The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(74)

Her sister pulled back her thin shoulders and thrust her chin forward. “I’m going to stay here with Mr. Felix Hopple.”

Coral stared for a short moment. Pearl’s stance never wavered.

“Why?” she finally asked, her voice even.

“He’s asked leave to court me, and I’ve told him he may.”

“And when he learns what you are?”

“I think he already knows.” Pearl saw her question and quickly shook her head. “No, I haven’t told him, but my last stay here wasn’t a secret. And if he doesn’t know, I’ll tell him. I think he’ll have me anyway.”

“Even if he accepts your former life,” Coral said gently, “the other villagers may not.”

“Oh, I know it will be rough. I’m not a young girl with pixie dust in her eyes anymore. But he’s a proper gentleman.” Pearl knelt beside Coral’s chair. “He treats me so kindly, and he looks at me like I might be a lady.”

“And so you will stay here?”

“You could stay, too.” Pearl spoke low and reached to grasp Coral’s hand. “We could both start a new life here, have families like normal folk. We could have a wee cottage like this one, and you could live with me. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Coral looked down at her hand intertwined with her older sister’s. Pearl’s fingers were biscuit-colored with small, light scars around the knuckles, mementos of her years of service. Her own hand was white, smooth, and unnaturally soft. She withdrew it from Pearl’s clasp.

“I’m afraid I cannot stay here.” Coral tried to smile but found she couldn’t. “I belong in London. I’m just not comfortable any other place.”

“But—”

“Hush, dear. My lot in life was drawn a long time ago.” Coral stood and shook out her skirts. “Besides, all this fresh air and sunshine can’t be good for my complexion. Come inside and help me pack.”

“If that’s what you want,” Pearl said slowly.

“It is.” Coral held out her hand to pull her sister to her feet. “You have told me how Mr. Hopple feels, but you never said how you feel about him.”

“He makes me feel safe and warm.” Pearl blushed. “And he kisses so nicely.”

“A lemon curd tart,” Coral murmured. “And you always were so very fond of lemon curd.”

“What?”

“Never mind, dear.” Coral brushed her lips across her sister’s cheek. “I’m glad you have found the man for you.”

“AND FURTHERMORE, THIS crackpot theory only deepens the suspicion that your senility of the brain is now in an advanced stage. My commiserations.”

Anna frantically scribbled the words as Edward paced before her rosewood desk. She’d never taken dictation before and found to her dismay that it was harder than she would have thought. The fact that Edward composed his scathing letters at a breakneck pace certainly did not help.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that The Raven Prince was back on her desk. Ever since that ride in the phaeton two days ago, she and Edward seemed to be playing a game with the book. One morning she’d found the book lying in the center of her desk. She’d returned it to him silently, but after luncheon it’d been back on her desk again. She’d put it on Edward’s desk, again, and the process had been repeated. Several times. So far, she hadn’t worked up the courage to ask what, exactly, the book meant to him and why he seemed to be giving it to her.

Now Edward wandered over in the midst of his dictation. “Perhaps your sad mental deterioration has a family root.” He braced a fist on her desk. “I remember your uncle, the Duke of Arlington, was similarly stubborn on the issue of swine breeding. Indeed, some say his final apoplectic fit was the result of a too-heated discussion about farrowing pens. Do you find it hot in here?”

Anna had gotten as far as writing hot when she realized that the last question was directed at her. She glanced up in time to see him discard his coat.

“No, the room seems most temperate.” Her tentative smile froze as Edward drew off his neckcloth.

“I’m overly warm,” he said. He unbuttoned his waistcoat.

“What are you doing?” Anna squeaked.

“Dictating a letter?” He arched his eyebrows in a parody of innocence.

“You’re disrobing!”

“No, I would be disrobing if I removed my shirt,” Edward said, doing just that.

“Edward!”

“My dear?”

“Put your shirt back on this instant,” Anna hissed.

“Why? Do you find my torso offensive?” Edward leaned nonchalantly against her desk.

“Yes.” Anna winced at his expression. “No! Put your shirt back on.”

“You’re sure you’re not repulsed by my scars?” He leaned closer, his fingers trailing across the marks on his upper chest.

Her eyes helplessly followed his hypnotic hand before she snapped her gaze away. A scathing reply teetered on the edge of her tongue. She was stopped by Edward’s studied ease. The question was clearly important to the impossible man.

She sighed. “I don’t find you repulsive at all, as well you know.”

“Then touch me.”