Chasing Raven (18 page)

* * * *

She might very well be the death of him, he thought, setting his horse after her with his head down. He didn't know what she would do next, and that was quite terrifying.

More so even than her proposition of a business partnership.

The horse sped along the lane, merrily chasing Bowsprit again, enjoying the fast pace and another unexpected chance to really stretch his legs.

The earlier storm clouds were now long past and the sky was clear, gathering heat, sunlight streaming across the sky like spun gold. It was turning into a beautiful day. And Hale was ravenous.

Hmm. Was it any coincidence that her name was hidden in that word?

A surprisingly whimsical thought from a man who was anything but whimsical.

And now another thought: he should have asked for more than a kiss. Under his breath he swore softly and then took another of his "short cuts".

* * * *

He was nowhere in sight! Had she outstripped him so easily this time? No, it was not possible, which meant he knew a quicker way again. He would never let her win.

She laughed into the wind, for Mary Ashford was quite right when she said Raven had met her match in stubborn.

Thank goodness. She was so tired of men who could not stand up to her.

Not that she would lay down and let him win! No, indeed.

Bowsprit's powerful muscles carried her through the air and they were flying. She'd take every hedge, meadow and fallow field back to the house. If he thought she would stick to the quiet country lanes, he was mistaken.

But ten minutes later, when she rounded the driveway and galloped up to the front steps of the house, there he was, already dismounting, having won yet again.

Damn the man!

Before she could shout at him, however, she realized there was a carriage and four pulling up before the house, having circled into view from the other direction.

Greyledge had some new guests.

Chapter
Eighteen

"We decided to join you in the country, Sebastian dear. It's been so long since we saw the estate," said Aunt Evelyn, looking in some alarm at the looseness of his cravat, his disheveled, hatless head and the mud on his breeches. "Serena thought it would be a lovely idea, although I have not traveled so far in many years."

Clearly his aunts were so anxious about his current houseguests that they decided to abandon their tea urn and their comfortable parlor, just to rescue him. And they did not come alone.

"Here is Lady Jane Newcombe," Aunt Serena announced proudly, prodding the lady forward with the tip of a closed parasol. "I knew you would not mind the extra company. You certainly have the room, and she is so eager to see you."

Lady Newcombe curtseyed and had the grace to look apologetic about her sudden, unexpected arrival. He knew his aunts must have forced her into it. They could be extremely determined when they had bees in their bonnets— particularly Serena, who thought nobody could look after his life quite so well as she.

Raven had just arrived in a clatter of hooves on gravel. All the women turned to observe her as a groom helped the young lady down from her sidesaddle. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair in charming disarray, and the top buttons of her riding habit gaped open. Under one arm she carried Sebastian's hat.

It was quite obvious to anyone with eyes that not only had they been out riding together, but that some game had taken place.

"This is Miss Raven Deverell," he said hurriedly, attempting to straighten his cravat with one fumbling hand, and scraping the fingers of the other through his hair. "I do not believe you have met."

But as he began the introductions, yet another figure descended from the carriage that bore his aunts to Greyledge.

"Your lordship, it is with such pleasure that I am 'ere. These dear ladies met me on the road and insisted I came along with them to visit, when they 'eard that friends of mine are staying 'ere." The frilly French buffoon swung around to look at Raven, whose face went from startled to disgusted in the space of a few seconds. "Is it not fortunate that I met these grand ladies on my journey, Mademoiselle Deverell? Now I am 'ere to see your dear mama. She will be so 'appy."

* * * *

Horror was an insufficient word. Mortification did not even cover what she felt. Devastation perhaps was closest.

After getting her mother away from London, she thought she had prevented the worst of the damage. But now the Frenchman — proving himself more tenacious than expected—had followed them into the country, intent on furthering his connection with her mother. Or rather, it seemed, with Hale.

Yes, it must be Hale that he sought, Raven quickly realized. After all, he had many other women in London with whom to fill his days and nights, so the idea of Lady Charlotte being enough inducement to bring him to Greyledge was far-fetched to say the least.

Her mother, delighted by his arrival, refused to give Raven's fears any credence.

"Monsieur Reynaux is perfectly charming and cannot possibly cause any offence to our host. After all, Hale's own aunts brought him on to Greyledge, so how can there be any complaint? Certainly his company will be a vast improvement upon that of Mary Ashford's dreary, know-it-all face."

"But he was not expected or invited, mama." None of them were, actually, but she knew why they'd come. She also felt certain she knew why the aunts had agreed to bring Reynaux. "I have no doubt he will embarrass us and the earl will pack us off back to London with your gentleman friend at the first opportunity. The aunts brought him here to ensure our welcome was outstayed." And after her wonderful day with Hale she wanted to weep that it had ended so abruptly. That she might never have another like it.

"You must not let that bony, angular creature Jane Newcombe stand in your way, Raven. She has been brought here, obviously, to cause an obstruction. Tonight you must wear the scarlet silk and you may borrow my rubies. She will fade away beside you."

"Mama, I refuse to compete with Lady Newcombe. Or with anybody for that matter."

"For once, Raven, you will do as I say! Do you want me to end my days in dire poverty?"

She stared at her mother. "Mama, you hardly know what poverty is and you never will. I am not going to chase after a man for his money, or dangle myself before him in competition with other women."

"Obstinate, contrary girl!"

"Perhaps. But I will never be miserable and desperate like—" She stopped herself from completing the sentence, but her mother's eyes dimmed and her cheeks sucked in as if she felt the sting of that missing word. "I'm sorry, mama. That is not the life I want for myself. I want to make my own way without depending solely upon men forever."
Lady Charlotte turned, sat at her mirror and reached for a bottle of lavender water to dab beneath her ears. Her face was stoic, pale, might have been carved in marble. "You mean to say that you do not want to be...like
me
?" she choked out.

In a softer voice, Raven said, "I have seen how unhappy it makes you to be reliant on men, mama."

"Yes...well...I had no choice." She dropped the bottle of scented water and clenched her hands into fists on the dresser. "My father made my duty clear to me from childhood. You, of course, have had a different upbringing to the one I endured. Your father spoiled you, let you run wild around that club of his when you were a child, let you believe you had as many rights as your brothers, created the myth that you have other options in life. I tried to make you see sense and the reality of your situation, but he has undone every effort I made."

She thought of what Hale had said that day about his wife being so dutiful, a sacrificial lamb marrying against her wishes just to do what was expected of her and provide him with an heir. Lady Charlotte Rothsey claimed to have suffered in the same way, but she had rebelled when she wanted to— the elopement and marriage to True Deverell, for instance, certainly not being her expected course.

"I did not want you to be like me either, Raven." Her mother looked down and gathered a breath as if it pained her. "I wanted you to avoid the mistakes I made. Does that make me so evil?" She closed her eyes. "It is the great regret of my life that I ever fell in love and made the wrong choice. I did not want you to suffer that, as I did. That is why I tried to make you look at marriage with eyes unclouded by romantic fancy."

"Have I ever suffered a romantic thought in my life, mama?"

Her mother's eyes opened, looking into the mirror. "I do not know what goes through your mind. You are a mystery to me. Just as he was. As he still remains. As he always will be, even if he ever finishes that stupid memoir he plans to write."

She realized her mother was talking about True Deverell. Never before had she alluded to love in regard to her marriage, but in that moment there was a haunting, raw pain in her expression.

"Love has no place in a marriage," she said. For just a moment she drooped. And then she straightened her spine again and sat tall, chin raised, eyes dry and fierce. She picked up her face powder. "Make the most of Hale's interest and pin him down while you have it. Don't expect love. Seek passion elsewhere. As he will in time too, no doubt. But you will be rich and well settled. No doors will be closed in your face. And nobody will ever dare look down on you again."

In her mother's eyes— and indeed, in the eyes of most—the Earl of Southerton was merely a dull but rich man, there to be caught. A title to be snatched up and secured.

But Raven knew he was so much more.

He was kind and thoughtful beneath that stony exterior. He even had a sense of humor, if one mined deep enough to find the vein. He may be old fashioned and have a few irritating faults, but he was also strong, steadfast and authentic. Sebastian Rockingham Hale did not change his colors if one chipped away at him; he was the same even layer, through and through.

And at that moment he was probably hoping to be rid of them all as soon as possible. They had ruined the peace of his precious estate. The poor man had invited no one there for ten years, trying to keep his life uncluttered, but suddenly he had seven guests to manage. All because of
her
.

"Mama, just promise me you will not drink too much wine this evening." She could only imagine the expressions on his aunts' faces if they observed her mother guzzling their nephew's best wine with her usual capacity. And when her mother felt that giddiness she had a tendency to chatter about all manner of subjects, some of which would shock those delicate old maids out of their lace caps.

"Sometimes, Raven," came her mother's tart reply, "I believe you forget which of us is the parent."

"I wonder why." She sighed, and left her mother to finish dressing for dinner.

* * * *

He was ambushed in the corridor, on his way to change out of his muddy riding breeches.

"What on earth were you doing with that gell today, Sebastian? The two of you looked like heathen savages. It was most distressing to see you so...undone."

"Hatless! And with your neckcloth askew. I did not know where to look."

"Until that gell rode up and then there was plenty to observe. Also hatless and quite unashamed to have her hair windblown. And, if I am not mistaken and I believe my eyes saw clearly, several buttons of her riding habit were severely strained by altogether too much...untamed...unseemly," she sputtered, eyes popping, "curvature."

"Aunt Serena," he said carefully, "I did tell you I am quite capable of managing Miss Deverell. There was no occasion for you to come rushing to my defense, thinking you have to save me from her." Or her
curvature
, he thought, amused.

"Well, of course not, dear boy," said Evelyn. "We merely wanted to see you, our beloved nephew, did we not, Serena?"

Her sister frowned. "That Deverell gell needs packing off back to London. You have surely seen your error in bringing her here. Now that French dandy can take her mother away and the seductress will go with her."

"Is that your plan?" He smiled as patiently as he could, but he already had a sore head from the thought of dinner with that gaudy peacock, Reynaux, at his table. His blood was hot, his temper frayed. The day had gone so well and now this! Spending the time alone with Raven and managing to unburden himself to her, he felt like a different, better man suddenly. He could not put the dam back in place. Nor did he want to.

"But of course! Have you not had word from Lady Faulkner? You do not know about the gun cartridges they found?"

"On the terrace, dear Sebastian!" Aunt Evelyn whispered. "Some days after the party, one of Lady Faulkner's housemaids found two spent casings caught in the hem of her damask curtains. That is what broke the vase. It was not a thrown shoe at all. Someone was shooting a rifle that night in the grounds of their house, and it seems they aimed at you."

He frowned. "Perhaps you ladies need a lie down after your journey. It can be quite a tiring—"

"Somebody, Sebastian, shot at you on the terrace that night. And that Deverell gell is the one who led you out there, according to Lady Faulkner. I should not be at all surprised if she was not a part of the plot."

"Aunt Serena, you have been reading too many penny serials again."

"Indeed I have not!"

Evelyn held his sleeve, tugging upon it until he stooped to hear her whisper. "We have been reading ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue’, by a gentleman named Edgar Allan Poe."

"Yes, but that is not significant," her sister exclaimed crossly. "This case is not fiction! These are the facts. A rifle cartridge was discovered, and our nephew had a narrow escape from it. He was led to his doom in the moonlight by that dreadful seductress."

He shook his head. "Why would anybody aim at me? What have they to gain?" The idea of a plot to assassinate him might be amusing, if it had not brought his aunts all the way to Greyledge to interfere in his private life just as he was about to have one again.

The two ladies looked at each other and then Serena snapped, "Apparently you do not know that Matthew Bourne has called off his engagement to the Winstanley gell and run off to nobody knows where."

"He has not been seen," Evelyn added gravely, "for more than a week. And he did not take a change of clothing, according to our chimney sweep, who heard it from the scullery maid at Redvers House."

This news darkened his day further. His mouth was dry, his head ache tightening.

Matthew Bourne
, that fool. Would he really go so far in his quest for vengeance as to shoot at him? It seemed preposterous, and yet it was Bourne, who had many times shown himself to be an impulsive fool with little to no sense of reason or decorum. If somebody meant to shoot at him over a woman, they ought to do the honorable thing and challenge him to a duel with pistols, in the proper way, not skulk about in a shadowy garden to fire at his silhouette. But Bourne was not likely to do that; he knew Hale was a very good shot.

"We decided to come here at once and warn you, dear boy. Then we encountered the Frenchman at a coaching inn on the road. Lady Jane recognized him as a friend of the Deverell hussy. She had seen them at the theatre together. We would not have struck up any acquaintance, naturally, but when he heard we were on our way to Greyledge he sought us out and, with the typical bad manners of his kind, kept mentioning it until we felt obliged to invite him along." Aunt Serena shuddered, blinking slowly as if it was all too horrible to contemplate and yet it was a length they felt necessary to go on his behalf. "Then I realized there might be value in it and the fellow could be of use. He can escort those Deverells back to town and you need not feel at all obliged to ride with them yourself. It can all be arranged quite simply without fuss, but the sooner you have them removed the better. It is a disastrous connection, and I cannot think what you meant by it."

Evelyn interjected with an eager whisper, "Lady Jane Newcombe is so very perfect for Greyledge."

He paused outside his chamber. "You make her sound like an ornament for the lawn."

"Jane Newcombe," said Aunt Serena firmly, "is absolutely the most suitable choice for the next Countess of Southerton. Now she is out of full mourning, somebody is bound to snap her up if you do not. Your father — our beloved brother—would approve and so would your mama. That silly, outspoken, flirting chit of a girl cannot possibly fulfill the role, and when you see the two, side by side, your natural, unswerving instincts as a Hale will guide you."

"Yes, I daresay they will. Thank you and excuse me, for I must change for dinner." He bowed and slipped hastily into his room, leaving his aunts in the corridor.

Ear to the door he listened a moment to be sure they were walking away, then he exhaled a deep sigh of relief and turned.

To find Raven Deverell standing in his chamber, still in her riding habit and holding his hat.

He looked around anxiously, but she said with a little smile, "Your valet is below stairs tending to one of Monsieur Reynaux's needs, I believe. So I thought I'd take this opportunity to return your hat."

How beautiful she looked, standing in his room like an apparition, unexpected and yet so very welcome.

"I know I shouldn't be in here," she continued, as he slowly crossed the floor toward her, "and you are bound to lecture me about it. But we will have little opportunity to be alone together now, and I wanted to thank you for today."

He stood a few feet from her and did not reach for his hat, but let her keep holding it.

"I will, of course, make certain my mother packs tonight, after dinner, and we will be gone in the morning."

Alarm rattled through him. "Gone?" Did she plan to join Matthew Bourne somewhere once she left Greyledge?

He should not let his aunts' suspicions creep in, but they did. They wormed their way through the corridors of his mind, an insidious whisper reminding him that he had met this woman through Bourne. She had deliberately captured his attention from the beginning and pretended it was accidental.

He saw her swallow. "We cannot stay. I'm quite sure you will not want Monsieur Reynaux in your house a moment longer than necessary. He will make my mama's company more insufferable than ever and," she looked down at the floor, "to be frank, sir, I would be embarrassed to have him here."

"You? The brazen Miss Deverell who cares nothing for anybody's good opinion or approval? I did not think you were ever embarrassed?" He knew he sounded angry, but couldn't stop himself.

Finally she raised her gaze, but only as far as his chin. "I did not ever think I would be either. Monsieur Reynaux's arrival here has proven to me that I can indeed feel humiliation, in some great degree. My mother was bad enough, but now our presence will be such a blot on the beauty of your house and estate...I think it is better that we go and save you any further trouble."

He thought for a moment, forcing his temper down. "I'm afraid that's impossible, madam. A carriage cannot be spared."

Her eyes flared. "I'm sure it can."

"I'm doubly sure it cannot."

She breathed hard and deeply, thrusting his hat toward him. "You must not know then, the extent of Monsieur Reynaux's debt around town and his reputation as a cheat and a scoundrel, or you would never want him here. Ransom told me the man was banned from Deverell's. Now, because of me, you have been forced to welcome him to your beautiful estate. I warned you before that any association with us will cause you harm, and now your reputation will suffer even more than it has already. Because of me."

He put his head on one side. The anger was leaving him and good sense taking its place, drowning out the suspicions placed there by his aunts. "You think Greyledge beautiful?"

"Of course," she sputtered. "But that's not what—"

Taking his hat, he tossed it to the chair behind her, slid his arms around her waist and drew her closer— all her splendidly wicked "curvature". She resisted, but not convincingly. "Miss Deverell, I am immensely pleased that you approve of my home. I know you would have no qualm about being honest if you did not."

"Don't be foolish! Who could not like the place? There is nothing
not
to like!"

"It also amuses me to no end," he inhaled a deep breath of that fresh air still clinging to her loose, thick curls, "that you worry about spoiling the place simply by being here. If that is a true statement."

"But I—"

"You have no idea how much you have improved my view, Raven. No idea at all, if you think one, perfumed, ruffle-clad Frenchman is going to stop me from keeping you in my life for as long as
I
deem necessary." And she could try to run away from him, but he would not let her go. "Once a man begins to fall, you had best leave him to it, because he cannot be stopped."

He kissed her, gently at first, then with greater need as he touched her hair and tangled his fingers in it. Her lips went softly and willingly to his, but then she pulled back, pushing her hands into his chest to make some distance.

"I go where and when I please, sir. Don't think you can keep me prisoner, no matter how fine the prison!"

Hale moved in again, closing the gap, claiming her mouth in another kiss, then her chin as she tipped her face away, trying to wriggle out of his embrace. "You'll damn well stay, if I command it. And you will obey me. As everybody else in my world must."

"Ha! That's about as likely as me following your rules. I will cause you nothing but—"

He nibbled her neck, sucking gently on the tender, fragrant flesh, his arousal mounting out of control, desperate to tame this wild creature, this force of nature.

"Wolf," she yelped, clinging to his sleeves. "I always knew you were arrogant."

"Perhaps you thought you would put the bit between
my
teeth?" He laughed huskily. "I will ride you, as you've never been ridden, and that'll teach you."

"
Teach me
?" she gasped as his fingers worked speedily over the front of her riding habit, buttons spilling all over the floor.

"Not to wink at gentlemen who have a little more experience of the world." Beneath the habit she wore a lace-trimmed blouse, the neck fastened with a sharp pin.

A fact he only discovered now, when she, laughing so hard she seemed short of breath, jabbed that menacing pin into the back of his hand.

He cursed, but it didn't stop him from proceeding with the undressing of her body and he had soon wrestled the pin from her hand so that it joined the buttons across his bed chamber floor.

"I was warned you might bite," he grunted, picking her up swiftly and carrying her to his bed. "Which only succeeded in sparking my curiosity."

He tossed her onto the embroidered tapestry coverlet that bore the Hale crest. She made no move, but lay there looking up at him, her eyes warm, excited, her lips slightly parted.

"What about dinner?" she managed on a slim breath.

"I'm about to eat heartily, Miss Deverell, and I've much to soothe your appetite, if you've a fancy for it." Now he caught her sly glance at the front of his breeches and knew she must see the shape of his erection for her eyes widened and suddenly turned smoky. She licked her lips and he imagined the sensation of that damp caress across his heated, roused skin. His aunt had referred to him as "undone". Well, he was certainly very much unraveled, unknotted, and becoming straighter by the second.

"I believe I do...have a fancy for it, your lordship."

Thank goodness for that, he mused, because there was a limit even to his patience and she was taking her damn time seducing him.