The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(26)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

The flower was a couple of feet from the edge of a bed. Anna bent from the waist to get a closer look, placing one hand on the ground to steady herself.

“Or perhaps a forget-me-not, although usually they bloom in big groups.” She carefully plucked the flower. “No, I’m silly. Look at the leaves.”

Lord Swartingham was very still behind her.

“I think it may be a type of hyacinth.” She straightened and turned to consult him.

“Oh?” The single word came out a baritone guttural.

She blinked at his voice. “Yes, and of course where there’s one, there’s always more.”

“Of what?”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You haven’t been listening to me, have you?”

He shook his head. “No.”

He was watching her intently, in such a way that Anna’s breath quickened. She could feel her face heat. In the quiet, the breeze playfully blew a thin lock of hair across her mouth. He reached out very slowly and brushed it away with the tips of his fingers. The calluses on his hand rasped against the sensitive skin of her lips, and she closed her eyes in yearning. He carefully tucked the lock back into her coiffure, his hand lingering at her temple.

She felt his breath caress her lips. Oh, please.

And then he dropped his hand.

Anna opened her eyes and met his obsidian gaze. She stretched out her own hand to protest—or perhaps touch his face, she wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter anyway. He’d already whirled and paced a few steps away from her. She didn’t think he had even noticed her own aborted gesture.

He turned his head so that she could see only his face in profile. “I beg your pardon.”

“Why?” She tried to smile. “I—”

He made a chopping motion with the blade of his hand. “I will be traveling tomorrow to London. I fear I have some business there that can no longer wait.”

Anna squeezed her hands into fists.

“You may continue admiring the garden if you wish. I need to return to my writing.” He strode rapidly away, his boots grinding against the broken bricks.

Anna opened her clenched fists and felt the crushed flower slip from her fingers.

She glanced around the ruined garden. It had so many possibilities. Some weeding by the wall over there, some planting in the bed here. No garden was ever truly dead if a proper gardener knew how to nurture it. Why, it only needed a bit of care, a bit of love….

A veil of tears obscured her eyes. She wiped at them irritably with a trembling hand. She’d forgotten her handkerchief inside. The tears overflowed her eyes and rolled to her chin. Bother. She’d have to use her sleeve to mop them. What sort of lady was caught without a handkerchief? A pitiful sort of one, obviously. The sort a gentleman couldn’t bring himself to kiss. She scrubbed her face with the inside of her forearm, but the tears kept reappearing. As if she’d believe that nonsense about work in London! She was a mature woman. She knew where the earl meant to do his work. In that nasty brothel.

She caught her breath on a sob. He was going to London to bed another woman.

Chapter Eight

The raven flew with Aurea for another day and night, and everything she saw in that time belonged to him. Aurea tried to comprehend such wealth, such power, but it was beyond understanding. Her own father had only commanded a small portion of the people and lands that this bird seemed to own. Finally, on the fourth evening, she saw a great castle, made entirely of white marble and gold. The setting sun reflecting off it was so bright it made her eyes hurt.

“Who owns this castle?” Aurea whispered, and a nameless dread filled her heart.

The raven turned his huge head and regarded her with a glinting black eye. “Your husband!” he cackled….

—from The Raven Prince

That evening, Anna trudged home alone. After she’d pulled together her wits in the ruined garden, she’d returned to the library intending to work. She needn’t have bothered. Lord Swartingham hadn’t appeared all the rest of the afternoon, and as she was gathering her things at the end of the day, a young footman had brought her a small folded card. It was brief and to the point. His lordship would be leaving very early in the morning, and thus he would not see her before he left. He sent his regrets.

Since the earl wasn’t around to protest, Anna walked home instead of taking the carriage, partly in rebellion, partly because she needed time alone to think and compose herself. It wouldn’t do to return home with her face long and her eyes red. Not unless she wanted to be quizzed half the night by Mother Wren.

By the time Anna reached the outskirts of town, her feet were aching. She’d become used to the luxury of the carriage. She trudged on and turned into her lane, and there she stopped. A scarlet and black coach with gilt trim stood before her door. The coachman and the two footmen lounging against the vehicle wore matching black livery edged with scarlet piping and yards of gilt braid. Beside the vehicle, a gang of small boys hopped about, interrogating the footmen. Anna couldn’t blame them—it looked like minor royalty had come to call on her. She sidled around the carriage and entered her cottage.

Inside, Mother Wren and Pearl were having tea in the sitting room with a third woman whom Anna had never seen before. The woman was quite young, barely in her twenties. Ice-white powdered hair swept up her forehead in a deceptively simple style, setting off strange, light green eyes. She wore a black gown. Black usually indicated mourning, but Anna had never seen a mourning gown quite like this one. A cascade of shining jet-black material flowed around the sitting woman, and the overskirt pulled back to reveal scarlet embroidery on the petticoat below. The vivid stitching repeated on the low, square neckline and triple tiers of lace falling from the half sleeves. She looked as out of place in Anna’s little sitting room as a peacock in a hen yard.

Mother Wren looked up brightly at Anna’s entrance. “Dear, this is Coral Smythe, Pearl’s younger sister. We’ve just been having a dish of tea.” She gestured with her cup, almost sloshing the tea into Pearl’s lap in the process. “My daughter-in-law, Anna Wren.”

“How do you do, Mrs. Wren?” Coral spoke in a deep, husky voice that sounded like it should be coming from a man instead of an exotic young woman.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Anna murmured as she accepted a cup of tea.

“We must be leaving soon if we’re to make London before dawn,” Pearl said.

“Are you recovered enough for the journey, sister?” Coral showed little emotion on her face, but she watched Pearl intently.