Read Online The Prince of Ravenscar by Catherine Coulter - Free Book Online

world.”
    Roxanne said to the plump little man with his perfectly round bald head, “You have made an excellent point. But would it not lead one to inevitably conclude that ladies are then responsible for all wars and famine and general misery in the world?”
    Willicombe recognized the light hand that had delivered the lovely irony, but before he could reply in equally stunning irony, Lord Hammersmith appeared in the doorway, took in his wife’s pale face and the two ladies who looked, he thought, equal parts bemused and horrified, and said, “Good morning, ladies. Corrie, you look ready for a bit of brandy.”
    All female eyes followed him as he walked to the sideboard, lifted a lovely crystal carafe, and poured his wife a dollop of brandy. He wrapped her white hands around the snifter and watched her drink it down, shudder when the heat landed in her belly. He then took her arm and led her to a high-backed pale blue chair. He said over his shoulder, “She is nearly herself again. My mother’s potion and Cook’s scones always work wonders.”
    He leaned down and kissed his wife’s forehead.
    All it took was for Corrie to look up at him and she forgot about smashing him for getting her into this fix. She loved him too much, she supposed, and was, she realized, quite ready to forget her travails, which didn’t say much for her brains. She managed a sneer. “You wouldn’t sound so calm, so very bored, if you were the one lurching toward chamber pots in every single room in this bloody town house.”
    â€œOf course not,” he said, “but I am not the heroine here, you are.” He patted her cheek and turned. “Willicombe, she drank down my mother’s potion and ate her reward scone?” At the profound bow, James added, “Magnificent shine this morning, Willicombe. Now, you are Miss Radcliffe and Miss Wilkie, are you not?”
    We are no more than six feet from him, Roxanne thought, staring into those unbelievable violet eyes, which, she saw, held concern for his wife and good manners toward his doubtless unwanted guests.
    â€œYes, we are,” Sophie said, and to Roxanne’s eyes, she appeared unaffected by this god of a man. “I agree, Corrie is a heroine. However, I believe we have come at a particularly bad time. We will take our leave.”
    â€œOh, no,” Corrie said. “I am feeling quite fine now. Willicombe, please fetch us some cakes and tea. James, will you remain, or have you an engagement?”
    He eyed her, seemed reassured. “I am meeting Father at Signore Ricalli’s. Mother might be there as well. She told me she needed to polish her fencing skills. You’ve never seen her fence, Corrie, she’s really rather good, fast as a flea, hops around my father, makes him curse and laugh. Try not to throw up on your slippers, sweetheart. Your maid told me three pairs have already been sent to the dustbin.”
    â€œI simply can’t figure out how I manage to do that, I mean, my skirts stick out a good five feet,” Corrie said, and took a quick look at her favorite Pomona green slippers. Not this time, thank the good Lord.
    â€œYou have big feet.”
    She threw a pillow at him, which he plucked out of the air not six inches from his perfect nose. She said, “There is no reason to tell our guests all of my defects on their first visit. Now, after I have given you your heir, I should like to polish my fencing skills as well.”
    â€œWhy not? I like your feet, they’re substantial, they can waltz for hours, and I imagine they will support your growing weight.”
    â€œYour wit fells me, James.” She threw another pillow at him when he laughed. He caught it as well, and tossed it back to her, smiled at all the ladies, and walked out of the drawing room, whistling.
    â€œSometimes I want to clout him,” Corrie said, smiling comfortably at both of them. “But he makes me