The Prince of Ravenscar Read Online Free PDF Page B

him a nice sharp prick.”

6
    Until Eve arrived, this was a man’s world.
    â€”RICHARD ARMOR
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    Buxted Ball
    Putnam Square
    APRIL 16, 1831
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    H er grace, Corinne Monroe, the dowager Duchess of Brabante, tapped her fan on her son’s arm. “Julian, look at that tall gentleman standing by the potted palm. It is Richard Langworth, is it not?”
    Julian followed his mother’s finger and nodded. “Yes, it is Richard.” He hadn’t seen Richard while he’d been home, and now he was here in London. Had he followed him?
    Actually, Julian wished he were anywhere but London. He didn’t know which he dreaded more—meeting Sophie Colette or speaking with Richard. His yacht, Désirée —now, that would be the thing. He could sail to the Hebrides, visit the Viking stone huts, and wonder whether, if he’d been born a Viking, he would be dead by the age of twenty.
    Corinne said, “I have seen him and his family only at a distance since Lily’s funeral. In short, they have avoided me. He doesn’t look happy. Do you think he still blames you?”
    Oh, yes, he will always believe I murdered his beloved sister, no matter what I say. “I doubt Richard will be unpleasant to either of us, since there are at least two hundred people here tonight. Ignore him.”
    The ballroom was too hot, he thought, but he wasn’t about to drink the iced champagne punch, knowing one glass could fell an ox, and that felled ox would then immediately want another glass. Sophie Colette, he thought, and started to cast about for escape plans, when his mother tugged on his sleeve and pointed her fan. “It is about time. There she is—Sophie Colette Wilkie, my dear. Is she not stunning? Look at that rich dark brown hair, the color of mink, I thought this morning when I saw her—like her mother’s, and those magnificent blue eyes, so brilliant and sparkling, don’t you think? As for that beanpole next to her, it is her aunt, Roxanne Radcliffe. As you can see, even from here, she didn’t have the good taste to be older, as she should have been. I had quite counted on her being older, if you know what I mean.”
    â€œNo. What do you mean?”
    She gave him a look that clearly said, How can you be such a dolt? “She will doubtless try to steal the attention from Sophie. It is too bad, and I should have told her so when I saw her. Alas, I am too kind, and since Bethanne was her sister, kindness seemed the appropriate thing. Don’t you think the gown Sophie is wearing is very flattering? Does not the term princess come to your mind when you look at her?” Since you are a prince, it is fitting, but Corinne didn’t say that aloud, knowing Julian would hoist up his eyebrow and stare at her. Best not to overdo; she didn’t want to put him off. He was a man, after all, and in her experience, for an idea to be worth anything, it had to spring from a male brain.
    â€œShe looks well enough,” he said.
    Actually, Julian had to admit Sophie Wilkie had a well-nigh-perfect figure, and a lovely face, topped with dark brown hair— mink, his mother had said—all poufed and ringletted. How many hours, or days, did it require to achieve such a style? A princess?
    To counter the scale, and to test the waters, Corinne added, “She is dreadfully brown, though. I hadn’t counted on that.”
    â€œI quite like the golden complexion, Mother,” Julian said, but he was looking at Roxanne Radcliffe. He’d never seen such incredible red hair, piles of the stuff, full and rich, worn in thick plaits atop her head, pale pink ribbons threaded through the stack, a plain and simple style that suited her. Her skin was very white, like a new snowfall over the Gallatin Mountains, as white as Devlin’s face. Her gown was pale pink, matching the ribbons in her hair, the skirts full, gauzy stuff that made his fingers