The Devil Earl by Deborah Simmons

yet something in the set of his mouth told her of his amusement. “Unfortunately, very few members of the ton are as intelligent or sensible as you—or I.”
    The shared confidence eased her strangely overset nerves, lending a new aspect to their relationship. With renewed confidence, Prudence thought she might just allow herself a peek at those enthralling eyes of his, but just then voices intruded upon her thoughts. She realized that a whole roomful of people existed around the two of them. It was disconcerting, the way Ravenscar seemed to draw her into some forbidden realm—or perhaps she simply jumped with both feet into a place that so resembled her fondest dreams.
    With difficulty, Prudence tried to clear her head. What had they been discussing? She had never found it difficult to concentrate before, but the potency of Ravenscar’s physical presence seemed to scatter her wits.
    “They thrive on gossip and scandal, creating it where there is none,” Ravenscar said suddenly, the bitterness evident in his tone.
    Prudence lifted her hand, longing to reach out to this man society vilified with such glee, but, aware of their audience, she only adjusted her spectacles. “I cannot understand it,” she said. “My last book, The Mysterious Alphonse, had no such problems.”
    “Yes, well,” Ravenscar replied, “perhaps that is because the villain was a specter, and no matter how soulless some of this company seems to be, I doubt any among them would confuse a living being with a shade.”
    He knew her work! Prudence felt a swell of pride and pleasure at the knowledge that this man she so admired was familiar with her novels. Looking up at him, she had the odd sensation that she was falling, the drop as dangerousand dizzying as if she had leapt from one of Wolfinger’s cliffs. “You have read it, then?” she asked, rather breathlessly.
    “Yes,” Ravenscar sad simply, with an inclination of his head. He fixed her with a penetrating gaze. “You write very well.”
    What heady praise! Suddenly, Prudence realized just how starved she had been for it. She had little enough at home, for Phoebe cared nothing for her scribbling, and neither Cook nor Mary could read. Mrs. Bates, by her very nature, disparaged anyone’s achievements but her own, and her lead was usually followed in the village. Here in London, Hugh held her work in contempt, and although quite a few people at the soiree had complimented her effusively, Prudence knew none of them well enough to form an opinion of their judgment.
    Ravenscar, on the other hand, was known to be brutally honest, and Prudence respected him without reserve. Feeling positively euphoric, she beamed up at him so happily that she thought she saw a flicker of surprise pass over his harsh features.
    “There you are, Miss Lancaster!” A voice broke through the amazing intimacy she and Ravenscar had created, and Prudence turned, reluctantly, to face her hostess. Lady Buckingham seemed pleasant enough, but Prudence, with her sharp eye for character, had detected a caustic edge to the noblewoman’s speech.
    “Ravenscar! Is that you? I must say, I never expected to see the two of you together!” Lady Buckingham said, her eyes narrowing as if she scented scandal.
    “Why ever not?” Prudence asked calmly. After all, that was the whole purpose of her presence here—to salvage some of the earl’s reputation—and it was time she got down to business.
    Lady Buckingham watched them slyly from behind her fan. “Why, my dear, have you not heard the rumors? Everyonebelieves that Ravenscar here is Count Bastian…in the flesh.”
    Without sparing a glance at the earl, Prudence pursed her lips. “Nonsense! As it happens, I have heard that absurd rumor, and it is naught but rubbish. His Lordship is my neighbor, nothing more.” This last bit came out with a bit of difficulty, since the earl was fast becoming much more to her than simply the owner of Wolfinger.
    “Indeed?” Lady Buckingham