by Phoebe Conn
Shocked and filled with dismay, the crew asked questions Raven answered as truthfully as possible, but he did not admit Alex had not been in as good health as they had all assumed. Heart trouble ran in the family, was all that he would reveal. When a melancholy silence settled over the crew, Raven nodded to Randy and the mate began the series of orders that would get them under way. Readily understanding the need to reach Briarcliff as soon as possible, the men dried their eyes on their shirtsleeves and ran to their places.
Peter had left the last horse he had ridden at the nearest livery stable, and never having sailed, he grabbed the rail and hung on with a frantic grasp as the sails were unfurled and the Jamaican Wind pulled away from the dock. On any other day, he would have been teased unmercifully by the crew, but now no one felt up to making jokes.
As swift as she was beautiful, in full sail the Jamaican Wind was a glorious sight. Raven set a course that kept them close to the coast as they passed through the English Channel, and with the entire crew working to speed their way, they were able to drop anchor in Lyme Bay the following afternoon. It had been three days since Alex’s death, and they all hoped they had not arrived too late to attend the dear man’s funeral.
Approaching the house from the sea, Raven recalled the first time he had visited Briarcliff. The elegant stone mansion had looked like a castle to a child of eight, and he had asked Alex if he were a king. Alex had laughed, tousled his curls, and told him it was a drafty old place he did not like half as much as his home on Jamaica, but Raven had still believed Briarcliff to be a palace fit for a king.
Peter Brady followed Raven up the worn stone path. The groom had insisted upon carrying the captain’s valise, and had volunteered to return to the Jamaican Wind to inform the crew of the funeral plans once they had learned them. “Lady Clairbourne wanted to wait for you. I hope that we’ve arrived in time.”
“We’ll hold a second service if we’ve missed the first,” Raven assured him.
Peter had never heard of anyone having two funerals, but he dared not question Raven’s remark. When they reached the terrace, the captain turned back to survey the grounds of the impressive estate that now belonged to him, but Peter saw only sorrow in his dark eyes, rather than a warm glow of pride. Thinking perhaps he wished to be alone for a moment, he stepped by him.
“I’ll take this on up to your room, m’lord.”
“What? Oh yes, thank you.” Raven was unaccustomed to being addressed in that fashion, and needing some time to get used to it, he was indeed glad to have a few moments to gather his thoughts before entering the house. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze focused on the Jamaican Wind anchored in the bay. He had always felt more at home on the sea than on land, and despite what he knew would be an entirely new set of responsibilities, he did not want his life ever to change.
Startled by the sound of Eden’s voice, Raven wheeled around to find her running toward him. She was dressed in a gray gown she had worn for one of their afternoon outings, but his opinion of her was so low, he was not surprised to find she had not chosen to wear black as any other newly widowed woman surely would have.
“Eden,” was all he managed to gasp before she threw herself into his arms.
“Oh Raven, I knew you’d not disappoint me!” Eden hugged him tightly, enormously relieved and reassured by his presence. She closed her eyes and held on to him for a long moment, grateful for his warmth when she felt chilled clear to the bone. Raven was shocked by the enthusiasm of Eden’s greeting until he remembered that she had always been a far more demonstrative person than he. Certain they were being observed from the house by the servants, and possibly a great many people paying sympathy calls, he responded by enfolding her in a light embrace and patted her back with what he hoped would pass for a soothing rhythm.
To his utter dismay, he immediately discovered the sensation of holding the fair beauty was far more pleasurable than merely dancing with her had been. She was pressing her whole body against his as though he were her dearest relative, and even though he was appalled by her boldness, he had to fight the nearly overwhelming impulse to cling to her just as tightly.
Her perfume was a light floral scent that not only clung to her somber clothing but also graced her tawny hair. As she lay her head against his chest, her upswept curls brushed his chin like a silken caress, sending his senses reeling. He was unable to draw a breath for a moment as with a lover’s grace Eden swayed against him. Appalled by the speed of his body’s predictable and, he was certain, totally inappropriate response, he forced himself to grasp her waist firmly and pushed her an arm’s length away.
“Forgive me,” Eden begged, for a few seconds as disoriented as Raven. The usually aloof young man’s embrace had been so like that of her beloved husband that she knew she had lingered in his arms far too long. Not ashamed to admit how badly she needed his comfort, however, she attempted to smile as bravely as she had all day.
“Would you like to sit with Alex for a while before I tell them to close the coffin?” she asked considerately.
Not even tempted to spend a few minutes alone with the dead man, Raven shook his head. “No, thank you. I want to remember him as he was.”
Eden took Raven’s arm as they started toward the double doors that led into the house. “I wish I had been able to do that but he died in my arms. One minute we were laughing together, and in the next he was gone. Did Peter tell you what happened?”
“Yes.” Raven knew it would be polite to inquire how she was getting along, but the answer was too obvious to merit wasting his breath. Eden was doing beautifully. He stood by her side as she calmly gave Jonathan Abbot, the butler, the order to close Alex’s coffin and see that it was promptly delivered to the church in Exeter. Apparently she had been awaiting his arrival, and now saw no reason for further delay. Raven reminded himself that Alex had been dead for three days, but still Eden’s haste to have the funeral struck him as unseemly.
Eden slipped her hand into Raven’s as they took their places in the first pew. The church was filled to overflowing with sailors, townspeople, servants, and tenant farmers. It was an unusual gathering but she had known most of Alex’s close friends would be in London and unable to reach Briarcliff in time to attend the service. She was pleased that so many others who had known and admired her husband had wanted to be with him now.
They knelt frequently for prayers during the service, but she did not release Raven’s hand. Unlike Alex’s, his palm was callused, evidence of his active life at sea, and she found that sign of physical strength immensely comforting. Alex had never been strong, despite his zest for life, but she needed the strength his love could no longer provide and drew it from Raven.
She and Alex had not discussed his funeral, but Eden was pleased when Robert Boyer, the priest who had known him for many years, was able to provide a moving eulogy. She had wondered if Raven might not wish to give it himself, but thoughtfully did not force him to refuse when he did not make the offer voluntarily. She knew him to be a very private person who kept both his thoughts and feelings to himself. Respecting that right, she sat by his side, too numbed by grief to weep, and said her own goodbyes as silently as he.
That Eden kept running her thumb across his palm nearly drove Raven to distraction and finally he grasped her hand in both of his to make such an intimate gesture impossible to continue. Had the woman no idea what she was doing to him? he wondered. Didn’t she care? Or was she deliberately trying to seduce him just as she must surely have seduced Alex? That struck him as the most obvious explanation but didn’t she at least have the decency to wait until Alex was buried to do it?
When it came time for the pall bearers to carry Alex’s coffin to the adjacent cemetery, Raven leapt to his feet, eager for the excuse to be among the first to leave the church. The service had been a fitting tribute to Alex’s memory but as deeply aware of Eden’s presence as he was of the tragedy of the occasion, Raven had seen and heard little of it. No
w he just wanted to get outside where he would be able to breathe deeply without filling his lungs with the incense-laden air that reminded him all too vividly of the smell of death.
Alex’s grave had been dug next to Eleanora’s, but until they began to lower his coffin into the ground, Raven had not remembered that she had been buried in the Clairbourne family plot Her grave was marked by an exquisitely carved marble angel, and he wondered what sort of headstone Eden had requested for Alex. Certain it would be inappropriate no matter what she had chosen, he decided to cancel her order and place one of his own.
When the priest had completed the graveside prayers, Eden stepped forward to toss the first handful of dirt into the grave, but her expression gave no hint of her despair. Heartbroken that she had lost the husband she adored so shortly after their wedding, she nevertheless managed to survive the afternoon without breaking down in front of the people who followed her back to Briarcliff to offer their condolences. She did not want her behavior to reflect poorly on Alex’s choice of an American bride, but nothing in her young life had prepared her to survive such a tragic loss, and while she hid her pain bravely, she doubted it would ever go away.
Randy MacDermott had not met Eden before that day, but he was impressed not only by her rare beauty but also by her strength of character. “She’s got plenty of courage,” he remarked to Raven. “She must have made Alex a fine wife.”
Raven was relieved when Randy seemed to find a noncommittal nod reply enough to an opinion he knew he would never share. All around him he heard people whispering the same admiring comments but in his view Eden was merely indifferent rather than stoic. At least she had frequently been drawn away from his side, but whenever she was near, he was disgusted with himself for being all too aware of her disarming femininity.
When finally the last of the callers had departed, Raven doubted he would be able to keep his opinion of Eden to himself, but she surprised him by excusing herself immediately. Grateful to be relieved of the agony of her company, Raven told Abbot he did not wish to be disturbed. He opened a bottle of Alex’s blackberry brandy that was made from the fruit of Briarcliff vines, and settled himself down in the study to be alone with his memories.
He wasn’t certain when Alex had first told him about his heart condition, but for a long while he had refused to believe anything could possibly be wrong with the man who had raised him. Wisely, Alex had not belligerently forced him to face the pain of that reality, but that kindness did not make the sorrow Raven felt now any easier to bear. Every step of the way he had fought coming to terms with the fact Alex would never grow old, but he had not expected the last time he had seen him to be the last. He wished now that he had not insisted that Alex tell Eden the truth, but there was no way to take back their final conversation, nor the disastrous elopement to which it had led.
Raven had gotten only a few hours’ sleep the previous night, and soon the warmth of the brandy and the solitude of the early evening combined to make him so drowsy he gave up his maudlin reverie in favor of going to bed. Not finding his valise in the room he always used, he wondered where Peter had taken it. He would not need clean clothes and his razor until morning, but he did not want to have to roam the halls looking disheveled then. After all, he was now an earl, and surely an earl did not greet a new day by prowling about his mansion searching for his clothes.
Thinking it possible Peter might have mistakenly put the valise in Alex’s room, he went there first. The door was unlocked, a lamp burning on the chest of drawers illuminated the room, and just as he had supposed, his valise sat on the floor at the end of the bed. It was not the scuffed leather satchel that immediately caught his eye, however, for the fact that Eden was sound asleep in the magnificent mahogany bed shook him clear to the marrow.
He closed the door quietly behind him, and as he approached the bed, the thick Aubusson carpet muffled the sound of his footsteps. Eden was smiling slightly, obviously lost in the sweetness of her dreams, and Raven could not help but wonder what she was doing in her late husband’s bed. Then a truly wicked thought occurred to him. The bed no longer belonged to Alex; it was now his.
Was that Eden’s plan, to welcome him to Briarcliff as no one else could? Considering that likely, he brushed her long curls aside and leaned down to peer at her closely. He was not surprised to find her complexion was as flawless as it appeared from a few steps away, but there was no sign of tears on her lashes or cheeks. Plainly she was no heartbroken widow who had cried herself to sleep in her late husband’s bed. She was a clever vixen lying in wait for the next man to come along.
Raven went back to the door, locked it, and secured the one leading to the adjoining bedroom as well. He then began to undress with deliberate care, slowly peeling off the fine clothes he had worn for Alex’s funeral. He wanted Eden to open her eyes and watch him, but she continued to sleep as though her conscience were as pure as her snowy white nightgown.
Wanting to be able to watch her expression when she did awaken, Raven left the lamp burning low. Now nude, he raised the covers and joined Eden in the comfortable bed. She shifted her position slightly, but continued to sleep as he slipped his left arm beneath her shoulders to pull her into an easy embrace. Her hair again fell across her face, and as he combed it through his fingers, he could not help but marvel at its softness. She was the most alluring of women but now he no longer had to fight her appeal. She might have laid a trap for him, but determined she was the one who would be caught, he lowered his mouth to hers.
Exhausted by the ordeal of Alex’s funeral, Eden was slow to wake. She did not feel the pressure of Raven’s lips until his kiss grew demanding. Forgetting for a moment that she was now a widow, she raised her hand to his nape, thinking it was again Alex who had joined her in bed. She opened her mouth, curled her tongue over his, and pressed against him. Wanting all he could give, she waited as she always had for him to be the first to draw away.
Even fully aware of his inexplicable weakness for her, Raven was stunned by the effect of Eden’s adoring kiss. He seldom bothered to kiss the women with whom he spent his time, but Eden’s affection was so delicious he paused only long enough to draw a deep breath before capturing her mouth anew. He slipped his right hand beneath her gown and traced the length of her thigh with a gentle caress. Her skin was soft and smooth, as seductively warm as her kiss, and impatient to feel her body next to his, he ended their second lengthy kiss to help her remove her gown.
The force of Raven’s insistent tugs on the soft folds of her nightgown brought Eden fully awake, but her vision was obscured as he pulled it off over her head, and she didn’t realize it was he until he had tossed it aside.
“Raven!” she gasped, and grabbed the sheet to cover her bare bosom.
That she could look so shocked merely amused him, “Who did you think you were kissing?” he asked, but before she could reply, he leaned down to kiss her again.
Fully aware that she had responded to his kisses in a wanton fashion, Eden was mortified by the handsome young man’s question, and struggled to push him away. “I was asleep. I didn’t know who you were.”
“You’ll admit that any man will do?” He broke into a wide grin when her bewildered topaz gaze grew wider still.
“No, certainly not,” she argued weakly, completely dazzled by his smile. She had never really seen him smile before, and she was stunned by how greatly that expression enhanced his already handsome appearance. Forcing her gaze from his face, she finally took note of the black curls that covered the broad expanse of his bare chest. Instantly certain he was as naked as she, she tightened her grip on the sheet to a frantic clutch.
Raven had helped her to bury Alex only that afternoon—how could she tell him that it was Alex she had thought she had kissed? Coming out of her dreams, she had been aware of the spicy scent of her husband’s cologne, and tasted the flavor of his brandy. It had been Alex, she realized with a jolt of recognition, or his ghost, for surely a man who had always displayed Rav
en’s reserve could not possibly have kissed her as passionately as her husband had.
Eden continued to eye him with an astonished stare, but when she failed to speak, Raven seized the opportunity to kiss her again. Leaning across her, he forced her down into the feather pillows. For the briefest of instants she stiffened in his arms, then with a low moan of surrender from deep in her throat, she raised her arms to encircle his neck and made the kiss her own. She’s lovely bait for a trap, Raven recalled dimly, but he wanted Eden too badly to worry over the possible danger to himself.
Raven had always worn the same cologne as Alex, Eden’s numbed mind dimly remembered. That his kiss was flavored with blackberry brandy, as Alex’s often was in the evening, was not remarkable either. But having mistaken him for Alex, she now found it impossible to accuse him of taking advantage of her as she knew she should. Instead she longed for him to make love to her when he was so like Alex she could not tell the difference between them when she closed her eyes.
That was Eden’s last rational thought. It was Alex she loved, Alex she wanted to cherish with love’s most beautiful expression, and caring not at all what Raven’s thoughts might be when hers were so full of her late husband, she gave herself to him with the same uninhibited passion she and Alex had always shared.
Raven felt Eden’s hands moving over his shoulders, then his back, her fingertips lightly tracing the muscular planes before sliding down his spine. Her touch was as provocative as her kiss. He had always regarded kissing as a bothersome prelude to far more sensual pleasures, but he realized now that was merely because he had never kissed Eden. He could not take his mouth from hers, and it was not simply that her taste was indescribably sweet. It was because of the abandon with which she welcomed each thrust of his tongue and returned it until he was certain she knew his mouth as well as her own.