The Devil Earl by Deborah Simmons Page B

us.”
    *   *   *
    “I cannot countenance it, Prudence,” Hugh said for the fourth time. Or was it the fifth? Prudence had lost count since they had left the bookstore.
    Now, arriving back at Hugh’s apartments, she could see that during the ride home he had only been warming up for a truly lengthy scold. He pushed out his chest and drew in a breath, and Prudence realized that he had a sort of pudgy, soft look about him—in comparison to Ravenscar’s hard leanness, of course. She found her attention riveted upon his stomach, which seemed rather distended, but then again, not many men were possessed of such a frame as the earl’s, she admitted to herself.
    Before Hugh could begin his speech, Prudence cut in abruptly. A week of sharing rooms with her cousin had taught her that she must catch him before he got started, or she would be forced to interrupt him, a tactic that he, naturally, did not approve of.
    “Cousin, it is a bit chilly. May we have a fire?” she asked, knowing full well that Hugh would not look kindly upon her request. Besides being extremely loquacious, her cousin was even more of a pinch-penny than herself. She, at least, would rather spare the wood than suffer the cold, and if he did not intend to keep them warm, then she would refuse to listen to his lecture.
    With a stiff nod of concession, Hugh called for the manservant, and soon a nice blaze was going in the hearth. Prudence took a seat right next to it, waiting patiently for Hugh, who, in turn, waited for the fellow to exit before beginning again.
    When he opened his mouth, Prudence could not help but notice his chin. There was nothing wrong with it, really, but it was a bit round and sank into his neckcloth, whereas Ravenscar’s strong jaw would always be sharply delineated from his clothing. These little details were important for a writer to observe, she told herself.
    “I really cannot countenance it, Prudence!” Six, or was that seven? she wondered idly while she studied his hands. They were too white and smooth and rather…thick. “How did you ever fall in with such bad company? Lord Neville is bad enough, the beau nasty.” Prudence looked up in surprise, for she tended to agree with that assessment. “But Ravenscar! He is practically a pariah.”
    Hugh placed a thumb inside his lapel in a perfect speaker’s pose. “Naturally, I have never been part of his circle, nor have I any desire to associate with such toplofty, morally corrupt persons,” he said with a dismissive glare. “But now even his own friends are cutting him!”
    Prudence wondered what Ravenscar’s friends were like. He seemed so alone that she could hardly imagine them, and she had deduced from his expression that Sir Neville was definitely not one. The earl was badly in need of someone…
    “I am glad that monster is being ostracized!” Phoebe piped up. She had settled herself in the corner, cross and pouting, and Prudence realized that the soiree at Lady Buckingham’s home would be just the thing to cheer her sister. So far, they had managed to see some of the sights, but little of society, and very few eligible gentlemen.
    Such a schedule was satisfying to Prudence, but Phoebe throve upon attention, and although Hugh seemed taken enough with her, she would certainly perk up if given her due by some handsome younger fellows. The new gowns they had commissioned earlier in the week would surely improve Phoebe’s spirits, too, Prudence mused. She had even taken a bit of pleasure herself in the brightly colored fabrics and fine materials.
    “He is a murderer!” Phoebe declared.
    The accusation jarred Prudence from her thoughts with alarming force. “Nonsense!” she replied.
    “Oh, when I think of poor, dear Mr. Penhurst!” Phoebe wailed. She showed all signs of going into another decline,and Hugh, unaccustomed to dealing with females, actually appeared at a loss for words. He stared at her in consternation, then sent Prudence a helpless