“What do you mean?”
He tapped his cheek with his finger. “Come over here and kiss me.”
“Do you make everyone you rescue do that?”
His eyes glowed with a wolfish, predatory gleam. “So far they’ve all been men.” He stepped up close, toe to toe, and tilted his head. “What’s wrong with one innocent little kiss, hmm?”
Heloise strove to recover her composure even though her heart was racing. “Nothing to do with you is ever innocent, Ravenwood.”
His chuckle rumbled in his chest. “One kiss.”
He thought she’d forfeit. Heloise sighed loudly. “Oh, fine. Never let it be said that I don’t honor my debts.” She pursed her lips and leaned up on tiptoe, but even then she couldn’t reach his cheek. She braced herself on his arm to keep her balance.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’m waiting.”
“Come down here, then,” she said crossly.
He bent until they were an inch apart. She closed the distance just as he turned his head; she made contact with his lips instead of his cheek.
She gasped in protest and started to draw back, but he followed her. She felt him smile against her lips. “You know, you’re much more attractive when you’re not talking, Hellcat.”
“That is so—”
He kissed her, hard, cupping the back of her skull in his hands, his mouth clinging and shaping the contours of her own, coaxing a response.
She punched him.
“You’re utterly depraved,” she panted, when he finally released her.
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
He grinned and kissed her again, slower this time. His tongue stroked hers in a maddening swirl and retreat that left her dizzy and aching, and Heloise surrendered with a moan of defeat. Why was she fighting something that felt so good?
This was stupid and reckless and would only lead to disaster, but she threaded her fingers through his hair and kissed him back. He dragged her down into a whole new world. Not a place of sunshine and flowers, but somewhere darker, deeper, more complex. Somewhere infinitely more alluring. His hands framed her waist then skimmed over the curve of her buttocks, and a low hum of arousal rumbled from his chest into hers. Her brain shut down. The world narrowed to all the places they touched.
Heloise closed her eyes and let her head fall back as he pressed feverish kisses across her nose, her cheek, the sensitive skin just below her ear. Her legs turned to water. He widened his stance and pulled her between his thighs; his hard maleness pressed against her stomach and she felt a thrill of feminine satisfaction at his unmistakable reaction. She wanted her skirts gone, no barriers at all, only this wonderful hot rush of need.
A loud whistle and a peal of masculine laughter jolted them apart.
Heloise fell back, shaken and panting. A tide of heat rose to her cheeks as she realized she’d just made a public spectacle of herself like some ill-bred harlot. She dropped her gaze, totally unable to look at him. Idiot. She’d meant to kiss him once and step back. She should have known better than to try. She had no control when it came to him.
He flicked one finger carelessly across her cheek. “I’ll have to rescue you again, Hellcat, if this is the thanks I get.”
She took only slight gratification from the fact that his voice wasn’t entirely steady. “I have never met a man as infuriating as you.”
His smile was cocky. “You’ve never met any real men at all, sweeting. All you know is soft boys in silk waistcoats and pasty-faced fops.” He tilted his head. “You know, the gypsies believe that if you save a life it becomes yours.”
She snorted. “So I belong to you now, is that it? That’s ridiculous.”
His intense look made her stomach quake. She turned and stalked away.
“Maybe I’ll keep you,” he called out after her.
“Maybe I’ll stab you in your sleep,” she shouted back.
His laugh was genuine. “You can try.”
“I might get lucky.”
“Sweetheart, if someone as talentless as you gets anywhere near me with a knife, I deserve to die.”
Chapter 31
They made camp that evening in a lush valley nestled between the foothills.
Heloise retrieved her journal and sat herself down on a rock near her caravan. She wanted to record as many ideas and impressions as possible for when she was back in dull, rainy England.
A rustle behind her made her turn. A boy, no older than eight or nine, was hiding in the shadows, watching her with huge liquid eyes. He lingered at the very edge of the circle of light, and when she glanced at him he froze like a frightened animal. When she smiled and beckoned he sidled closer but kept his distance, staying well out of arm’s reach.
The child was thin, a cadaverous Anubis puppy with dark hair and golden skin and black, haunted eyes that looked as if they’d seen far too much.
Heloise bent back over her writing and pretended to ignore him. He sneaked closer. She tapped the pen against her lips as if struggling to think of a phrase. He edged forward and slid onto the rock next to her. He peered over her arm at her book, intrigued. She repressed a smile.
“What is your name?” She kept her voice low, soothing, so as not to scare him off.
He didn’t answer.
She glanced over at him and tapped her chest. “Heloise.” She pointed at him and raised her brows. Nothing. Just big eyes as he stared at her, uncomprehending. “No?” she tilted her head. “Can you read?”
No answer.
“Can you understand me? Speak English?” Heloise sighed. “No, probably not,” she muttered to herself. “And I don’t speak much Spanish. Bother.”
She couldn’t even remember how to ask for an aquatint of the harbor or tell him her dentures were broken. At least those phrases might have coaxed a bemused smile.
The boy shook his head, which sent his inky black curls tumbling around his little face. Maybe he was a mute? Heloise turned to a clean page in her journal and wrote out her name, then pointed to it. “Heloise. That’s me. See?”
She gestured at his chest again. “You?”
Nothing. She sighed. How to entertain him? He looked so serious, watching her as if she were some kind of oddity, like an exotic animal in a zoo. She’d received similar uncomprehending looks when talking about etymology to her suitors. “All right. How about this, then?”
She tried to recall the parlor games she’d played with her brothers and remembered the silhouette shows they’d performed for their parents. Turning to the side, she used her hands to make the shadow outline of a bird’s head upon the side of the caravan, lit by the distant fire.
She made a dove, waggling her fingers to make it flap its wings. The boy’s eyes widened with delight. She smiled at him.
“You like that, do you? How about a swan?” She elongated one arm to make the neck and made bobbing motions with her hand for the head.
He smiled wider.
“What else? Um, I can make a stag.” She did so, splaying the fingers of one hand for the antlers. “Oh, and a wolf. AUOOOO!” She howled softly.
To her delight the boy nodded enthusiastically.
She racked her brains, determined to keep up the entertainment, some instinct telling her that this boy hadn’t smiled in a long time.
“How about a rabbit?” Two upraised fingers created the animal’s ears. She made it hop.
When the boy laughed, the ancient look fell from his face and she smiled at him, perfectly in charity. To her surprise he reached out toward her with his hand, then pulled back partway, watching her apprehensively as if he expected her to scold him. He tilted his head to one side in silent question and when she didn’t refuse, he reached out and traced his finger over her scar. He had the gentlest touch, and Heloise swallowed a lump in her throat at the look of sympathy and understanding on his face.
He dropped his hand to his skinny chest and tapped it, moistened his lips, and whispered. “Rafa. Ra
fael.”
His voice was a low croak. She smiled. “That’s your name? Rafael?”
He nodded shyly. “Sí.”
“Like the angel,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the sky.
He shook his head earnestly, clearly having understood the word. He took a strand of her hair between his fingers. “No. Usted es el ángel.”
His little face was so solemn, his voice so low and rough that she had to dip her head to hear it. She nodded but glanced up when she heard a sharp intake of breath.
A woman made the sign of the cross on her chest and stared in astonishment at the child as if she’d seen a ghost. “Qué dice?” she said and gasped.
Heloise realized she was asking what the boy had said. She frowned and glanced behind her, but the boy had already slunk back into the shadows.
The woman’s urgency was alarming and Heloise’s stomach dropped at the thought that she might have inadvertently done something to offend. Had she crossed some invisible social boundary by talking to the boy?
“Ah, something about angels, I think. And his name. That’s all.”
The woman caught her arm. “Madre de Dios! He speak? Verdad?”
“Well, yes,” Heloise said, confused.
“God be praised, señorita!”
The woman dragged her forward to the fire and erupted into a stream of Spanish too fast for her to follow.
“I’m not sure I’ve done anything, really…” Heloise stammered. “I just—”
Raven stepped up to translate the sudden babble that had arisen. “The boy is a distant cousin of Alejandro. He hasn’t said a word since he witnessed the massacre of his parents and entire village two years ago.”
Heloise gasped, her eyes wide.
“He survived by playing dead while the French soldiers looted and raped.”
“Oh, my God,” she whispered.
“They think what you’ve done is a miracle.”
Heloise flushed. “Oh, well. I’m just glad I could help.”
An elderly woman pushed her way to the front of the crowd now surrounding them and pinched Raven’s arm. She studied Heloise critically for a few seconds, then said something to Raven and beckoned Heloise forward with a welcoming gesture. “Come. You come.”
Heloise frowned.
“Elvira’s offered to tell your baji, your fortune,” Raven said. “It’s a great honor. You’re an outsider.”
Heloise glanced at the old crone uncertainly but she looked so expectant it was impossible to refuse. “Oh, well then. Thank you.”
She followed the woman to a red-painted caravan and sat down on the front step as directed. The gypsy settled herself opposite her and drew a pack of worn pictorial cards from a pocket in her skirts. She handed them to Heloise and indicated that she should shuffle them, then held up four fingers. Heloise dutifully lay out four cards, facedown on the step.
“Past, present, future, outcome,” Elvira said in accented English.
Heloise started, surprised to hear her own language coming out of the woman’s mouth, but Elvira merely gave an enigmatic smile and tapped the back of each card, her gnarled knuckles like the twisted limbs of an olive tree.
Heloise nodded. She’d seen a tarot reader perform once before, at Lady Vane’s. The woman had been so vague in her pronouncements that the guests had interpreted them to mean whatever they wanted to believe. There was no magic in it, merely the power of suggestion, but Heloise had been intrigued. The tarot was, in effect, another code—one from which the reader could tease practically any desired translation.
She turned over the first card.
Chapter 32
“Six of swords.”
The card showed a boat carrying six upright swords and a woman and a child being ferried from rough water to smooth.
Elvira nodded. “This means a passage away from difficulties, recovery after trials.”
She’d recovered from the trial of her scar, Heloise thought. And accepting Tony’s death had been extremely difficult. Or maybe the card was more literal? She’d taken a trip across water in Raven’s boat. Ship. Whatever. But she’d passed from the still waters of home into treacherous seas, not the other way around.
“There is sadness for those you leave behind, but this trip will do you good.” Elvira tapped the second card. “The present.”
Heloise turned it over.
Elvira nodded again, as if the card confirmed what she’d been expecting. “La Luna.”
The image was a wolf, howling at the moon.
“The wolf is the wild, untamed aspect of our nature.”
Heloise swallowed. Raven had certainly brought that out in her. He seemed to spend his entire time encouraging her to set it free, the subversive devil.
“The moon appears when you do not know your destination, or even the path you are traveling, but you travel nonetheless.”
Well, that was certainly true. Heloise had no idea where they were headed, except that it was north.
“The moon is the card of our dreams. You have lost your way, and walk in the dark, guided only by your inner light.”
Heloise frowned. She wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly, but it sounded rather frightening. She turned over the third card. Future.
Elvira smiled, showing several gold teeth. “The Magician.”
Heloise glanced up in alarm. The dark-haired figure on the card bore an uncanny resemblance to Raven.
The old woman gave her a knowing wink. “We see what we want to in the cards.”
Heloise shifted on the wooden step. Was she imagining Raven in her future? That was ridiculous. She concentrated on the card. The figure’s right hand held a staff raised toward the sky, while his left hand pointed to the earth. Above his head was a sideways figure eight, the symbol of eternity, and around his waist a snake biting its own tail, another symbol of eternity.
“One of my favorite cards,” Elvira murmured. “The Magician is skill, logic, and intellect. He represents the ability to transform the world and have power over it.”
That sounded like Raven, all right. The man turned her world upside down.
“He is the bridge between the world of the spirit and the world of humanity.”
Like Anubis, Heloise thought. And Hades. One foot on earth, the other in the Underworld.
The gypsy’s finger pointed to the card. “His robe is white, for innocence, but his cloak is red, for worldly experience and knowledge.”
Heloise almost snorted. There was nothing pure about Raven. The swine had provided her with “worldly experience” aplenty. The worst of it was, she had an awful suspicion that he’d ruined her for anyone else. Not physically, but emotionally. He’d opened her eyes to a whole new world, tied her to him in ways she couldn’t explain. He’d shown her adventure, friendship, and breath-stealing passion. She couldn’t imagine wanting any other man. The thought was profoundly depressing.
“Is this supposed to represent my future?”
Elvira nodded. “You will soon be offered a situation that contains all the elements needed to bring your desires to life. Those desires may be spiritual, physical, emotional,” she reached over and put her palm on Heloise’s breastbone, “or mental.” She tapped Heloise’s temple with her finger, directly over her scar. “Only you have the ability to make it happen.”
She indicated for Heloise to turn over the last card. “Outcome.”
The old woman raised her brows in surprise, then chuckled. “Strength. Of course.”
The card showed a woman patting a lion, gazing down at it with a peaceful smile. The sky held both a sun and a moon, and above her head hovered the same infinity symbol as in the Magician card. She stood unprotected in an open green field, wearing a white pleated dress suspiciously like the one Heloise had worn to the ball, and a crown of flowers. She looked exactly like the Persephone painted on Raven’s ceiling. Heloise shook her head. It was pure coincidence. She was reading far too much into things, seeing connections that didn’t exist.
&nb
sp; “The fact that Strength is a woman shows this card is not focused on pure physical strength. Do you see how the lion is sticking out his tongue? Animals that are preparing to bite do not stick out their tongues. This lion is happy to submit and surrender to the woman.” Elvira’s gaze was shrewd. “The woman offers love and patience to the ferocious lion to tame him. She uses compassion and her wits.”
Without thinking Heloise glanced over at Raven, sitting across the fire. The handsome, elegant lines of his face were outlined in fire glow and shadow and Heloise felt a painful fullness in her throat, a constriction in her chest. Every sense seemed heightened around him; the stars were brighter, the night darker, the scents sharper, the crickets louder. “He’s so beautiful,” she was astonished to hear herself say.
The gypsy shook her head, her eyes dark in her walnut-wrinkled face. “No, cara. He’s as scarred as you. But his scars are all on the inside. It takes a strong woman to love a man like that.”
Her inference was clear. Heloise could be the lion tamer. If only she had the courage to go after what she wanted. Was she that woman? Heloise shook her head. It was stupid to wish it. Raven had no desire to be tamed. She might as well try to tame a jackal.
Elvira tapped the strength card with a long fingernail. “Time does not heal scars. Only love can do that.” She glanced up at the sky and frowned. “Storm coming.”
Heloise had no idea how she knew that. It was cloudless and clear. Perhaps she meant an emotional storm? That didn’t bode well, either.
A woman in a head scarf and red apron approached them and murmured something to Elvira.
“This is Rafael’s aunt,” Elvira said. “She wishes to present this shawl to you.”
The woman nodded and pressed a folded piece of pale yellow fabric into Heloise’s hands. It was fringed, and embroidered with flowers so intricate Heloise squinted in awe at the delicacy of the work.
“Oh no, I can’t accept this!” she stammered. “It must have taken hours to sew.”
The old woman smiled. “Child, what you have given Rafa’s family is greater than any gift. You have brought their nephew back from the dark place he inhabited.”
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