Free The Prince of Ravenscar by Catherine Coulter

in that smile, he thought, something he didn’t particularly trust, something wicked. He studied her. “Would you like to tell me what mischief you are brewing, Miss Wilkie?”
    â€œOh, look, my lord, there is Corrie Sherbrooke. All alone, standing in full sun. Shall we say hello to her? Or would you wish I call her to come inside?”
    â€œOnly if James isn’t in the vicinity.”
    â€œWhy ever not?”
    â€œHe does not appreciate me, I fear, ever since I asked Corrie’s uncle for his permission to wed her.”
    â€œGoodness, I wouldn’t appreciate you, either. Corrie told me you found her amusing, nothing more.”
    â€œAh, last fall was an interesting time. A pity you couldn’t have been here to witness all the drama. Corrie is an original. And now she is expecting a child. James did not waste any time.”
    â€œThat strikes me as being a rather indelicate disclosure for my innocent ears, my lord.”
    â€œIf you were really listening, you would have heard the whiff of sarcasm in my voice. In short, Corrie was forced to marry him. It was a pity, but she appears resigned to her fate.”
    â€œDo you really think so? Let me see. James looks like a god, his form is close to divine, he is ever so smart, and I’ve watched him laugh and jest with her. Do you really think she has resigned herself to this appalling fate?”
    â€œYour own use of sarcasm is wasted on me. It is only ladies who are prone to flights of fancy, Miss Wilkie. Beautiful? A man would think James Sherbrooke and his twin, Jason, to be good sorts, nothing more than that until they cheated at cards, for example.”
    â€œHe has a twin?”
    â€œYes. They are identical. However, Jason has moved to America. Baltimore, I believe, is the name of the provincial city where he now resides. Unlike his brother, Jason is horse mad.”
    â€œAnd do they cheat at cards?”
    â€œTo the best of my knowledge, no.”
    â€œThen men must admire them as well?”
    â€œThere is no need to go that far. Now, let us say hello to Corrie, see if perhaps she wishes to throw up behind one of Lady Marksbury’s prize rosebushes.”
    Sophie and Devlin Monroe, hat back on his head, his umbrella tucked under his arm, walked out into the gardens overflowing with laughter, endless gossip, extravagant jewels, and champagne goblets in every beringed hand. Devlin eyed his mother across the wide Marksbury lawn, saw she was well pleased with Viscount Earswick’s ponderous attention, and that was what counted. He hadn’t realized his mother found crop rotation so invigorating. She looked very impressive today in her purple satin gown with sleeves the width of a tree trunk. As for his sire, the duke was probably down at the Marksbury stables, eyeing Lord Markham’s new bay gelding he himself had wished to buy. Mayhap he would drop a warning in Lord Markham’s ear, since he knew his father was perfectly capable of having the gelding stolen right out of the stables.
    Devlin wanted to speak to Julian but didn’t see him. He’d said he might show himself if he couldn’t find anything more amusing to do with his Saturday afternoon, which he probably had. Then Julian had asked Devlin about Miss Wilkie, an eyebrow raised. “The chit pleases you, Dev?”
    â€œLike Corrie Sherbrooke, she is an original. I fancy to give her some attention, at least for a while. No need to pour it on, however.”
    â€œShe seems a good sort of girl, so perhaps you should consider pouring it on in liberal amounts. Your father is right. You are now twenty-seven, time to wed and produce an heir for the succession. Life is terribly fragile, Devlin. A man can die in a moment.”
    Devlin looked at his half-uncle closely. “You are morose today. What are you thinking? Has something happened?”
    And Julian told him about his smuggling run and how he knew that there’d been another