Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5)(4)

Phoebe’s smile faded as a strange, terrible suspicion flickered through her mind.

“How long have you been employed here?” she asked cautiously.

“Since my brother inherited the title.” The stranger bowed before continuing. “Weston Ravenel . . . at your service.”





Chapter 2




West couldn’t stop staring at Lady Clare. He had the feeling if he reached out to touch her, he would come away with his fingers scorched. That hair, blazing from beneath a simple gray traveling bonnet . . . he’d never seen anything like it. Bird-of-paradise red, with glimmers of crimson dancing amid the pinned-up locks. Her skin was flawless ivory except for a tender spray of freckles sprinkled across her nose, like a finishing spice on some luxurious dessert.

She had the look of someone who had been nurtured: educated and well dressed. Someone who had always been lovingly sheltered. But there was a shadow in her gaze . . . the knowledge that there were some things no human being could be protected from.

God, those eyes . . . light gray, with striations like the rays of tiny stars.

When she smiled, West had felt a hot tug deep inside his chest. But immediately after he’d introduced himself, her winsome smile had faded, as if she’d just woken from a lovely dream into a far less pleasant reality.

Turning to her son, Lady Clare gently smoothed a cowlick at the crown of his dark head. “Justin, we have to rejoin the rest of the family.”

“But I’m going to play marbles with Mr. Ravenel,” the boy protested.

“Not with all the guests arriving,” she countered. “This poor gentleman has much to do. We’re going to settle in our rooms.”

Justin frowned. “Do I have to stay in the nursery? With the babies?”

“Darling, you’re four years old—”

“Almost five!”

Her lips quirked. There was a wealth of interest and empathy in the gaze she bent on her small son. “You may stay in my room, if you like,” she offered.

The child was appalled by the suggestion. “I can’t sleep in your room,” he said indignantly.

“Why not?”

“People might think we were married!”

West concentrated on a distant spot on the floor, struggling to hold back a laugh. When he was able, he took a steadying breath and risked a glance at Lady Clare. To his secret delight, she appeared to be considering the point as if it were entirely valid.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she said. “I suppose it will have to be the nursery, then. Shall we go look for Nanny and Stephen?”

The boy heaved a sigh and reached up for her hand. Looking up at West, he explained, “Stephen is my baby brother. He can’t talk, and he smells like rotten turtles.”

“Not all the time,” Lady Clare protested.

Justin only shook his head, as if the point weren’t worth debating.

Charmed by the easy communication between the two, West couldn’t help comparing it to the stilted exchanges he’d had with his own mother, who had always seemed to regard her offspring as if they were someone else’s children who were bothering her.

“There are far worse smells than a baby brother,” West told the boy. “Sometime during your visit, I’ll show you foulest-smelling thing on the estate home farm.”

“What is it?” Justin demanded in excitement.

West grinned at him. “You’ll have to wait to find out.”

Looking troubled, Lady Clare said, “You’re very kind, Mr. Ravenel, but we won’t hold you to that promise. I’m sure you’ll be quite busy. We wouldn’t wish to impose.”

More surprised than offended by the refusal, West replied slowly, “As you wish, my lady.”

Seeming relieved, she curtseyed gracefully and whisked her son away as if they were escaping something.

Baffled, West stared after her. This wasn’t the first time a highly respectable woman had given him the cold shoulder. But it was the first time it had ever stung.

Lady Clare must know about his reputation. His past had been rife with more episodes of debauchery and drunkenness than most men under the age of thirty could ever hope to claim. He could hardly blame Lady Clare for wanting to keep her impressionable child away from him. God knew he would never want to be responsible for ruining a fledgling human being.

Sighing inwardly, West resigned himself to keeping his mouth shut and avoiding Challons during the next few days. Which wouldn’t be easy, since the house was bloody full of them. After the newly wedded couple’s departure, the bridegroom’s family would stay on for at least three or four more days. The duke and duchess intended to take advantage of the opportunity to spend time with some old friends and acquaintances in Hampshire. There would be luncheons, dinners, excursions, parties and picnics, and long nights of parlor entertainments and conversation.

Naturally all this would have to take place at the beginning of summer, when the estate farms were in a ferment of activity. At least the work gave West a justifiable reason to spend most of his time away from the house. And as far from Lady Clare as possible.

“Why are you standing here dumbfloundering?” a female voice demanded.

Torn from his thoughts, West glanced down at his pretty dark-haired cousin, Lady Pandora Ravenel.

Pandora was an unconventional girl: impulsive, intelligent, and usually filled with more energy than she seemed able to manage. Of all three Ravenel sisters, she had been the least likely to marry the most eligible bachelor in England. However, it spoke well of Gabriel, Lord St. Vincent, that he was able to appreciate her. In fact, from all accounts, St. Vincent had gone head over heels for her.