Chasing Raven (17 page)

* * * *

After leaving the horses in the adjoining barn, they entered the small, cozy lodge to beg sanctuary from the gruff gamekeeper. He was just boiling water in a kettle over the fire.

"You're in time for a cup of tea, my lord...and my lady."

"Oh, I'm not a lady. I'm Raven Deverell," she greeted him cheerily.

Hale hid a smile at the other man's startled expression. "We will be glad of the tea, Wilson. Thank you."

The sky had grown very dark now, the heavy clouds bursting open to drench the estate in hard, driving rain. Every so often a flash of lightning quivered overhead, followed by that violent rumbling that made the stone floor tremble under their feet.

Raven stood at the old, mullioned window, the shadow of lead strips in the glass quilting her face. "I was never afraid of thunderstorms, even as a child. I always thought them breathtakingly beautiful," she said.

He walked over to join her. "Of course. It is only fitting."

"What do you mean?"

How could he explain that her looks suited the drama of a wild summer storm and that one sight of her shook his heartbeat out of its steady rhythm just as roughly and abruptly as the clatter of thunder vibrated through the ground beneath him? He was no artist, no poet with a gift for pretty words. But he was practical. "You should stand by the fire and dry off."

"Aye," Wilson exclaimed, hurrying to move a chair closer to the heat. "You sit down, my lady, and dry yer feet."

Perhaps it was the gamekeeper's urging that won out, for Hale was sure she would never do anything he suggested without a quarrel first, but after a moment she left the window and took the offered chair. "That is kind of you, Mr. Wilson."

Watching his gamekeeper pour the tea, listening to Raven chat to the man in a friendly, open fashion— charming him too no doubt— he thought of what had just occurred under the oak.

She was dangerously close to winning that wager with her brother.

Did it matter?

Let her put all her powers of seduction to the task. It would not exactly be a hardship for him, would it?

She might think she could win, but in bed he would conquer her.

However...what if this feeling was more than that? More than lust and the need to win? What if he found he needed more?

She was looking at him, he realized.

"Your lordship, I said my mother and Mary will wonder what has become of us."

"But you cannot go out again in this," Wilson assured her, and she sneezed then, making him even more concerned and certain. "I'll put a drop o' whiskey in the tea, my lady."

"I'm not sure his lordship will approve," she replied, with a sly glance at Hale.

"It'll keep a cold at bay," the gamekeeper insisted. "His lordship won't want
you
getting sick, now will 'e? There's been too much o' that." The old man's face crumpled then with sadness, and he turned away quickly to find his bottle of whiskey behind some old books on a shelf.

Raven looked down at the fire, falling silent.

The gamekeeper's comment had, of course, alluded to Hale's wife and child— the fever that took them both after it had swept the village and left many other casualties there too in the space of a few terrible months ten years ago.

But that was in the past. Today he faced the future, as he had not done with clear eyes and hope in his heart for a decade.

How odd that this woman should bring thoughts of the future to his mind.

Hale felt the ring on his little finger. "I daresay we can approve a touch of whiskey this once. But only a little, mind you, Wilson. It will be strong for Miss Deverell."

At once she was bright again. She seemed relieved that he responded in a jovial manner. "You
do
underestimate me, sir," she exclaimed. "I have six brothers and things would come to a pretty pass if I had not learned to keep up with them."

Wilson chuckled. "Well now, your lordship, I reckon that was a challenge."

"Yes, I'm sure it was. Miss Deverell is excessively fond of wagers."

* * * *

It was comfortable and warm in that lodge, and Raven felt no desire to leave it, so when she mentioned her mother and Mary wondering at their absence, she really only said it to see what Hale would do. Evidently he was in no great haste to go back either, for he'd looked at her as if he barely heard what she said. And now he too drew up a chair by the fire, stretching his legs out to rest the heels of his muddied boots on the fender.

The sound of rain against the roof was almost a lullaby, she mused. So different to the dreariness of London rain, which only made the streets filthier and kept her trapped with her mother.

Here the company that sheltered with her was very different, and the rain had a purpose, for it could be seen doing its work in the fields, watering the crops and filling the troughs in the yard. She did not resent the rain today, but welcomed it.

The splash of whiskey in her tea made her limbs quite relaxed, but even without that she would have felt at her ease. The gamekeeper reminded her of the genial, rough-edged handyman, Jameson, who lived at her father's castle in Cornwall and who taught her to fish when she was very small.

Her mother had performed many a bout of hysterics over Jameson taking little Raven out in a rowboat or putting her atop a large plow-horse, but the child herself would proudly declare that she was never afraid. She was, of course, sometimes fearful. But eventually she found that if she said she was not scared often enough and firmly enough, it came true. Never had she been the sort to give in and show a weakness.

She had never wanted to let the gentle giant Jameson down, any more than she wanted to disappoint her father. The Greyledge gamekeeper had the same honest, unfussy way about him and it made her feel at home.

Hale did not drink any tea. Instead, he fiddled incessantly with the ring on his little finger and seemed distracted. Had he really only wanted a kiss from her as his prize for winning the race? He'd brought her all this way for that? Perhaps he only wanted to get his revenge for the time she and Matty Bourne won against his horse. She supposed she ought to be relieved if that was all he wanted.

But his kisses caused little sparks of fire inside. She felt like a keg of gunpowder about to explode.

"Oh, my lord, I almost forgot to say...but Mrs. Deakins was so thankful for the basket you sent over. She said the young 'uns loved that honey."

"Good. Please assure her that if she needs anything while her husband recovers she need only ask."

"Aye, my lord, I shall. She says the physician you brought over from Oxford to set his leg has done a wonderful job."

"Doctor Braithwaite is very knowledgeable and although his ideas are quite modern and not always accepted, I believe his methods are the way of the future. I am hoping we can persuade him to stay in the village."

"Yes, my lord. And Sammy Perkins appreciated the piglets. It perked him right up. And he knows how fond you are of the little 'uns."

This time Hale merely bowed his head in acknowledgement, appearing almost embarrassed.

"Piglets?" Raven prompted mischievously.

"That's right, my lady. Perkins lost his favorite ol' sow this spring and was fair bereft without 'er, but his lordship sent over a whole litter of the jolly little beggars from 'is own farm."

Perhaps she should have expected to hear these examples of his generosity and thoughtfulness. As the Earl of Southerton he had responsibilities to the people of his estate and the local community. But she knew it did not always follow that the squire of the county fulfilled his duties honorably.

Hale was one of the decent few, it seemed.

Perhaps even her father would like him a little, despite the title which made him one of those "hidebound stuck-ups".

"So you are fond of
pigs
, your lordship?" she asked coyly.

He cleared his throat and sat up straighter, fussing with the cuffs of his coat. "I think they are vastly underestimated creatures and extremely intelligent."

"Aye." Wilson leaned over the hearth to tell her, "His Lordship cuddles the little runts and sings to 'em, when he thinks no one's lookin'."

"Yes, thank you, Wilson!" He folded his arms over his chest and scowled. "That was once. Only once! And it was a matter of great urgency, for the health of the animal, which was in need of warmth and oxygen."

"Oh, o' course, your lordship! It were only the once, out o' necessity." Wilson glanced over at Raven again and mouthed, "
All the time
."

She smothered a chuckle and quickly sipped her tea.

When she looked over at her host now, she felt the glow of admiration in her heart. How could she ever have thought his face grim? Oh dear, she'd made quite a mess of his cravat under the oak tree. But the ravished look quite suited him. She should do it more often.

He changed the subject now, talking to Wilson of fishing and the trout that stocked the Greyledge lake.

She waited to catch his eye and when she did, Raven smiled, but he simply looked confused as if he still couldn't tell her genuine smile from a false one.

Chapter
Seventeen

When the rain finally eased he suggested taking her back to the house, but she was keen to see more of the village and since he seldom met such an enthusiastic sight-seer, he was pleased to take her. It had to be said that he was in no haste to go back either.

They rode along the damp lane as the sun came out and shone down on all the puddles. Hale felt remarkably light-hearted now and his tongue flowed with more ease than usual as he pointed out the various cottages and farms along their route, telling her about each occupant and how long their families had resided there. He knew, of course, the age of every tree and had stories to share of having climbed each one when he was a boy, sometimes hiding up there until it grew dark, so that he could imagine he sat among the stars. These were memories he had shared with no one before.

He spoke tentatively, but she never once looked bored or feigned one of those yawns he'd seen her use when her mother rambled too long. Indeed, she was interested by everything he showed her and if he paused his stories she had questions to keep him talking.

Hale could not remember ever having shared this much time with a young lady and not feeling the deep urge to leave her side for "a business matter that requires tending".

But having Raven beside him, as he tipped his hat to passing carts and carriages, was a strangely pleasing sensation. He saw the wonder in people's faces, and then their shy smiles returning hers, which were given frequently and with considerable allure now.

Business matters to tend? What business? She was his business today.

They rode around the village common, stopped at the smithy to water the horses, and then she wanted to visit the little Norman church. He might have made some comment about the oddity of seeing a Deverell in church, but held his tongue and let her walk ahead of him down the aisle so he could watch the curling snake of hair that meandered down her back.

"Churches are so peaceful," she said, turning to look over her shoulder. "Do you not think?"

He walked slowly forward, holding his hat behind his back with both hands. "Yes. They are."

"Ransom thinks they are cold, damp, grim places. But I rather like them. The quiet helps me think when something troubles me." She pointed up at the wall. "That's your family crest. I recognize it, since it's everywhere inside your house. Making certain everybody knows the Almighty Hales own it. As if that might be forgotten."

"The gate below that carving on the wall there leads to the Hale family crypt."

"Oh." She turned unusually pale. "Does it? I... wasn't thinking. I'm sorry." Now she looked crestfallen.

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

"But I sounded disrespectful," she whispered, "about Hales."

"I can assure you I'm accustomed to it by now." He gave her a solemn look. "And they're all dead so they didn't hear it."

"Even so..." She glanced over at the locked gate in the wall, her fingers smoothing over the buttons of her riding habit. "I ought to think before I say things."

"We are all guilty of that, Miss Deverell, from time to time."

"Even so," she whispered again. "In a church and all."

Since she still stared at the gate, chewing her lip worriedly, he took her hand and gave it a little squeeze. She looked down in surprise at his touch.

He took a deep breath and began, "I have survived the death of every other member of my family, except for two aunts. In the past, when I stood here, I did not feel sorry for those inside the crypt. I felt far sorrier for myself. That I was still here." He could not remember whether he had ever spoken aloud of his feelings before. It seemed very strange to do so now, but this woman at his side tugged it out of him. He wanted to explain everything about his life to her. "I felt anger because they had left me and I must manage alone."

She turned her eyes to his, her lashes damp. "That is dreadful."

"Yes. Dreadful to be so selfish, so self-absorbed." He smiled. "You see now that I have many twisted faults, Miss Deverell. I am far from perfect. But today I am not sorry to be living. Not at all. The many dead Hales can finally stop worrying about me and rest in peace."

Her fingers wound tightly around his, her small hand swamped by his glove.

"You don't have to tell me about your wife," she whispered. "If you cannot. I know you loved her deeply. Still do."

Ah, is that what made the color drain from her face? He'd witnessed the same expression in the portrait gallery.

Better tell her the facts at once, he decided. It was many years since he'd talked of Emily, but it was time.

"When my wife died, I felt responsible. I had allowed the old village physician to tend her and he was set in his ways, knew and cared nothing for advancements in medicine. I did not like change myself and feared trying new ideas. My father, who had passed on a few months before, raised me to believe that tradition was all important, that one stuck with the tried and true. Then, alone with a desperately sick wife, I tried to act as he would. I hesitated too long to make my own decision and, alas, by the time I realized my error and sought to fetch another doctor, it was too late to help her. By then my son too had contracted the same fever."

"I am sorry."

Hale led her back down the aisle toward the church door, eager to get out in the warm sun again, away from all this cold stone. But now that he had begun to talk, it flowed easier. "The sickness had taken hold in the village some days before and Lady Southerton must have caught it while visiting a poor family in one of the tithe cottages. She had gone there to help, but her act of generosity and kindness led to her own demise and then to our son's."

She shook her head, looking down at the step as they came out into fresh air. A little breeze toyed with her hair and a long curling black frond crossed her face when she squinted up at him. "It is very tragic, sir. To have lost so much, so quickly."

The sun's gentle warmth kissed his brow and a sparrow flew by, startled out of the rustling ivy that hugged the arch over the church door.

Emboldened further by the sun's heat, he continued with his explanation, "My son, Thomas, did not live to celebrate the first anniversary of his birth. When he died, people who dared speak of him to me would say that at least I never had the chance to grow attached. As if the poor child had never fully existed and therefore could be put aside with ease, and my feelings could be repressed with the knowledge that death had come so swiftly."

"Perhaps they did not know what else to say, when they sought to bring you comfort."

"Then they should have said nothing." He thought of his Aunt Serena attempting to chide him out of his grief, accusing him of "wicked, wasteful, self-indulgent misery." Even at his son's funeral she had whispered in his ear, reminding him of his many duties to the estate and how he could not afford to waste time mourning for what he'd lost. In his family, of course, people picked themselves up and got on with life. They did not show emotions in public.

Standing beside his son's tiny coffin, he had never felt so alone in his life and from that moment he threw himself into the responsibilities of his title, turning his back on anything that took him from it. He'd found a sort of comfort in keeping his life stark and colorless. And he'd decided never to attach himself to another human being, because it made life untidy and it brought pain.

But now he had let Raven Deverell— the untidiest and most colorful of prospects— under his skin. An impetuous woman who flaunted the rules and constantly made him worry about her safety. At least, while she was at his side, her hand in his, he knew she was safe.

He never wanted to let go of her fingers. Never again.

No sooner had he thought this, than she tugged her hand from his so she could smooth a loose lock of hair back behind her ear. It was a reminder of her very determined sense of independence.

But he could not force her. He must let her come to him on her own terms, in her own time. She had already told him that she had no intention of being caught.

Now left without the warmth and comfort of her touch, his own hands resumed their usual practice of fidgeting, turning the hat brim restlessly.

"I did care for my wife," he said softly. "Ours was a match arranged from childhood, but we grew fond of each other."

"Yes."

"Our marriage was not, however, a grand passion. I do not believe she would mind me saying that. Emily was a good woman, dutiful and always anxious to do what was right. But she told me once that she had hoped I would defy my father and fall in love with someone else, because she wanted to live a chaste life and devote herself to the church as a nun or a missionary abroad. That was her ambition and her hope. She had no desire for convivial society between a husband and wife. I suppose being mistress of Greyledge was dull for her, when she might have done so much more with her life. I always felt very sorry about that."

Raven looked dubious. "And when you say
convivial society
you refer to the marriage bed?"

He cleared his throat and looked away down the winding path. "Yes."

"I just wanted to be sure, because you people do say the strangest things instead of what you mean."

"
We people
?"

"The hidebound upper classes." She squinted against the sun and smiled up at him. "You'll forgive me if I do not quite believe that your wife disdained that pleasure with you."

"It is quite true," he assured her. "She gave me a son, of course, because that was one of her duties as my wife. Her most important duty. After that I obliged her by keeping to my own bed."

"Good lord," she muttered. "I had heard of such marriages— in fact, married men frequently attempt to win my sympathy with similar stories of a disinterested wife— but I did not think it could be so in your case."

"Why not, Miss Deverell? Why should I be any different?"

The woman merely pursed her lips.

"You are being unusually coy, madam! It is not like you to hold back your opinion."

She cast him a quick, up and down look, but apparently decided to say nothing.

He put his hat back on and offered his arm. "Shall we return to Greyledge?" The tenor of this conversation was certainly not proper for a churchyard— or anywhere—and he had become exceedingly hot under his clothing.

After a moment, she took his arm and they walked on, passing under the lych gate and into the lane where their horses waited.

* * * *

Raven puzzled over his story, not certain she could believe him. How could any wife of his prefer a chaste marriage? His slightest touch was enough to make her skin hum, but then she was a wicked young woman and not likely to devote her life to a nunnery. They probably would never let her in.

But Lady Southerton, apparently, was just as angelic in real life as she looked in her portrait.

"So if you had won our race this morning, Miss Deverell," Hale said suddenly, "what would you have wanted for your prize? I am curious to know."

"Do you not think you should call me Raven by now?" He had opened up so much to her that day that she felt the occasion ought to be marked.

"Should I? Then you should call me Sebastian."

"Oh, no! I could not do that."

"My friends call me Hale."

"But I should call you something different."

He winced. "I dread to think what—"

"To me you will be
Wolf
." Her heart was beating too fast, lifting her up on her toes. "There, it is decided."

Slowly he scratched his cheek with one hand, considering her choice, clearly uncertain as to its suitability.

"Do you really want to know what I would have asked ask for, if I won?" she demanded. "If you had not cheated, of course."

Now his face was somber again, his eyes guarded. "Tell me."

Raven licked her lips and smoothed a hair back from her cheek. "I want a partner."

That surprised him, clearly. His lips parted a few moments before words emerged. "A partner?"

"A business partner."

There was a pause. "A business partner." Now it was his turn to look skeptical.

"Oh, for goodness sake! If you merely repeat everything I—"

"And what might be this business proposition you have for me?"

She stroked Bowsprit's muzzle. "I would like to open my own branch of Deverell's."

"To compete with your father?" He sounded incredulous.

"Not at all. Mine would be a club for women only."

He studied her face very carefully. "A gaming club for women?"

"We both know that gaming is not the only thing that goes on behind those doors. This will be a place for women to escape their troubles for an hour or two. Why should they not have the same benefit as the gentlemen who go to my father's club?"

"What troubles could women have from which they need escape?"

She sighed and shook her head. "Much the same as men, believe it or not. Relief from the opposite gender."

"And why choose me for this business partnership? What about your father?"

"I don't wish to bother him. He has many children he must afford. Besides, he would never let me pay him back. Then it would be a gift, not a loan, and he would have to interfere in the running of it. He simply wouldn't be able to keep himself from meddling."

"I thought you wanted a partner, not merely a loan."

"Oh, do pay attention, Wolf! Because of the antiquated way your sort run this world, I— a pitiful, unwed woman— will have many legal fences in my way. Sadly, a man is required to put his blessed signature on the documents."

"Aha!" He sniffed. "You mean to use me for my name, as well as my money. I'm sure you know many other wealthy gentlemen who would be willing—"

"But you are honest. I'm sure you are fair in all your business dealings. I can trust you. And you did say you wanted to be my
friend
."

Again he considered her face while she petted his horse. "You trust me?"

"Of course. You're quite probably the most honorable man I know," she said simply.

His eyes took on a brighter sheen now and although he held his lips tightly together the line wobbled and wavered. Whether this was good or bad, Raven could not tell.

"I'll pay you back every penny," she assured him. "With interest."

In the process of helping her up into the side-saddle, he managed to smooth a hand over her skirt and touch her ankle in a manner that anyone passing might think accidental. But she knew differently. Raven had certainly ridden enough horses to be familiar with the location of a stirrup, even on a side-saddle, and didn't require his assistance to find it. Which he well knew.

"So, Wolf," she demanded, looking down at him. "Would you assist me in this endeavor?"

"You didn't win the race," he reminded her.

"But if I had...would you?"

"That is all you would want from me? From this friendship? A business loan?"

She gripped her reins. "All
you
wanted was a silly kiss."

"Yes," he muttered, walking around to mount his own horse. "I see now I should have been more ruthless when I chose my prize. I temporarily forgot who I was dealing with."

"Let's race back to the house then." Reaching over she swiped the hat from his head. "First one to the door."

Not waiting for his agreement, Raven turned her horse and took off with his hat, laughing, the wind tugging her loose hair in a long pennant behind her.