Raven's Bride (12 page)

“You are very sure of yourself.” Anna was determined to resist his flirtatious gallantry. He meant nothing by it. She was a fool to think he ever could change—that he would ever care about any woman enough to even try. “Are all the king’s men such arrant cockscombs?”

“I want to be the one you dream of when your head hits your pillow this evening. I want you to be dancing with me in your dreams.” He swung her expertly around in his arms. “Do you ever dream of me, fair cousin?”

“I never dream.”
Of what I cannot have and ought not pine for,
she added silently to herself.

“Every woman must have a dream. A secret wish that occupies her waking moments, and lulls her off to sleep at night. Will you tell me yours?”

“Certainly. My secret wish tonight is that my new slippers do not blister my heels, or I shall be in agonies all of tomorrow. But I fear my wish is doomed. My slippers fit a little more snugly than they ought and are already rubbing my heels to shreds.”

“Then if you must pay the price of dancing in new shoes with blisters on your heels,” he said lightly, “we must make your ball worth every pang you must feel tomorrow.”

She no longer felt her fatigue. All her sensations were bound up in the touch of Lord Ravensbourne’s hand on hers, the male scent of him intoxicating her senses, the pleasant roughness of his sleeve against her cheek when they brushed against each other.

It already is worth everything to me,
Anna thought to herself, as she followed her cousin’s lead.
Dancing with you, on this one magical night, is worth every pang I shall feel in the morn, both on my heels and deeper, far deeper, in my heart.

Too soon the dance ended, and Lord Ravensbourne’s attention was diverted by a striking-looking man in sober clothes that seemed a little the worse for wear. “I must go speak with Captain Daventry,” he whispered in her ear, as he escorted her back to her mother. “He is the best man in the world and has traveled from London to be here with us tonight. Do not move from here. I will be back to claim you for another dance as soon as I have done my duty to my guests.”

Anna wasn’t left long alone to regret the absence of her first partner. A middle-aged man, dressed severely in black, soon claimed her hand for a dance. They had barely danced five measures before Anna knew his entire life history—he was recently widowed for a second time and was left with seven children from his two marriages, as well as an aged, bedridden mother, in his care. He was on the lookout, so he explained to her in all seriousness, as he stepped on her toes for the seventh time in as many minutes, for a sober, respectable woman with a modest fortune and a frugal nature for wife number three to look after him, his children, his mother and all the rest of his large household, in return for the honor of bearing his name.

Anna made it clear she was living on the charity on her relations and would bring her husband not a penny of dowry, and his interest in her waned. He left her once the dance was done with a hurried excuse. She saw him later lead out a widow with no encumbrances and a pocket full of gold she had inherited from her late husband, a knight from the north of England.

An outlandishly dressed young fop was the next to claim her attentions. He danced well, paid her outrageous compliments, and tried to kiss her in a dark corner. She slapped his face and scolded him for his wickedness. The lad, who looked not a day over sixteen, caught her hand, not a whit abashed, and kissed it with great fervor, but he received his dismissal and her sharp words with a good grace.

Through it all, Anna remained painfuly aware of Lord Ravensbourne’s movements. He had stayed in the courtyard some time with Captain Daventry, reappearing just in time to catch the fop’s attempt to steal a kiss from Anna. She caught his eye, and he looked gravely at her. She turned away from his gaze, feeling shame-faced, berating herself for feeling so. She had done nothing wrong. She would not be made to feel as though she had been the guilty party.

When she dared to look Lord Ravensbourne’s way again, after dismissing her young fop, he was engrossed in talking to a tall, blonde woman, gorgeously gowned in a dress of grass-green silk, her puffed sleeves dripping with lace, and her neckline low enough to show off her creamy white bosom and shoulders.

As Anna watched, Lord Ravensbourne brought the blonde woman’s hand to his lips and kissed it. Her face grew hot. He had looked askance at her, when she had done nothing to provoke the young fop’s attentions. Now here he was paying court to a woman who looked as if she were no better than she should be.

Envy, hot and ugly, took root in her soul. No doubt the woman was one of his many admirers, one of the eligible brood Charlotte had brought up from London. How could she hope to compete with such a siren? She was absurd to think that Lord Ravensbourne would ever love her—even just a little. Compared to the siren in green, she was a plain country mouse.

She did not wait to see more. Her soul was in too great an anguish to be borne. Her mother was right—she was insignificant. No one would notice were she to leave.

Her eyes hot with pain and unshed tears, she went in search of her mother, and of an excuse to escape.

Her mother was chattering with a group of women around a card table.

Anna approached her, feeling weary and heartsore. “I’m very tired, Mother,” she said in a low whisper. “Would you mind if I left you here and went home?”

“Are you feeling unwell?” she asked, as she rose to her feet. “Stay just a moment and I will fetch my shawl and come with you.”

Anna shook her head and seated her mother again. “I do not want to interrupt your evening. I did not sleep well last night is all, and I am in no mood for dancing.” Her gaze involuntarily strayed to where Lord Ravensbourne stood, his arm now draped around the blonde siren’s bare shoulders.

Mrs. Woodleigh caught the direction of her glance. “I see,” she said, after a moment’s pause. “Perhaps it is for the best. But are you sure you do not want me to accompany you?” she asked. “There will be many another chance, no doubt, to catch up on all the gossip and goings-on of my childhood friends.”

“I would be no good company for you tonight, Mama. Please, stay here. I would prefer to be alone.”

“You will not walk home alone?” Her mother’s voice betrayed her anxiety.

“Not at all. I will borrow one of Charlotte’s footmen long enough to see me home. I am sure she will not mind in the slightest.”

Charlotte had no objection to Anna borrowing her footman, though she was disappointed Anna would not stay longer. “We have but one ball a season,” she cried, “and only then if I manage to talk Tom into giving one. You cannot mean to go home before it is even half spent. For myself, I do not intend to stop dancing until I have burned down every candle in the house to its stub.”

Seeing how adamant Anna was, she accepted her cousin’s departure and insisted on sending her two stoutest footmen to light her home.

Anna dismissed the footmen at her door and made her way into her chamber. Her night of folly and dissipation was over now. Lord Ravensbourne had not followed her, begging her to stay, to dance with him again as she had promised, as she had fondly hoped, for just the most fleeting moment, that he might. How could he, when he had not even noticed that she had left?

With a cry of despair, she unlaced her black silk dress and tossed it into the corner. What did she care for watered silk gowns, when her heart felt torn in pieces?

She loved Lord Ravensbourne with all her heart. How could she not? He had saved her from the squire, and been so kind and generous to her. He had taught her how to ride Beauty. He had treated her as if she were his own sister, instead of a poor relation dependant on him for each morsel of bread she put in her mouth.

And he had spoken to her heart and to her soul in a way no other man ever had.

When he looked at her with his dark, dark eyes, she melted inside. When he touched her, his fingertips struck sparks from her skin, her stomach turned over inside her, and a slow burn was ignited in the pit of her belly.

But she meant nothing to him.

She made her hand into a fist and thumped it onto her bolster again and again. She had fallen in love with the very worst sort of man—a king’s man, a courtier, a rake who would chew up a poor country mouse like her before breakfast, and spit out her bones on the floor without a second thought when he had done.

Loving Lord Ravensbourne was a weakness—and she refused to bow down before her own human frailty.

She would cast him out of her heart, and make herself whole again. She would be strong. She would not love him.

Lord Ravensbourne detached Charlotte from the arm of one of her admirers and hissed urgently into her ear. “Where is Anna? She has disappeared. I cannot find her anywhere.”

Charlotte turned on her heel and tapped him on the shoulder with her fan. “She has gone home, my dear brother.”

“Why?” he demanded. “Was she taken ill?”

“She saw you flirting with that Aphra woman,” Charlotte said, her voice tart, “and she suddenly felt fatigued.”

He cursed under his breath. Aphra was worse than a leech for her persistence in flirting with him, but her sharp tongue and quick wit were too prized at court for him to lightly earn her enmity. He had even thought of marrying her at one time—her beauty and breeding made her a perfectly acceptable choice—but she made it clear to him that she was not prepared to give up her life at court for a husband. He, in his turn, was not prepared to dance attendance on the king all year round for the sake of a woman. So they had parted at the close of last winter, little pleased with each other. Thank the good Lord that Aphra had now found herself a betrothed so perfectly to her liking she had ceased to think of him in any way other than that of friendship.

Ever since he had met Anna, with her kind heart and sweet nature, he had thanked his lucky stars he had not bound himself to Aphra. Anna was like a spring daffodil, standing proud in the bright dawn of a fresh spring morning. Compared to Anna, Aphra was weak, selfish and shallow, living only for herself, and for the pleasures of the moment.

If he ever married, he would not choose an Aphra. When he married, it would be to a woman such as his cousin. She was beautiful, but she made no fuss over her beauty, as if it mattered little to her. In all honesty, it probably did matter next to nothing to her—she was more concerned with interior virtues than exterior trappings. Her inner strength held her upright and steadfast, when many a weaker woman would have failed. Despite her convictions, she was no joyless prude, but a woman blessed in every way. She was kind and thoughtful to her mother, gracious to old Melcott, and a merry companion for Charlotte.

And to him—to him she was a sun-ripened peach he longed to sink his teeth into, to feel her firm, juicy, tender flesh in his mouth, to lap her sweet juices with his tongue as they ran down his chin…

He was ravenous for her—could never get enough of her.

“Be careful of Anna,” Charlotte said, breaking into his thoughts. “You have done your best to court her, despite my warnings, and she has fallen in love with you.”

He gave his sister a look that warned her to hold her tongue, but she paid him no heed.

“There were several respectable men here tonight whom I wanted to introduce her to,” Charlotte continued. “She must marry sooner or later, and she could have made a good match for herself from among them.”

He couldn’t think of one of his neighbors who were worthy to kiss her little finger. “Which men?” he asked, brusquely.

She pointed to a middle-aged man in a corner of the room. “Georgina Perkins’ uncle for a start. As soon as he saw Anna, he asked me to introduce him to her. He would be a perfect husband for her. He is sober and devout by all accounts, and has enough money to pick a wife to please himself rather than his pocketbook when he marries.”

The thought of another man with his hands on her made him seethe with rage. No other man would ever consume her—he would make sure of that. He wanted her to belong to him, and to him alone. “And if she did not like Miss Perkins’ uncle? Or any of the others? What then?”

“I like Anna, and I would not see her hurt.” Charlotte’s voice was unaccustomedly sharp. “I tried to warn her against you, but I fear I said too little, too late. You know you will not marry her, so it would please me if you would leave her alone. Once she has exorcised you from her heart, she may have a chance at making a good marriage with another, more suitable man. Our cousin is too honest. She will never marry another while she is in love with you.”

“Why should I not marry her?” He had never seriously considered the notion before, but now that he thought about it, the idea pleased him greatly. He would bind her to him with chains so sweet she would not choose to break them, even if she could.

“You have courted her all summer, but I do not believe you have spoken a word of matrimony to her. Your actions speak for themselves.”

He resented the inference, true though it may be, that he had courted Anna under false pretenses. His intentions had changed. His actions, now, were beyond reproach. “Maybe I was merely waiting for the right moment to declare myself.”

“Anna is young and innocent, and no match for you. Go and play your games with Aphra. She is too shrewd to fall in love with you and have her heart broke for her pains.”