The Devil Earl by Deborah Simmons Page A

bright smile. Who the devil was he? He looked like one of those dreadfully stiff, starched bores one saw seated at the edge of the shabbiest cardrooms, playing piquet for pennies.
    “Yes, of course, Hugh. Lord Ravenscar, Lord Neville, I would like you to meet my cousin, Mr. Hugh Lancaster, and this is my sister Phoebe.”
    Sebastian, who had not even noticed the arrival of the silly chit his brother had so admired, nodded coolly. She met his gaze with a mutinous expression that made it plain she still thought him a murderer. Habit made him glare at her until she glanced away fearfully, clutching at her reticule as if she thought he might snatch it from her in a burst of petty thievery.
    “Mr. Lancaster, are you the one who coaxed your cousin to London? You cannot know how delighted I am to meet such a famous authoress!” Nevvy continued, fawning shamelessly over his prize.
    Sebastian, whose initial interest was rapidly deteriorating into boredom, was pleasantly surprised by Hugh’s blank look. Apparently he was not the only one who noticed it, for Prudence colored again under Hugh’s curious gaze. The bright spots, Sebastian decided, were really quite becoming.
    “I am not in the habit of revealing myself,” she explained hurriedly. “But I felt that circumstances warranted it today,” she added, shooting Sebastian another quick glance of apology that gave him a surreptitious thrill.
    “You wrote this?” Sebastian heard the words cast up in an entirely different tone from that of his own venomous accusation, but they were still an accusation. Hugh Lancaster appeared shocked and a little disgusted, and his attitude engendered activity in Sebastian’s long-dormant emotions.
    Although Hugh’s lack of taste assured Sebastian of his own superiority, he did not like to see Prudence hurt. By God, he had admired the book even when he had thought himself painted black upon its pages! The store around them was full of poorly written tripe that could not hold a candle to Prudence’s prose, and the doltish Hugh ought to give her the praise she deserved.
    Unfortunately, he did not. “A gothic novel!” Hugh exclaimed in distressed accents. “I can hardly countenance it, Prudence. You seem so quiet and well mannered.”
    While Sebastian fought a growing urge to forcibly remove the contempt from Hugh’s face, Prudence seemed unmoved. “I fail to see what manners have to do with writing ability,” she replied calmly.
    And suddenly, Sebastian felt laughter building in his chest again. Prudence Lancaster, who exhibited more intelligence and poise than anyone in the motley group that surrounded her, needed no champion. She could handle the dreary Hugh very well herself, as was exhibited by her razor-sharp riposte.
    And this time, Sebastian let loose, laughing aloud in genuine amusement. The sound startled Nevvy into dropping the quizzing glass and made Phoebe shrink back against her cousin as if she feared imminent attack.
    Nevvy gaped at him. “Indeed,” he muttered. “I am sure I agree with you, Miss Lancaster.” For once, the gossipmonger appeared to be at a loss, as he looked at each member of the party in turn, his stunned gaze finally fixing on Sebastian and Prudence, standing side by side. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
    “I really must be going, but not before I secure your attendance at a little soiree I am planning to introduce our favorite author,” Nevvy said, his usually nasty smirk replaced by a saintly expression. “Let us say Friday hence, Miss Lancaster? At Lady Buckingham’s town house. That is where I find myself at present, and I assure you that we could want no better surroundings for a literary discussion.”
    Sebastian noted Hugh’s positively black countenance, but Prudence apparently did not, for she smiled and nodded her agreement. For an instant, Sebastian felt oddly lightheaded, like an acrobat who has lost his balance. Then he, too, smiled. “Why, Nevvy, how very kind of you to ask