The Raven Prince by Elizabeth Hoyt

will be that glad to see you. You can wait in the sitting room while I tell her you’re here.”
    Meg led the way into a little sitting room with bright yellow walls. A marmalade cat stretched on the rug, sunning itself in the dying light slanting through the windows. On the settee, a basket of sewing things lay, the threads trailing out untidily. Anna bent to greet the cat while she waited.
    Footsteps pattered down the stairs, and Rebecca Fairchild appeared in the doorway. “For shame! It’s been so long since you’ve visited, I’d begun to think you had abandoned me in my hour of need.”
    The other woman immediately contradicted her words by hurrying over and hugging Anna. Her belly made the embrace difficult, for it was round and heavy, thrusting before Rebecca like the full sails of a ship.
    Anna returned her friend’s hug fervently. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve been lax in coming to see you. How are you?”
    “Fat. No, it’s true,” Rebecca talked over Anna’s protest. “Even James, that dear man, has stopped offering to carry me up the stairs.” She sat rather abruptly on the settee, narrowly missing the sewing basket. “Chivalry is quite dead. But you must tell me all about your employment at the Abbey.”
    “You’ve heard?” Anna took one of the chairs across from her friend.
    “Have I heard? I’ve heard of practically nothing else.” Rebecca lowered her voice dramatically. “The dark and mysterious Earl of Swartingham has employed the young Widow Wren for unknown purposes and daily closets himself with her for his own nefarious ends.”
    Anna winced. “I’m only transcribing papers for him.”
    Rebecca waved this mundane explanation away as Meg entered with a tea tray. “Don’t tell me that. You realize that you’re one of the few to actually meet the man? To hear the village gossips tell it, he hides himself away in his sinister mansion simply to deprive them of the opportunity to inspect him. Is he really as repulsive as the rumors say?”
    “Oh, no!” Anna felt a spurt of anger. Surely they weren’t saying Lord Swartingham was repulsive because of a few scars? “He’s not handsome, of course, but he’s not unattractive.” Quite attractive to her anyway, a small voice whispered inside. Anna frowned down at her hands. When had she stopped noticing his scars and instead started focusing on the man underneath them?
    “Pity.” Rebecca appeared disappointed at the information that the earl wasn’t a hideous ogre. “I want to hear of his dark secrets and his attempts to seduce you.”
    Meg quietly left.
    Anna laughed. “He may have any number of dark secrets”—her voice hitched as she remembered the bill—“but he’s very unlikely to try and seduce me.”
    “Of course he won’t while you’re wearing that awful cap.” Rebecca gestured with the teapot at the offending article of clothing. “I don’t know why you wear it. You’re not that old.”
    “Widows are supposed to wear caps.” Anna touched the muslin cap self-consciously. “Besides, I don’t want him to seduce me.”
    “Why ever not?”
    “Because—” Anna stopped.
    She realized—horribly—that her mind had gone blank, and she couldn’t think of a single reason why she didn’t want the earl to seduce her. She popped a biscuit into her mouth and slowly chewed. Fortunately, Rebecca hadn’t noticed her sudden silence and was now chattering on about hairstyles she thought would better suit her friend.
    “Rebecca,” Anna interrupted, “do you think all men have need of more than one woman?”
    Rebecca, who had been in the act of pouring a second cup of tea, looked up at her in a far-too-sympathetic manner.
    Anna felt herself flush. “I mean—”
    “No, dear, I know what you mean.” Rebecca slowly set the teapot down. “I can’t speak for all men, but I’m fairly sure James has been faithful. And, really, if he was going to stray, I think he would do so now.” She patted her tummy and