The Raven Prince by Elizabeth Hoyt Page A

reached for another biscuit.
    Anna couldn’t sit still any longer. She jumped up and started examining the bric-a-brac on the mantelpiece. “I’m sorry. I know James would never—”
    “I’m glad you know.” Rebecca snorted delicately. “You should’ve heard the advice Felicity Clearwater gave me on what to expect from a husband when one is with child. According to her, every husband is simply waiting—” Rebecca stopped suddenly.
    Anna picked up a china shepherdess and touched the gilt on her bonnet. She couldn’t see it very well. Her eyes were blurry.
    “Now I’m the one who’s sorry,” Rebecca said.
    Anna didn’t look up. She’d always wondered if Rebecca had been aware. Now she knew. She closed her eyes.
    “I think that any man who took his marriage vows so lightly,” she heard Rebecca say, “has shamed himself unpardonably.”
    Anna set the shepherdess back on the mantel. “And the wife? Would she not be partly to blame if he went outside the marriage for satisfaction?”
    “No, dear,” Rebecca replied. “I don’t think the wife is ever to blame.”
    Anna felt suddenly lighter. She tried a smile, though she feared it was a bit wobbly. “You are the best of friends, Rebecca.”
    “Well, of course.” The other woman smiled like a self-satisfied and very pregnant cat. “And to prove it, I shall ring for Meg to bring us some cream cakes. Decadent, my dear!”
    A NNA ARRIVED AT the Abbey the next morning dressed in an old blue worsted wool frock. She’d stayed up until well past midnight widening the skirt, but she hoped she could now sit a horse modestly. The earl was already pacing before the Abbey’s entrance, apparently waiting for her. He wore buckskin breeches with brown jackboots that came to midthigh. These last were rather scuffed and dull, and Anna wondered, not for the first time, about his valet.
    “Ah, Mrs. Wren.” He eyed her skirt. “Yes, that will do nicely.” Without waiting for a reply, he strode around the Abbey toward the stables.
    Anna trotted to keep up.
    His bay gelding was already saddled and busy baring its teeth at a stable boy. The boy held the horse’s bridle at arm’s length and looked wary. In contrast, a plump chestnut mare was standing placidly by the mounting block. The dog emerged from behind the stables and came bounding up to Anna. He skidded to a stop in front of her and tried belatedly to regain some of his dignity.
    “I’ve found you out, you know,” she whispered to him, and rubbed his ears in greeting.
    “If you are through playing with that animal, Mrs. Wren.” Lord Swartingham frowned at the dog.
    Anna straightened. “I’m ready.”
    He indicated the mounting block, and Anna hesitantly approached it. She knew the theory of mounting a horse sidesaddle, but the reality was a bit more complicated. She could place one foot in the stirrup but had trouble pulling herself up to hook her other leg over the pommel.
    “If you’ll allow me?” The earl was behind her. She could feel his warm breath, smelling faintly of coffee, on her cheek as he bent over her.
    She nodded, mute.
    He placed his large hands around her waist and lifted her without any visible effort. Gently, he set her on the saddle and held the stirrup steady for her foot. Anna felt herself flush as she looked down at his bent head. He’d left his hat with the groom, and she could see a few strands of silver threading his queue. Was his hair soft or bristly? Her gloved hand lifted and, as if of its own accord, lightly touched his hair. She immediately snatched back her hand, but the earl seemed to have felt something. He looked up and stared into her eyes for what seemed a timeless moment. She watched as his eyelids lowered, and a faint flush seeped across his cheekbones.
    Then he straightened and caught the horse’s bridle. “This is a very placid mare,” he said. “I think you’ll have no trouble with her as long as there are no rats around.”
    She stared blankly down at