Raven's Bride (13 page)

Anna’s heart broken? He shook his head as he watched Charlotte stalk away from him in a vile mood. He would not be so vain as to think so. But if it were, he were a villain if he would not heal it, if he could.

It was time he was married. He was of age and master of his own estate. It was his duty to carry on the family line and beget his issue on a wife.

Anna was a suitable choice. She was young and well-bred, and according to Charlotte, she was fond enough of him to accept his offer. It would be in her interests to do so. Despite her beauty, she was unlikely to receive another respectable offer. Given her upbringing, she was unlikely to accept any of the less respectable offers she would receive were she to go to Court.

And he wanted her like he had never wanted any other woman before. He wanted to have her by his side all through the night, and in his company every waking moment of the day.

He wanted her to be his.

His mind was made up.
Why waste a moment?
he asked himself striding out of the front door and across to the lane leading to the dower house. He would ask her to marry him that very night. He would lay claim to his own sweet daffodil and keep her precious fragrance for himself alone.

The dower house was dark and silent. In one room, a candle flickered, and Lord Ravensbourne could make out a faint silhouette of Anna against the window, as she took down her hair.

He picked up a pebble from the ground and threw it at her window. “Anna,” he called softly. “Anna, come down to me.”

The curtains were drawn aside and the window opened. Anna put her head out, her arms leaning against the sill. “Lord Ravensbourne.” Her voice seemed husky, as though she had been crying. “What are you doing here?”

“May I come in?”

She hesitated for a moment, indecision written in her eyes.

“I want to talk to you,” he entreated her, every ounce of persuasion he could summon infusing his voice. He could not bear a refusal now. “Just for a short while.”

His heart beat erratically in his chest and his body sprang painfully fast to attention as she leaned over a little further, giving him a glimpse of her soft, white throat. His own throat constricted as he pictured her lying on their marriage bed, with nothing to hide the beauty of her body from his starving eyes. The banns for their wedding would be called out in church on the morrow, or the pastor would regret the day he was born.

The strength of his desire surprised him. He wanted her with every fiber of his soul. He willed her to open the door to him, to come to him of her own accord.

“Give me a moment.” Her soft voice came through the casement window, making his heart leap with a savage delight. “And I will unbolt the door.”

Melcott stamped his stick on the ground and drew his brows together in fury. It was nigh an hour past the time Squire Grantley had promised to meet him, and, if he did not make haste, their quarry would elude them entirely.

He ground his teeth together as the minutes continued to tick by with no sign of the errant squire. Just as he was about to give up hope of conducting their business that night, he finally caught sight of him, slinking between two old oak trees in the grounds.

He drew his hands together and thanked God for his merciful goodness, saving his anger for the tardy squire. “Where in God’s name have you been?” he hissed, when the latecomer came within earshot.

“God’s teeth, but it was dark out there, and muddy, too,” the squire replied with an expression of distaste as he stomped ill-smelling marsh mud off his boots. “I came as soon as dusk had fallen, but the moon hid itself behind the clouds, and the night was as black as a Puritan’s conscience.”

Melcott snorted at his mockery. “The girl has left already. She did not stay even for supper.”

The squire cursed volubly.

“My nephew, may God rot his lecherous soul, followed her soon after,” Melcott continued. “We are too late to take him going, but we will take him when he returns home again, though we stay out-of-doors till morning to net him. Follow me, and I’ll show you where the two of them lie tonight.”

“I shall die of the ague if I have to stay out in this poxy damp,” the squire grumbled, as he followed Melcott in the direction of the dower house. “The devil take me if I do not storm the house and drag the rutting bastard off her by main force.”

“Even I,” Melcott said, with a sneer, his fingers itching to be around the squire’s throat, “would be hard put to it to explain that away as self-defense.”

Anna sat on a sofa, her legs tucked under her, her flimsy cotton night-rail covered only with a old woolen wrap she had hastily thrown over her on her way downstairs. She sneaked a glance at Lord Ravensbourne, who had seated himself opposite her on a hard-backed chair. His hair was tangled with the wind, and his dark eyes reminded her of those of a hawk, piercing and watchful. “I was tired.”

“You promised to dance with me again. It was not kindly done to break your promise.”

“You were otherwise engaged,” Anna said, unable to keep a touch of asperity out of her voice as she thought of his arms around the beautiful blonde. “I didn’t think you would notice my absence.”
Or care about it, if you did,
she added silently to herself.

“You saw me embracing Aphra and kissing her hand?”

Anna shrugged. “I don’t know what her name was.”

A smile hovered over the edges of Lord Ravensbourne’s lips. “You would know Aphra if you saw her. Tall, well-built, quite striking really. She has just become engaged to the old Count Fitzherbert, so she tells me. I am very happy for her. He has lots of money, no other children to leave it to, is nigh on eighty, and is in poor health.
She
is marrying
him
so she can escape from her poverty and her domineering father, whom she dislikes. Naturally she hopes to soon be made a rich widow, which will leave her able to do as she pleases for the rest of her life.
He
is marrying
her
in order to spite his cousin, whom he hates, and to cut him out of his estate when he dies. They are perfect for each other.”

Her bone-deep unhappiness lightened a shade, and she laughed. “Lord Ravensbourne, that is scandalous. How can you talk so?”

He shrugged. “She told me so herself.”

She was still suspicious. “So what were you kissing her for then?”

“To congratulate her on her betrothal, and to wish her a speedy, and a short-lived, marriage .”

Anna knew she ought to be horrified at his cynicism, but she was too relieved to care. Besides, there was merit in Aphra’s highly practical plan. She already had beauty and breeding, and was only needing wealth to set her up for life. Aphra’s betrothal to her ancient count would ensure that she would never feel want. Maybe her marriage was one made in Heaven after all.

“So, I have given you my excuses. Now you may give me yours.”

She knew what he was referring to—the attempt by the young fop to kiss her—but she refused to acknowledge it. “Mine?”

“I’m waiting.” His voice was truculent.

She could be more stubborn than he. “For what?”

“For kissing that young whippersnapper Fordyce. Could you not even wait until he had grown up? You should feel ashamed for leading him astray in such a fashion, and trying to make a rake out of him at such a tender age. The boy is barely out of the nursery.”

She refused to feel ashamed when she had done nothing wrong. He was a beast to lay the blame on her. “I did not kiss him.”

“You let him kiss you. That is exactly the same.”

“I did not. Did you not see me slap his face for his impertinence?”

“
After
you had been kissed.”

“And what if it was?” she said. He would foist no standards of morality on her that he was not prepared to abide by himself. “Am I not free to be kissed by anyone I choose, the same as you consider yourself free to kiss any woman who takes your fancy?”

“No.”

Anna crossed her arms and stared at him. “And what gives you the right to tell me no?”

“I am your cousin.”

He was being unreasonable, and she knew he knew it. “By marriage only. You are no blood relation of mine, and so cannot claim my duty or obedience.”

“And I am your elder.”

“My elder in years, true, and my elder in sinning, I have no doubt. But what has that to do with it?”

“And I am a man.”

“Ah, of course, you are a man, that noblest of God’s creatures. And, as such, you consider it your inalienable right to lie to and deceive all women.”

“And because I am very fond of you, and I intend to marry you as soon as I can drag you to a church.”

Anna felt as though she had been struck in the chest with a heavy leather flail. Her breath whooshed out from her lungs all in one go, and she fought to keep herself from fainting. “You what?”

“I am fond of you…and I intend to marry you.”

It was too much for her to comprehend. It was simply impossible. “I do not believe you.”

“Try.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I am mad for you. I am possessed with the thought of you.” He took her hand in his and placed it on his chest. She could feel the pounding of his heart as it lay beneath her fingertips. “Feel me. I am burning up with desire for you.”

She wanted to believe him. Oh, how she wanted to. “And did you say that to Aphra, when you were courting her last winter?”

He knelt down and looked into her eyes, as if he could convince her of his earnestness by letting her see into his soul. “I have never before said it to another woman. I have never felt this way before.”

She wanted to believe him, but she could not trust to her heart, when her head was telling her how wrong she was. Charlotte’s words haunted her. Charlotte knew her brother to be a rake and loved him not the less for it. But Anna would not put her trust in a man who could not be true to her. She could not, would not, love him. She shook her head in denial.

“Do you not love me then?”

If only it were so simple. “I do not wish to love you, therefore I will not.”

“So, you
do
love me then?”

Anna bit her tongue and was silent. She knew better than to answer when the devil with his silver tongue of temptation was speaking.

“But you will not confess it.” He sat himself down beside her on the sofa and drew her unyielding body into his arms. “But I want you to love me. And I want to hear you telling me so, with your sweet tongue. Come, I will not be denied.”

“I do not love you,” she lied, as she sought to break free of his embrace, before she succumbed to temptation and lost herself in his arms. “And it is unseemly for you to be here with me, alone, late at night, when I am barely dressed. You must go.”

His arms tightened around her and his lips brushed her hair. “Not until I have what I came for.”

His words were like a bucket of ice cold water tipped over her head. He was going to force her, as Squire Grantley had tried to.

All powers of reasoning flew out of her head to be replaced with blind terror and panic. He was a ravening beast, an evil serpent, a devil from the deepest and blackest pits of hell. He was worse even than the squire.

She froze for an instant, then fought wildly, hitting, scratching, and biting at whatever parts of him she could reach. “You will not, damn you to hell and back again, you filthy, vicious, whore-mongering swine,” she sobbed, in her fear and fury. “I will kill you first. I will kill you, like I wish I had killed the squire.”

But Lord Ravensbourne didn’t fight back. When the first wave of her panic had subsided, she realized he was no longer touching her, no longer restraining her in any way. He was sitting in silence, suffering her blows without a murmur, a look of deep pity on his face, as he waited for her to come to herself again.

With a growing sense of amazement, Anna realized he did not mean to hold her or to hurt her. Strong as he was, he could have felled her with one swipe from the back of his hand. Instead, he suffered her attack, without lifting a finger in his own defense.

Her heart stopped pounding quite so violently in her breast, and her breathing slowed. She brought her hands in front of her, seeing with shame how they were marked with red where she had drawn blood from his cheeks with her frantic fingernails.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with regret. “I only meant to steal a kiss from you, but instead I frightened you beyond your powers of endurance. It was ill-done of me. Please, will you forgive me?” And he held out one hand to her, pleading for her forgiveness.

She had been in the wrong to attack him so frantically. He had never meant to harm her. The realization struck her with the force of a tempest . Overcome with the strength of her emotions and the depth of her relief, she covered her eyes and wept bitter tears.

He took her gently into his arms. She did not fight him this time. She knew he meant no wrong by it. “Tell me about the squire,” Lord Ravensbourne said in a low tone, stroking her brow gently with his hand, as one would stroke the forehead of a sick child.