The Devil Earl (29 page)

They had been headed toward his estate in Devon, but now they were obviously closer to Cornwall, though Mr. Darlington had given her no explanation for the change in direction. Was he taking her home? Phoebe did not know, but she definitely did not like the tavern where he had told her to wait.

Even raised as she had been along the coast, where rough seamen made their homes, she did not like the looks of this crowd. These hardened men did not resemble the fishermen and simple village folk she knew; they looked positively fierce, and she noted, with alarm, the glint of metal knives at their waists or sticking out of their boots. It was not the sort of place for a woman—or for any respectable person, for that matter. What business had Mr. Darlington here?

Phoebe heard a raucous laugh and turned toward the doorway, where one grizzled fellow had knocked another to the floor, to the jeering appreciation of his companions. Her eyes slid past the scene to settle upon a newcomer, and her breath caught.

He was not as tall as some, nor nearly as dirty, but he looked just as dangerous. His blond hair was sun-bleached, and hung to his shoulders in a windblown fashion that made her heart trip. Living for so long among gentry and villagers, Phoebe had always been attracted to well-dressed, well-mannered, well-educated men, but even the most elegant of Londoners paled in comparison to such a man as this.

He was clothed in high boots, and breeches so tight they were nearly indecent, Phoebe thought, swallowing hard. His legs were hard and muscular, and he moved with a lazy confidence, just as though he feared nothing and no one. He had some sort of fancy knife stuck in the belt that rode low on his slender hips, and his shirt was slashed open to reveal a goodly portion of sun-bronzed chest. Phoebe stared. The only shirtless men she had seen were workers who looked nothing like this magnificent creature.

He held his arms loosely at his sides, and when he turned, Phoebe saw part of his face: a jaw darkened by the stubble of a day’s growth of beard, tanned skin, a fine, straight nose, and eyes that flashed blue as the sky.

Oh! Phoebe put a hand to her throat and leaned back against the wall on legs that felt too weak to hold her. Never
in all her life had she been so affected by a man! And this was no ordinary fellow, but some sort of cutthroat, no doubt! She shivered, worried suddenly for her tenuous hold on sanity.

“Well?” Startled by the angry growl, Phoebe turned to see Mr. Darlington standing beside her. Although a bit disheveled from the day’s ride, he looked much as he always did, which struck Phoebe suddenly as…silly. His collar was so stiff and so high that he could hardly turn his head, his raiment a veritable rainbow of bright colors, from puce to saffron, and his hair was swept up into the most fashionable curls.

Phoebe glanced back at the blond man, whose back was now to her, and his plain white shirt and tight buff breeches appeared the height of simplicity and comfort and…manliness. She stared, remembering her brief glimpse of his handsome face, and felt her heart trip violently. There was something familiar about him…

“Well?” Darlington snapped again, making her head swivel toward him. “Come on upstairs. I’ve a room for the night.”

“Surely we are not staying here?” Phoebe asked.

“Stop that whining, will you? Unless you have good coin for someplace better, this is where we will spend the night. In one room. Together, by God!” He grabbed her by the arm, his fingers digging into her delicate skin. “I have waited long enough, my pretty little miss!”

“Let me go!” Phoebe whimpered, trying to shake off his hold.

“Tired of me already?” Darlington sneered. “Well, I am sick of your preening and simpering and imperious demands, but I can still take pleasure in your body.”

“Oh!” Phoebe struggled against him. “I thought we were going to your estate! And what of the special license you were to obtain?” She babbled, playing for time and trying
to think, but he was hurting her, and she was growing dizzy from the noise and foul smells of the tavern.

“Special license? Estate?” He threw back his head and laughed, and Phoebe smelled liquor on his breath. He had been drinking, she realized, and she was suddenly frightened of him. “There is no estate, you little fool!”

“But you said!” Phoebe argued. “Your cousin—”

He laughed again, bitterly. “Yes, I am cousin to the great duke of Carlisle, for all the good it does me, and so are half the people in London—on one side of the blanket or the other. Now come along, before I lose my patience! I have wasted enough time and money on you, and now I would receive payment.”

“No!”

“No? And just what are you planning on doing? Does it look like any of these gents will help you?” he asked, waving a hand toward the unsavory crowd. “More than likely, they’ll want their own piece of you, so if you don’t want to be tossed to them, you had better treat me well!”

“No!”
Phoebe screamed, not caring where she was or who would hear. She only knew she was not leaving with the dreadful Mr. Darlington.

“Damn you! I never expected to drag you this far—”

One minute Darlington was in her face, snarling at her, and the next he was traveling backward, held by the collar of his fancy coat in a sun-bronzed fist. Astonished, Phoebe looked up to see the handsome blonde clutching a flailing Darlington in a seemingly effortless grip. “I believe the lady has wearied of you,” the cutthroat said, in perfectly accented English.

While Phoebe watched, speechless, Darlington tried to kick his captor, but the pirate simply swung his other fist and smashed the dandy in the face. Darlington sank to the filthy floor, his nose squirting blood upon the fine linen of his starched neckcloth, his eyes closed in a swoon.

To Phoebe’s shock, her rescuer then knelt down and searched the unconscious man’s pockets, removing what little money he had. Just as she was about to squeal in fright at the theft, the pirate stretched an arm toward her. For a long moment, she simply stared at his upraised palm, which was golden and callused, before realizing that he was offering her Darlington’s coin. Then she took the funds with shaking fingers, knowing she ought to be afraid of this man who had made such short work of her companion, but too relieved and excited to think sensibly. Besides, there was something oddly familiar about him…

As if sensing the same thing himself, her savior stood and stepped toward her, a curious look on his handsome face, and when his blue eyes met hers, she saw shock and recognition so powerful they stunned her.

“Phoebe!” he cried.

In that instant, she, too, knew him, but before she could even utter his name, this great sun-bronzed pirate of a man wrapped his strong arms around her waist, lifted her against his chest as if she weighed nothing and kissed her with a fierce passion that marked her as his own…now and forever. It was like nothing she had ever known before—from him or anyone else—and it left her thoroughly dazed.

“James,” she whispered weakly.

S
ebastian sullenly watched Prudence pick at her food and felt like strangling that foolish sister of hers. Leave it to Phoebe, the selfish chit, to ruin her sister’s visit to Wolfinger and alienate what little family the girls had. Of course, Cousin Hugh wasn’t much, as relations went, and Sebastian had to admit he was glad they had finally managed to get rid of the fellow. He shuddered to think of the kind of life his passionate little authoress would have had, wedded to that rigid bore.

Speaking of marriage…Sebastian slanted another look across the table at his companion. He knew she was worried about Phoebe, but he still felt the prick of pique. He had never proposed to a woman in his life, so, naturally, he had hoped for a little bit more enthusiasm than Prudence had evinced so far, which was precious little. In fact, she had failed to comment at all.

Sebastian would have suspected that in the heat of her argument with Hugh she might have missed the implication of his words. But he could not even take solace in that excuse, for after he announced their betrothal, Hugh had turned to Prudence for corroboration. “Is this true?” he had asked, red-faced and sputtering.

Prudence had blinked once and then calmly replied, “Yes, of course it is true.” Thankfully, that had been the
end of Hugh, but nothing further had been said about their upcoming nuptials. Had she even accepted his suit, or had she only feigned agreement to get rid of her cousin? Sebastian found himself fretting like a boy at his first dance.

And he did not like fretting. It was foreign and weak and irksome. Frowning, Sebastian studied his alleged fiancée from across the table. Damn it, he knew that Prudence cared for him! Otherwise, she most certainly would not be here in his home, making love to him, with astounding zeal and to the detriment of her own reputation. And yet…She had never really discussed her feelings, Sebastian realized with something that bore an annoying resemblance to fretting.

By God, he was acting the fool! He speared his fork forcefully into the overcooked beef on his plate. He had listened to countless protestations of love from female lips over the years, knowing full well that the words were as meaningless as the sex that followed. This time, he would just have to go with his gut instinct and ignore the niggling need to hear such nonsense. After all, he was not about to start spouting it himself, was he?
Was he?
Sebastian decided to ignore the odd feeling that attended that query. “Eat, Pru,” he ordered suddenly, in an effort to distract himself.

She looked across at him as if she had forgotten his presence, her normally bright hazel eyes bleak and dull. “Oh, Sebastian, I hold out no hope that they are in Mullion, and then what shall we do? They could be anywhere!”

“We shall find them, Pru,” Sebastian replied. “I am surprised at your lack of faith in our skills. Did you not find the only clue to James’s disappearance, when a professional Bow Street Runner could not?”

Prudence nodded, without any of her normal confidence, and smiled, so weakly that it tore at his insides. “But I am not worried about James,” she argued. “I am certain he can take care of himself, while Phoebe…Poor little
Phoebe cannot. Oh, I should never have left her there alone! It is all my fault!”

Sebastian could listen to her flay herself no longer. “Damn it, Pru!” he shouted, tossing down his napkin. “You are not to blame for what your sister has done! Whether you like it or no, Phoebe was a spoiled, heedless creature, who thought of none but herself. The ton is riddled with her like—minxes who give no care as to what effects their actions will bring about. If she was determined, nothing you could have done would have stopped her.”

He stalked across the room. “You think I haven’t beaten myself up over James’s disappearance? I told myself that if only I had treated him differently or had not chased after him, he would still be here, alive and well. If, if, if! Regrets are a waste of time, Pru, and in the end, I find that he tangled with smugglers, hardly something I could have prevented.”

He bent over, taking her hands in his own, as if he could infuse life into her by his very touch. But hadn’t she claimed as much? “Phoebe is a grown woman, Pru, and you are not responsible for her deeds. As you said yourself tonight, everyone makes their own choices.”

Sebastian could almost see Prudence turning over his words in her clever mind, and he noted with approval that she no longer looked quite so desolate. Suddenly, as if coming to a decision, she lifted her chin and nodded determinedly. “You are nght, of course, dear, sensible Sebastian. Come,” she said, rising to her feet. “Let us have that bath now.”

Sebastian smiled, glad to see the glimmer of spirit back in her lovely eyes. And then he laughed out loud, for who but dear Pru would ever think the Devil Earl sensible?

An early start got them to Mullion before the rain began, and after endless inquiries they came to a small cottage purported to be the home of a John Darlington. It was a far
cry from Mr. Darlington’s supposed estate in Devon, but it looked clean and well tended, and the elderly gentleman who greeted them seemed pleasant enough.

He invited them in for a spot of ale, but when he found out they were looking for his nephew, he shook his head. “I don’t have any more doings with the rascal!” he said. Then he sank into a neat wooden chair, sighing heavily, as if reminded of his own regrets.

“Not a bad boy, mind you, but ever since he learned he was cousin to the duke, he got to thinking he deserved better than what he had. He started studying for the law, but that was too slow for him. Too much work!” he said, with a scowl of disgust. He took a long pull on his ale.

“He got in with those that want a quick way to wealth. Started buying fancy clothes,” he said, with a snort. “Taking on airs. Traipsing off to London to mingle with the young bucks, thinking he can live off of them, no doubt. But he always comes back, with pockets to let, begging me for money. Well, I put up with it as long as could, out of respect for my poor brother. A man of God, he was, and he would be sorely disappointed to see what his son has become.”

As interesting as she found the elder Darlington, Prudence felt the pressure of time weighing on her shoulders. His nephew had run away with her sister four days ago, and she knew well enough what could have happened in that length of time. “Mr. Darlington, do you have any idea where he would be now?” she asked.

He frowned. “Well, if he’s not in London, he’s probably around about town somewhere, drinking and doing God knows what else with those ruffian cronies of his.” He paused to take another swallow and slammed his mug down upon the table loudly, as if to take out his anger on the wooden surface.

“I have nothing against free-trading, mind you, and during the war our boys were commissioned by the regent
himself to do what they could against those murdering Frenchies.” He frowned, staring into his ale. “But there’s free-trading that’s honest work, and then there’s other sorts.”

Prudence saw Sebastian fix the older man with a sharp, interested stare. “Are you saying that your nephew is involved with smugglers, Mr. Darlington?” the earl asked.