’t bear a close inspection. And the staff was a shifty lot who could be selectively hard of hearing when they didn’t feel like serving, no matter the rank of the customer. But the coffee was fresh and strong, and any man was welcome to the house as long as he had an interest in agriculture. Edward recognized several titled men sitting at tables, but there were also small landowners up for a day in London and even working stewards such as Harry. The Agrarians were known for the strange equality of their club.

“And what does bring you to our lovely, if odoriferous, capital?” Iddesleigh asked.

“Negotiating a marital alliance,” Edward replied.

Harry Pye’s eyes sharpened over the rim of his mug. His hand was wrapped around the cup. There was a disconcerting space where his ring finger should have been but wasn’t.

“Oh, braver man than I,” Iddesleigh said. “You must have been celebrating the impending nuptials when I saw you last night at the fair Aphrodite’s Grotto.”

“You were there?” Edward felt oddly reticent. “I didn’t see you.”

“No.” Iddesleigh smirked. “You looked quite, ah, relaxed when I saw you exit that establishment. I, myself, was engaged at the time with two eager nymphs, or I would have greeted you.”

“Only two?” Harry asked, deadpan.

“We were joined later by a third.” Iddesleigh’s icy gray eyes sparkled almost innocently. “But I hesitated to admit the fact for fear it would cause you two to doubt your manhood by comparison.”

Harry snorted.

Edward grinned and caught the boy’s eye. He held up a finger for another mug. “Good God. Aren’t you getting a trifle long in the tooth for such athletics?”

The viscount placed a lace-draped hand on his breast. “I assure you, on the honor of my dead and moldering forefathers, that all three wenches were wearing smiles when I left them.”

“Probably because of the gold they were clutching,” Edward said.