She spoke to the empty room, “I behaved like a common harlot this night. I would like to pummel him. There should have been no further compromises, and now I stand at the edge of my life. What have I done for this was not what I wanted.”
Tears flowed, and her sobs hurt her throat. She gulped and the knot twisted. Samantha sat at the vanity and looked at her tearstained face in the mirror. She spoke again to the emptiness and turned her face away. “Everything is spoiled. I no longer can be seduced by my illusions of magical and extraordinary love. My experience with Raven has made it impossible to be with any other man. I would always compare anyone else to him. My extraordinary Duke is gone. I hate him and his impossible arrogance. I hate myself as well. How can I ever redeem the happenings of this night in my eyes or his? Why do I still love him more than ever?”
As her rage abated, she gave a great deal of thought to all that she said to him. Dread flexed its horrific might. In his noble manner, he gave her time to consider his marriage proposal. Well, he could take that proposal and shove it up the proper orifice. Ultimatums would not work for her. There would be other prospects in the world. And that was the worst lie of all. She was his and always would be his, and his alone.
She looked about the room he had decorated just for her. It was then Samantha knew she wanted him no matter what. She’d never wanted to be a duchess. She just wanted to be loved completely for herself—by him.
And then a different type of fear showed its insidious face. What if there were consequences from their first night together? Then she would have to deal with it. She had a small fortune and could take herself and their child abroad. After all, she was a widow.
At the verge of emotional exhaustion, she remembered most of her assets were gifted to her brother. If there was a child of his seed within her, Raven would move heaven and earth to legitimize it. She remembered his exact words. I’d marry a she-devil to legitimize my heir.”
But what about me, Raven? Would it be a loveless marriage? No, I can’t go through that again. The tomblike quiet in the room deafened except for the tick-tock tick-tock of the sentinels of time in sequential harmony. Their pendulums swung back and forth without emotion and rationale—two sensations she now experienced. Most of all, she needed to sleep, but sleep would not come. Embarrassed by her behavior though she still justified her words and actions, Samantha tossed and turned most of the night.
She remembered he did get on his knees and apologize to her. What more did she expect from so proud and honorable a man? Her flesh quivered in a suffocating panic. Fear jolted her and beads of perspiration formed on her neck. Samantha no longer wanted to wage war on him in a battle she did not wish to win.
“I will never see him again. I set the rules, and now I have to play by them. Does any way exist for me to make this right again? Tomorrow? I’ll worry about it tomorrow. There’s always tomorrow.”
Behind her eyes was love. Behind her sad smile was sorrow. Behind her throat was a cracking knot.
Raven needed his displeasure to abate, so he tarried in his garden in the moonlight with the fragrance of the red Duchess roses that filled his lungs. Still angry, he realized the futility of his attempt to reason with her. More than a lover’s quarrel, it escalated into a disaster. His future life walked out on him, and he was helpless to stop her. So be it. The fates had spoken.
He rose from the bench, paced back and forth, muttering. Indeed Samantha could be too much. Her insolent behavior disturbed him. She’d never change. Perhaps it would be best to let her go. However, there existed the consequences of their first night together. If there were to be issue, could he trust the hellion to seek him out? Or would she be too damn proud? But if there were to be a child from their one night of passion, he’d move heaven and earth and find her. There was nowhere in the world she could hide that was beyond his reach.
Damnation.
The next morning, Raven went to his study and rang for Randall.
“You summoned, Your Grace?”
“Yes, I would like you to congratulate the entire staff for their conduct. All went well last evening, which allowed my guests to have a superb time. Take this purse and distribute the coin as you see fit and do be sure to take care of the farmers who assisted. The usual tea and candles should suffice, as well as the money. Inform Siegfreid we must still maintain our vigilance on dangers.”
He paused and touched the side of his face, his fingers rubbed one cheekbone. “I wish to see the master gardener at four this afternoon. See that he is available.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Will that be all?”
“No, most of the guests will leave today, and our normal routine will return. However, I would like you to remove the portrait of the duchess and provide a place of honor for it on the gallery wall. When I return from my ride, I would like to see it gone.”
Without the blink of an eyelash, Randall asked, “Shall I replace it with something else?”
“No, Randall, but I do wish the task completed before the house awakens.” He took his riding accessories and left his study, strode out the rear door and down to the stables. His black Arabian, Ruffian, awaited him. A wild ride in the cold air would help clear his mind and allow him time to think about his insolent lady.
Samantha might wage war, but he would win the battle, even if it killed him. And it just might. In his mind’s eye, he envisioned the stirring image of his naked lady with rolled up stockings and silk slippers, and him on his knees for her in such an ignoble position for a duke of the realm. He tasted bile. What more could she want of him? If she thought to make him suffer, she succeeded. Precious time wasted away. How much did he have left? The omens seemed not to favor him.
Things with the charter application delay concerned him. A foreboding of evil rained over him. Raven tasted the fear and scowled back at it. He rode across the bluff like a wild man while the wind careened around his jaw. The raw tension within dissipated, and he held the reins in tight command. Ruffian appeared to enjoy the fast pace. In complete control, Raven gave his horse a loose rein. An hour hurried by, and soon he slowed their pace to return. His mind cleared with the brisk wind’s invigorating power.
Raven returned to the manor house. He greeted everyone with reserved warmth, in perfect command of his senses. The Winston family partook of the English breakfast. The Ballantyne’s soon joined them, and so did Prince Nicholas, who looked rather well outfitted this morning in his riding gear.
“Ah, Raven,” he said as a servant poured coffee. “Have you been out already?”
“Yes. I needed the fresh air to clear my head. All that wine and brandy you know can muddle one. Will you ride also?”
“I thought it best to take a quick jaunt before I left. We have a long journey ahead of us. There are some estates that need my attention so if I could depart right after lunch, would that be sufficient?”
The Prince appeared in a jovial mood. So far the two of them were the only ones who conversed in polite courtesies.
“Lord Winston, when do you depart?” the Prince asked.
“Your Highness, I believe the ladies wish to leave right after breakfast. He addressed the duke. “We have an appointment on Friday, Your Grace, at Winston House.”
“Yes, there may be some news about our venture that we can discuss then. I will see you sometime after lunch.” Raven preferred not to meet at the clubs for fear of eavesdropped conversations.
It was Lady Minerva who thanked the duke for his hospitality. “Your Dowager Aunt Margaret and I spoke last night, Your Grace, and she would like to see us in London if you have no objection. Samantha and I would love to entertain her.”
Samantha gave her aunt a concerned and distant look.
“Of course, if my aunt wishes, I’d be pleased to have her reside in my town residence,” said the duke. “She does not get out much, and I’m sure she’d enjoy the Bond Street shops.” He addressed Samantha with measured politeness, “And you, Lady Samantha, what will you do when you return?�
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With well-mannered words, she answered, “I have many letters to write and important items to accomplish about the Foundation, Your Grace.” She thanked him for his graciousness and looked away, and never cast her eyes on him again.
The Earl and Countess Ballantyne also indicated they would leave after breakfast. Raven’s voice was reserved, “Randall will let me know when you take your leave. We can make our final goodbyes. Ladies and gentlemen, it was our pleasure to have you here.”
Raven rose and asked the Prince to join him in the library and excused himself from his guests.
Samantha would not meet his eyes, but he wanted to memorize her as she was now, a silent Madonna whom he’d hurt. In return, she retaliated with cruel, harsh words. If it was simply a lover’s quarrel, he could accept the events, but unfortunately, it was so much more.
He left the room to return to his sacrosanct study. The time had come for strategic plans all around. Raven wasn’t sure about repentance for a foolish error in speech, but he did know his fiery lady might be surprised at the strong weapon he’d use when he got her back into his bed. He now planned as a general ready to do battle. Let the games begin. A smile crossed his face in contemplation.
Oh, Samantha, you have no idea what you have wrought.
Chapter Forty-Four
Samantha opened her door to Aunt Min for her to enter. “Time for us to leave, dear.”
“I want to take one last look at this chamber. It’s etched in my mind.”
“Indeed, it should. Raven created the refurbishment for you.”
Samantha blinked her eyes shut.
“Don’t cry. If something unfortunate happened, you will tell me, and we will make it right, rest assured. Nothing can be so terrible that we cannot make amends.”
“I can’t talk about it in the carriage, Aunt Min, but Raven did ask for marriage.”
“Then why are you so upset? You don’t want to marry this man you’ve mooned over?” She reached to touch Samantha’s hand with a quizzical expression.
“He didn’t ask me, Aunt Min. He asked Liana. At least that is what he called me. Don’t you see, all he wants to do is recreate the safe world he experienced with her? His life and his routine were all in a box with constraints. But I am alive. I couldn’t bear for him to touch me or want me and all the time I’d wonder if it was me he loved or her.”
Lady Minerva sat her down on the settee. She hugged Samantha. “We will talk when we arrive home, but you knew what you faced. You have to decide how much you want him. He will grow to love you even more and forget he ever knew her. She will become a treasured memory. You expect perfection of him when he is a mere man. Men have flaws. Trust me, my dear.”
“I am tired of those trust words.” She moaned a soft sob, and a tear escaped.
“Samantha, I suggest you take a look in the drawing room. That portrait you hate so much is gone. He has given you a strong message with its removal.” She left the room with Samantha in tow. “Let us pay our final respects to the duke and the dowager and be gone. It is time to go to our home.”
When Samantha entered the drawing room with her aunt, Raven was engaged in conversation with the Prince. He halted his conversation, raised his head, and his eyes peered at the outline of the former painting visible against the more faded walls. Certainly she’d notice he had the portrait removed.
The Prince strolled over to the two ladies and kissed both their outstretched hands as they curtsied. “I am devastated that I will not see you for a time. Although, I do have business in London soon, and hope I may have the privilege to call upon you.”
“That would be nice, your Highness, We would be delighted to receive you,” Samantha said with a warm, deliberate smile. “We shall miss your remarkable presence.”
Raven debated that her remark was the most complimentary she’d been to the Prince since he arrived, all designed to make him jealous. However, it wouldn’t work as she intended.
“Lady Minerva, if you would indulge me, I would be curious to see that pistol you refer to, the one you say you carry all the time. Would you show it to me?”
“But of course, Highness.” She opened her reticule and withdrew a small pistol, a marvelous sight to behold, with Mother of Pearl handles encrusted with jewels of rubies, sapphires, and emeralds.
The Prince took it in his hands and was in apparent awe. He read the name etched into the barrel. “It is the Minerva. I never thought the story was authentic.”
“And what is that story?” asked Raven, now just as inquisitive as the Prince.
“Raven, forgive me. I’m pleasantly shocked. It is a story my forebears have spoken about for decades.” He fondled the pistol, looked down the barrel to the gun sight. He hefted the weight in his hand and gave it to Raven who did the same. “There was one such gun hand molded ever, then the drawings and specifications were destroyed. Because it is so small, designed to fit the palm, adjustments to the handle were made to the diameter of the barrel and it will shoot certain bullets. The story is it was made for a special woman and gifted to her by a Prince of the Russian court, my uncle. She was someone he met in India on tour. Minerva was her name.”
Raven handed the small revolver to Nicholas. “The workmanship is superior.”
The Prince gazed at Lady Minerva in wonderment and great astonishment. “Are you that lady?”
“But of course, Highness. I will ignore your apparent surprise. I was quite a beauty then. As I remember, your uncle was a handsome, debonair man. Lady Margaret will tell you that I had a proclivity for Russian princes. I was, of course, married and lived in India, and those days could be fearful at the unrest. The Prince commissioned the gunsmith to produce a pistol that would fit my small palm and yet be lethal enough to stop a man.”
“What did your husband say to this gift, my lady?” was the next question asked by Raven.
“He thought it was a capital idea. Of course, the Prince asked my husband’s permission ahead of time to give it as a gift. Before any of you arch your eyebrows, know that we enjoyed a wonderful marriage, one that did not include infidelities. He did allow me great leeway, however, and I was always most appreciative of that.”
“A long leash,” said Raven.
“Why, yes, Your Grace. The longer he made that leash, the more it became stronger and unnecessary, but I digress. He was always near and protective of me. A casual flirtation was never offensive to him. He knew I loved him, and would never do anything to jeopardize our relationship.”
Raven commiserated again about the casual flirtation the lady referred to.
The Prince became excited as he spoke, “Raven, Do you know what this means? We could mass-produce the pistol, and all the gentlemen in London could start a craze. Rather than carry heavy ones, this little gem can be slipped into a pocket or boot with ease, and used as necessary. Of course, we would have to take it and have our gunsmiths study to replicate it.”
The Prince turned to Lady Minerva. “Would you consider lending me the gun for a short time?”
“No, I would not, Highness. I don’t feel safe without it. My Russian Prince’s Gunnery Captain of his regiment instructed me in its proper care, as did my husband. I may one day have to use it. With the dangers to us all that the duke speaks of, I would be uncomfortable with it taken from me.” She paused and tilted her head toward the men. “However, I do have the specifications for the weapon in my bank vault.” She pulled on her white linen gloves.
“But I heard you say the blueprints and specifications had been destroyed,” Raven said.
“You are correct, Your Grace, that is what everyone was told. I’m a cautious woman, and because of that, I convinced my husband to commission duplicates. They now reside in my vault in London.” An air of superiority brightened her smile when her eyebrows arched and she brightened with a smile.
“You are also correct, Prince Nicholas, that the bullet propels through a descending chamber that has been calculated to eject it at a high velocity.
Although I do not understand much more than that.”
Raven was impressed and noted the stunned faces of all in the well-appointed room. “Is it possible to procure the specifications?” the duke asked as he fingered the pistol. Light and small, men all over the world would want it. He frowned for a moment and thought about a lot of women who might want it, too. It could create a fashion fad. God help them. That could lead to females in pistol fights and duels. These Winston women were indeed unique.
“What would you want for the plans?” asked Raven.
“I am well endowed with financial resources, Your Grace. But perhaps a person who brought this type of ammunition to the table could be entitled to join the cartel?”
“That is a high cost, my lady,” said Raven in a tone born of years of discipline that disguised well his shock.
“Then all we have to do is disregard our conversation on the matter, Your Grace.” Lady Minerva stretched her hand forward. “May I have my gun back now?”
The Prince hesitated a moment. “My lady, grant me a boon and allow me to shoot it just once? I want to feel the balance and assess the accuracy. Caveat emptor,” he said. Buyer beware.
She agreed. Lady Minerva smiled and acknowledged his request and withdrew her hand, “But of course, Highness.”
They went outside, and targets were set up. Raven shot first and the others followed. He was duly impressed.
Raven traded glances with the Prince. “Between us, we might convince the others,” Raven said with a controlled response.
“The myth becomes a reality. My pride in my heritage is further redeemed. I long to own such a pistol,” said the Prince.
All the while Raven thought, Bravo for the ladies. He smiled with a broad grin and knew they were in the clutches of a capable woman who played her hand for all it was worth.
“Of course, I could be persuaded to allow you to have the plans as payment for our share, Samantha’s and mine, into your cartel,” Lady Minerva announced.
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