“Honestly, there’s no need, I didn’t—”
“You will insult them if you do not take what is offered.” The soft tone held a hint of reprimand and Heloise was suddenly reminded of old Doctor Gilbert at home, scolding her for hurting herself as a child.
“Oh, well, of course. Thank you.” She nodded and smiled.
The woman backed away, still bowing and murmuring blessings.
“You go to your minchorró now,” Elvira said.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know that word.”
The fortune teller grinned and nodded across the fire at Raven. “Ask him.” She gathered up her cards and made a shooing gesture with her hands. “Now you go. This old woman needs her sleep.”
“Thank you.”
Elvira waved her away and hobbled up the steps to her caravan.
Heloise walked over to the fire and accepted a cup of warmed wine from Sebastiano with a smile.
Chapter 33
Raven frowned into the flames. Who the hell had been firing at them today?
His first suspicion had been Lavalle, but it just was too unlikely. The odds that he could have tracked them from England were simply too remote.
A random attack was similarly unlikely. Why would a single gunman take on a much larger force? If robbery had been his aim, he must have known he would fail.
If the French had discovered the Baker was dead, and decided to ambush them on the way to the prisoner exchange, surely they would have sent more than just one man to ensure the job got done? Raven shook his head. It didn’t make any sense. The most likely explanation was that the French had sent someone to scare away any random travelers so there wouldn’t be any accidental witnesses to the prisoner exchange.
Raven rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head. He hated uncertainty, especially when it endangered Heloise. He looked up to check on her, and found her smiling at Fernando.
Alejandro sidled up and whacked him playfully on the shoulder. “Stop scowling at Fernando. He’s not interested in her. Nor she him.”
Raven took another sip of wine. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh? Then there must be some other reason you look like you’re measuring him for a shallow grave.”
Raven grunted. Alejandro had a point. He was a hypocrite, wanting other men to keep their eyes off her when he couldn’t control the same impulse in himself. God, the woman was a menace.
“A blind man could see what you feel for her, my friend.”
Raven scowled. “Most of the time I want to kill her.”
Alejandro snorted. “Ha. You lie to yourself. It’s only a little death you want to give her, eh?” He nudged Raven in the ribs with a ribald laugh.
“I need her like the devil needs holy water.”
“Would you not kill for her?”
“Already done that.”
“Die for her?”
Raven shot him a disgusted look. “What do you think?”
Alejandro gave a fatalistic shrug of his huge shoulders. “Then it’s love, my friend. Nothing so simple, or so complicated.”
Shit, Raven thought, as Alejandro ambled back to the fire. Was he really that obvious?
Heloise detached herself from Fernando and came toward him. Raven schooled his features into a semblance of polite interest. He dragged his eyes from her entrancing face and nodded at the fabric in her hands. “What’s that?”
She showed him.
“You made quite the impression.”
“I didn’t do much to deserve it. I only spoke to him a little.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Hellcat.”
Her scar had given her an affinity with broken things. And unlike him, she hadn’t let the darkness that touched her make her bitter. Instead, she used the glow of her personality to heal others.
She flushed, uncomfortable with his praise. “What does minchorró mean?”
“It means someone’s ‘fancy,’ their lover.” He shot her a questioning glance. “Why?”
Her blush intensified. “Oh, no reason. I just heard one of the women using it, that’s all.”
He smiled. “Did Elvira read your fortune?”
“Yes.”
“Was it all dragons and knights?”
She bit her lip. “Not exactly. More like lions and boats.”
He raised his brows. “Stands to reason. You’re hardly the distressed damsel type. I doubt you’d want a dragon-slaying knight doing all the dirty work for you.”
She laughed. “You’re right. Knights are always galloping off on ridiculous quests. I’d much rather have the dragon. Big. Strong. Fiery breath to keep me warm on cold winter nights…” She ticked the list off on her fingers.
“I thought all young ladies spent their days dreaming of happily ever after?”
“Heavens, no,” she said, genuinely appalled. “Just think about that phrase. Happily. Ever. After. Even if it were possible, it’s not at all desirable.”
“It’s not?”
“Who’d want to be perpetually happy? And how would you even know you were happy if you had nothing with which to compare it?”
He frowned. “You think you need to experience unhappiness just so you can feel happiness?”
“Yes, of course. Every shadow needs a source of light. Heaven can’t exist without hell.”
Raven didn’t even want to consider that argument. It was far too close to the way his own thoughts had been leading him recently. She might be as necessary to his existence as oxygen, but she was still Not. For. Him.
He stood and started to walk her back toward her caravan. It was set a little way from the others, near a stand of tall pines. A shard of broken pottery crunched under his boot. He bent and picked it up, turned it over in his fingers, filled with a sudden need to make her realize how extraordinary her own achievements were. She was such a positive force. She charmed and helped almost everyone she came into contact with.
“My mother used to collect porcelain,” he said. “She had cabinets of the stuff. Vases and plates and teapots and bowls. Beautiful things, all delicate, exquisite, expensive.”
Heloise froze, and he knew it was in surprise; he rarely spoke about his family. He didn’t know why he was doing so now, except he needed to somehow apologize to her for the way he’d treated her at the palace. He cleared his throat. “Father used to buy them for her as presents. One day, when I was maybe nine or ten, about a year before she died, she asked me which piece was my favorite. I told her—the two fat sumo wrestlers.”
Heloise smiled.
“She asked me to guess which she liked best. I thought it would be one of the plates, or maybe the fancy tulip vase, but she reached in and brought out this little tea bowl, like a cup without a handle, so small it fit in her palm.
“I thought she was teasing me. The thing had been dropped at some point, broken into four or five pieces then put back together. It had metal in the joins, like golden veins. Mother smiled at my confusion. ‘Don’t you see, Will?’ she said. ‘It isn’t the prettiest because it was broken, it’s prettiest because it was mended.’ ”
Raven’s heart thumped against his ribs. He wasn’t talking about porcelain.
Heloise cleared her throat. “Oh?”
“It’s taken me years to understand what she meant.” He glanced at her, but her expression was unreadable. “Someone loved it enough to repair it. It’s called Kintsugi, the art of fixing things with gold. The Orientals believe the piece is even more beautiful for having been damaged and restored.”
God, he wanted to cry. He felt the constriction in his throat, hot and tight. His eyes were stinging. Only she could do this to him, make him strip his soul bare. Unable to help himself he reached out and stroked her cheek, her chin, a lingering caress. She didn’t move. “Those suitors of yours who withdrew their offers? They’re all fools.”
She closed her eyes.
“You want to pretend this scar isn’t there, but it’s what makes you you.” He s
troked one finger over the slight ridge and felt a shiver course through her. “Don’t be ashamed of it. It’s a badge of pride. You should wear it like a bloody medal. It’s proof that you’re stronger than the thing that tried to hurt you. It’s proof that you’re a survivor.” He cupped her nape, drew her forward, and grazed the scar with his lips. She stood utterly still, but he heard her swift intake of breath.
“You’re like the moon. It has craters and scars and shadows. But only an idiot would deny that it’s beautiful.”
Heloise swayed toward him and he forced himself to step back, gesturing to the caravan steps. “Up you go.”
Her brows lowered in confusion. “Aren’t you coming in? Elvira says there’s going to be a storm.”
He glanced up at the sky then back at her. Going inside would be a very bad idea. “No.”
A rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. “It’s going to rain,” she said. “You’ll get soaked if you stay out here.”
“I’ll be fine. Go to bed.”
A crack of thunder sounded right above them. It rumbled around the mountains and Raven felt the splash of the first fat raindrops with a certain inevitability. Slow at first, then faster, a persistent hiss as they hit the leaves and grass around him. The camp emptied, people scrambling for cover.
Her silhouette shadowed his face. “Come in here. Don’t be a stubborn ass. You’ll be no good to Kit if you catch a fever and die.”
Raven ground his teeth and mounted the first two steps. The rain was coming down in earnest now, soaking his hair, his shoulders. It drummed on the wood of the caravan, an insistent beat that mirrored the pulse in his temples. Heloise just stood there. She was trying to drive him mad.
She half turned, thinking he was about to follow, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist. Her eyes widened, her lips parted in surprise, and he cursed himself for a fool. To hell with it.
With a single tug, he pulled her out into the downpour. She gave a startled yelp but he caught her in his arms and spun her down to the ground. “Here’s one more to cross off that infernal list of yours,” he growled. “A kiss in the rain.”
He caught her chin, tilted her head, and kissed her full on the mouth, drowning in anger and frustration, passion and despair. He kissed her just long enough to get light-headed, just long enough for the heat and the desperation to build. And then he shoved her up the steps. “Now bloody well go to sleep.”
This time, thank God, she got the message.
The door slammed shut in his face.
Chapter 34
Raven settled himself beneath the trees and tried to get more comfortable.
The walls of her caravan were too damn thin. Despite the patter of the rain he was sure he could hear her undressing. His mind, of course, put an image to every rustle and thump. The minutes passed. He heard the splash of water, the sound of bare feet on wood, the whisper of sheets across her body. Not even the bloody French had devised such torture.
He waited a good hour, until he was certain she was asleep, before he slipped into the caravan. The doorway was so low he had to duck his head, and once inside he could barely straighten up, but at least it was dry.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake her. She wore that damnable teal chemise again, little more than scraps of silk and lace, designed to entice rather than conceal. One thing you could say about the French, no matter how wrong-headed their politics, as a nation they were masters of producing undergarments that could drive a man to the brink of insanity.
He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, listened to her breathing, and lost all track of time. He could stay like this forever, watching her, guarding her. It was a total invasion of her privacy, just as reading her journal had been, but he didn’t care. He’d steal whatever moments he could to nourish his dark soul.
His eyes traced the delicate lines of her shoulder and collarbone. Awake, she was so feisty, so fierce, like a tiny force of nature. He kept forgetting how fragile she was. Each time he lifted her he was shocked at how little she weighed.
And yet she constantly surprised him with her resilience. He’d mocked her ability to survive, but she was as adept at self-preservation as he. She’d endured the barbs of the London ballrooms after her accident, avoided marriage as successfully as he’d avoided sniper’s bullets. She’d faced the challenges of traveling as an adventure rather than an ordeal.
His chest constricted. That bullet today had been too close for comfort. He’d hit the shooter, but there was no way of knowing whether it had been enough to put the bastard out of action.
Heloise stirred restlessly. Her forehead puckered as she turned her head and she muttered something incomprehensible.
He ought to leave. He had no business spying on her.
She flailed and kicked a leg out from underneath the blankets. The chemise pulled taut, baring the upper curve of one breast, and Raven swallowed. She needed rest, and all he could think about was putting his mouth on her skin.
Her eyelids flickered. And then she screamed.
“Tony!”
—
The ice cracked beneath her feet, hideous gray lines radiating out with every step she took. Heloise raced forward, her panicked breaths white puffs in the freezing air.
“I’m coming, Tony! Hold on!”
She was almost there, so close. And then the ice gave way and she was falling, down, into the frigid black water. She flung out her arms and kicked her legs. Surfaced with a gasp. Somewhere, nearby, Tony was shouting her name, frantic, desperate, but she couldn’t see him, couldn’t reach him. The weight of her skirts dragged her down, wrapping round her legs in an icy embrace as she thrashed. “Wait! I’m coming! Wait!”
She clawed and grasped nothing. Tony’s voice was fading, slipping away, and a scream tore from her throat, of rage and frustration and grief. This wasn’t what had happened. Tony couldn’t leave her!
Heloise sat bolt upright, her heart hammering, her throat tight and raw. Strong arms enveloped her and she didn’t even question their presence. She let out a choked sob and buried her head in the comforting warmth and strength. Raven. Of course.
A shudder ran through her. “I dreamed of Tony. On the ice.”
Soothing hands rubbed her back. “Shh. It’s all right.”
She could barely breathe past the weight of loss crushing her chest. “Oh God. Why did he have to die?”
“I don’t know.”
She suppressed another shuddering sob. “It’s so bloody stupid. What was the point in me saving him from drowning? He went and got himself killed a few years later in the war.” Tears threatened behind her eyelids but she refused to let them fall. She buried her face against Raven’s shirt instead. “I couldn’t save him. He died.”
Raven stroked her hair, smoothed the damp tendrils back from her face, and simply held her, offering wordless comfort. Heloise lifted her head and stared at him in the shadows. “I miss him so much. It still hurts. Every day, you know?”
—
Oh, yes, Raven thought helplessly, he knew. That gnawing sense of loss. The impotence and hollowness and rage. He’d never wish it on his worst enemy.
She made a soft sound, a little sigh, and burrowed her face into his chest again. He stiffened but didn’t move.
“I was afraid for you this afternoon,” she sniffed, her words muffled against his shirt. “What if you’d been shot? I’ve already lost Tony. I couldn’t bear to lose you, too.”
Raven stilled at her admission, then forced his muscles to relax. “You won’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll stay on this earth just to haunt you.” He smiled when she chuckled, and felt an instant gratification that he’d eased a little of her pain. “I thought you hated me, Hellcat?” It came out gruffer than he would have liked, but she didn’t notice, thankfully.
She gave a watery laugh. “I might want to kill you, Ravenwood, but I’d never want you dead.”
That was paradoxical, but he knew what she meant. He f
elt the same way about her. She lifted her eyes and he felt himself weakening. That pleading look was killing him, as sure as a knife through the heart. He stood abruptly and stepped to the door. He had to get out of there.
“Stay,” she said softly.
Chapter 35
Heloise couldn’t believe she’d just said that out loud. But she didn’t want to take it back. She tensed, waiting for his reaction.
Raven paused, one hand on the doorknob.
“I need you. Stay with me tonight.”
“You don’t have the first clue what you’re saying.”
Heloise swallowed. This wasn’t her real life. This was just a temporary interlude. No one would know what happened here. She could take what she wanted and damn the consequences. She wanted him. His body, if not his heart. “I know this isn’t forever. I don’t care. I want you to be my first lover.”
His lip curled in a snarl. “You don’t need anyone. Least of all me.”
“I do.” Her heart was hammering in her throat but she attempted an insouciant shrug. “If anyone finds out I’ve been with you this past week, I’ll be ruined.”
“No one’s going to find out,” he growled. “Your family will tell everyone you’ve been ill.”
She ignored that piece of logic. “Someone might. And if I’m going to be labeled a fallen woman, I might as well find out what all the fuss is about.”
He ran his left hand through his hair in a distracted motion. The movement flexed his biceps, bunched it up tight beneath his shirt. “No. Someone has to have a care for your reputation.”
Anger warmed her chest. “Why? It’s not as if I’m ever going to marry. And I’ll be damned if I go to my grave without knowing what it’s like to be with a man.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, his knuckles white as he clutched the doorknob. “I’m not going to overpower you so you can tell yourself afterward that I forced you into it.”
“I know that.”
His eyes burned into hers. “You’d better be sure, Hellcat. Because if we start this, I won’t stop. Not this time.”
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