The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(33)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

And Anna realized it was the sole time he had spoken to her that night.

Chapter Ten

In the middle of the night, when all was black, Aurea was awakened by passionate kisses. She was drowsy and could not see, but the touch was gentle. She turned and her arms wrapped around the form of a man. He stroked and petted her so exquisitely that she didn’t even notice when he drew the nightgown from her body. Then he made love to her in a silence broken only by her cries of ecstasy. All night he stayed, worshipping her body with his own, and as dawn neared, she fell asleep again, replete with passion.

But in the morning when Aurea awoke, her lover of the night before was gone. She sat up in her great, lonely bed and searched for any sign of him. All she could see was a single feather from the raven, and she wondered if her lover had merely been a dream….

—from The Raven Prince

Edward threw down his quill and pushed up his spectacles to rub his eyes. Damn. The words just would not come.

Outside his London town house, in a not very fashionable neighborhood, he could hear the sound of delivery carts beginning to roll up and down the street. The front door banged, and a song drifted up to his window from the maid sweeping the steps. The room had lightened since he had risen from his bed, and he leaned over to blow out the candle guttering on his desk.

Sleep had eluded him the night before. He’d finally given up in the wee hours. It was strange. He’d just experienced the best sex in his lifetime and thus should have been completely exhausted. Instead, he’d spent the long night thinking about Anna Wren and the little whore he had taken to bed at Aphrodite’s Grotto.

But was she a whore? That was the problem. The question had gone around and around in his head all the night long.

When he’d arrived at Aphrodite’s Grotto the evening before, the madam had simply said that there was a woman already waiting for him. She hadn’t indicated whether the woman was a working prostitute or a lady of the ton, out for an evening of illicit pleasure. He hadn’t asked either. One didn’t ask at Aphrodite’s Grotto. That was why so many patronized the place: A man was guaranteed anonymity and a clean woman. He hadn’t been curious until after he’d left.

On the one hand, she’d worn a mask like a lady eager to conceal her identity. However, sometimes the whores at Aphrodite’s Grotto wore masks to give themselves an air of mystery. But then again, she’d been so tight when he’d entered her, as if she had been a very long while without a man. Perhaps that was his imagination, remembering only what he’d wanted to feel.

He groaned huskily under his breath. Thinking of her was making him hard as a rock. It was also making him feel guilty. Because that was the other thing that had kept him awake most of the night: guilt. Which was ridiculous. Everything had been fine, wonderful, even, until his mind turned to Mrs. Wren, Anna, again not even a quarter of an hour after he’d left Aphrodite’s Grotto. The feeling the thought of her brought—a kind of melancholy, a sense of wrongness—had stayed with him all the way home. He felt as if he had betrayed her. Never mind that she had no claim on him. That she had never even shown that she reciprocated his longing. The notion that he had been unfaithful was still there, eroding his soul.

The little whore had been shaped like Anna.

Holding her, he imagined a little what it would be like to hold Anna Wren. How it would feel to caress her. And when he’d kissed her throat, he had become instantly aroused. Edward groaned into his hands. This was ridiculous. He must rid himself of these constant thoughts of his little secretary; they were unworthy of an English gentleman. This urge to corrupt an innocent must be overcome, and he would do it through sheer willpower if need be.

He jumped up from his desk, strode over to the bellpull hanging in the corner, and yanked it viciously. Then he began putting away his papers. He took off his reading glasses and stuffed them into a cubbyhole.

Five minutes later, his summons still hadn’t been answered.

Edward exhaled and glared at the door. Another minute ticked by with no sign of a servant. He drummed his fingers on his desk impatiently. Goddamnit, he had a limit.

He marched to the door and bellowed into the hallway, “Davis!”

A shuffling sound, as if from a creature called forth from the stygian depths, came from the corridor. It drew nearer. Very slowly.

“It will be sundown before you get here if you don’t hurry up, Davis!” Edward held his breath, listening.

The shuffling did not quicken.

He exhaled again and leaned on the door frame. “I’m going to dismiss you one of these days. I’m going to replace you with a trained bear. It couldn’t possibly perform any worse than you. Do you hear me, Davis?”

Davis, his valet, materialized around the corner holding a tray with hot water. The tray trembled. The servant slowed his already-snaillike progress even more when he saw the earl.

Edward snorted. “That’s right, don’t exert yourself. I have all the time in the world to stand about the corridor in my nightshirt.”

The other man appeared not to hear. His movements were down to a crawl now. Davis was an aged rascal with sparse hair the color of dirty snow. His back was bent in a habitual stoop. A large mole with sprouting hairs grew by the side of his mouth as if to make up for the lack of hair above the watery gray eyes.

“I know you can hear me,” Edward shouted in his ear as he passed.

The valet started as if just noticing him. “Up early, are we, m’lord? So debauched we couldn’t sleep, eh?”

“My sleep was dreamless.”

“That so?” Davis gave a cackle that would have done credit to a buzzard. “ ’Tisn’t good for a man your age, not sleeping well, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“What are you mumbling about, you senile old coot?”

Davis set the tray down and shot a malicious glance at him. “Drains the manly vigor, it does, if you know what I mean, m’lord.”

“No, I don’t know what you mean, thank God.” He poured the ewer of lukewarm water into a basin on his dresser and began to wet his jaw.

Davis leaned close and said in a hoarse whisper, “Tupping, m’lord.” He winked, a hideous sight.

Edward eyed him irritably as he lathered.

“It’s all fine for a young man,” the valet continued, “but you’re getting up there, m’lord. The elderly need to preserve their strength.”

“You would certainly know.”

Davis scowled and picked up the razor.