Lord Ravenscar's Inconvenient Betrothal

by Lara Temple

  He laughed and his coat brushed against her arm, raising and lowering the fabric against her arm, and her skin bloomed with goose pimples.

  ‘Not one. One very unspoilt heiress, but she is married to one of my closest friends.’

  That was a good excuse to turn towards him and put some distance between them. She was also curious. There was something in his voice. The same tone as he employed with Nicky—intimate and affectionate; a combination that didn’t match what she knew of him.

  ‘So you admit the possibility of an unspoilt heiress?’

  ‘There are always exceptions to the rule. In this case Nell wasn’t spoilt by being society’s darling for years.’

  That struck home. She couldn’t deny that that was precisely what she had been since her father had brought her to Jamaica after her mother’s death when she was fourteen and especially since she had been introduced to Jamaican society four years after that. Not that she had ever believed it meant more than an avid appreciation of her father’s fortune.

  ‘Once you start admitting exceptions to rules, you rather undermine the whole point of having them. How do you know I’m not an exception as well?’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘That is hardly a fair question. Even if we aren’t special, we all want to believe we are. Otherwise how could we believe we are worthy of being loved?’

  A gallant man would have entered through that wide-open door, but he merely smiled and changed direction.

  ‘I think I’ve seen enough of this house. We should leave before the weather turns against us completely.’

  She didn’t move, piqued even though she knew that was precisely what he intended. They were unevenly matched—he was much more experienced in this game, especially since his livelihood probably depended on his performance. She flirted out of boredom and resentment against the constraints society imposed, while he did it for survival. The tales of the Wild Hunt Club that Nicky had delighted in might be grossly exaggerated, but not this man’s skill at the game she merely dabbled in. She would hardly sit down with him for a game of cards and put her fortune at risk even if she had control over it, and she should adopt the same caution when it came to the game of flirtation.

  It was clear he wasn’t really interested in her as an heiress; he would hardly be showing his cards so generously if he was. Well, she wasn’t interested in him, not in any way that mattered. She would never marry a man she didn’t trust and she would never trust a rake; a fortune-hunting rake famed for his wildness was just adding insult to injury. At least she knew Philip Marston was at his core a man of honour.

  But whether it was intelligent or not, the truth was she didn’t want to leave yet. Just another sip of champagne before teatime.

  ‘Was your friend who married the heiress part of the Wild Hunt Club as well?’

  He leaned against the window frame and crossed his arms.

  ‘Is that nonsense still circulating?’

  ‘Is it nonsense? It was Nicky who told me. Quite proudly, in fact.’

  At least she had managed to catch him by surprise.

  ‘Nicky? What on earth would she know about it?’

  ‘You would be surprised what one hears at a girls’ school. It’s not all Gothic novels and sighs, you know, even though her version of your exploits did sound rather Gothic. Apparently association with you is quite a cachet for her at school.’

  ‘Good God. Does Cat know about this?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I presume she does. Your sister may be quiet, but she’s no fool. You didn’t answer my question.’

  ‘You see, this is precisely what I was talking about. You seem to think you are entitled to answers simply on the strength of asking a question. Life doesn’t work that way.’

  ‘I know that. Everything has a price. I can’t force you to answer. I am merely inviting you to do so.’

  ‘Inviting. I see. Tell me what Nicky told you—I’m curious what nonsense they are allowing in that very expensive school of hers.’

  ‘Nothing too outrageous. Merely some nonsense that you and your friends always win races because you made a pact with the devil for that privilege. Oh, and that when the three of you ride at night, virtuous women must hide indoors or be swept up in the wild hunt, never to return.’

  She didn’t know what the amusement in his eyes signified—a male appreciation of his potency or a reaction to the absurdity of the tale?

  ‘Nicky told you this? What nonsense you women subscribe to. I assure you virtuous women are probably the segment of your sex most likely to be safe from the members of the so-called Wild Hunt Club. We prefer responsiveness from the subjects of our midnight raids and virtue is... What is the opposite of an aphrodisiac?’

  ‘Marriage, apparently.’

  He burst out laughing.

  ‘Damn, you’re wasted as one of that group. You would have made an excellent courtesan.’

  He meant to shock her and in a way he did, but it wasn’t her virtue that was shocked, but her body.

  The thought of being free from all the restraints that held her, body and mind. The possibility of being free to walk up to this man and demand what she wanted...

  She shook free of the foreign urge. Because his words also raised the unwelcome memory of that house in Kingston, of the shocked faces of the women who had faced her after her father’s death, aware their fate was now in her hands, scared and defensive and even pained. Some of them had truly cared for her father. As far as society was concerned, those women were worse than nothing; they were succubi who destroyed the lives of good men. She hadn’t seen that when she stood in that opulent room with its red velvet sofas and lewd paintings. She saw women...some of them younger than she, whose fates had never been their own, at her mercy as they had been at her father’s mercy and at the mercy of men like him. As long as they were young and performed their duties, they were adored and then... That night had been the first time she had cried for her parents and especially for herself.

  In a less fortunate life she might have had no choice but to become one of those women who had nothing to trade but themselves. Then she, too, would have been at the mercy of men like her father and the members of this Wild Hunt Club, who thought they were somehow redeemed because they didn’t pursue virtuous women.

  ‘I don’t think so, Lord Ravenscar. No one could ever pay me enough to endure the life those poor women have to endure. Now, as you said before, we should leave before it begins to rain.’

  He stopped her by moving to block her path.

  ‘I didn’t mean to insult you. Believe it or not, that was a compliment.’

  ‘I do believe it, which is precisely why I find it so offensive that you would assign any positive value to a fate where women have to sell their bodies to survive. It might be a better fate than many women have to face in this world, but it is no compliment. As someone dependent on the frailties of others to make your living, Lord Ravenscar, you should know that better than others.’

  There, she had crossed a line and she was glad—finally Rakehell Raven was beginning to show his true colours. The transition from amusement to contrition to fury was as rapid as the explosion of a tropical storm, and the complete collapse of his façade fed her own anger and pain.

  ‘See, it isn’t quite so complimentary to be labelled a whore, is it?’ she all but spat at him.

  ‘I didn’t label you...’

  ‘No, you merely thought it amusing to pay me the compliment that I would make a fine doxy. You might not mind the label or the role, but excuse me if I fail to find it entertaining.’

  ‘Not that it is any of your business, but I do not frequent courtesans. I prefer women who enter into arrangements of mutual pleasure of their own accord.’

  ‘Even if I believed you, it only means you would label me somewhere below that breed, so excuse me for not finding your excuse
s any better than your insults, Mr Rakehell.’

  She was too angry to prepare for the move, and once he had grasped her shoulders and pressed her back against the wall, she was damned if she would show fear.

  ‘Careful, Lily Wallace. The fact that you are a woman offers you a certain measure of protection, but no more. Don’t push your luck.’

  She flattened her palms against his chest and pushed.

  ‘Don’t threaten me. I am not gullible enough to be cowed by that Wild Hunt Club nonsense. You insult me, I’ll insult you right back, Alan Piers Cavendish Rothwell.’ She tossed back his name at him, in conscious imitation of that moment when Lady Ravenscar had walked into the library at Hollywell. He was not myth. He was just an ill-behaved boy used to people bowing and scraping before his undeniable beauty and charm. Well, she never bowed.

  She had expected more ranting, not capitulation. She had expected to push him over the edge, but contrarily the fury receded, lightening his eyes from near black to the stormy grey reflecting the building pressure outside the window. They were still heavy with anger and heat, but there was also speculation there. Though he didn’t give an inch to the pressure on his chest, the hands that grasped her shoulders softened and shifted—one to cover her own hands where they pushed against him, the other to slide softly down her cheek, leaving a scorched trail as it went before settling on her neck, his thumb just brushing her jawline.

  ‘That was ill done of me. I’m sorry.’

  The bastard! A sincere apology was the sneakiest, most dastardly tactic of all. It tugged back the tide and left her high and dry and defenceless. If she had held the flanged mace in her hands in that moment, she would have been so tempted to swing and let loose this explosion of fury and confusion. Either that or burst into tears. Something, anything to reflect the extremity of the pressure inside her.

  ‘I’m curious why you flared like that,’ he continued, his voice soft, musing. ‘That was quite a nerve I touched, wasn’t it? What is it, Lily? Is it not the first time someone has called you that?’ His eyes were softening as he spoke, releasing his anger like an extended breath. ‘No, it’s not that, is it? Your impassioned defence indicates all your sympathy appears to be with the women you don’t wish to be associated with. Strange.’

  She pressed harder, but he didn’t move. If anything, he leaned in against her palms, forcing her to feel the hard surface under the superfine linen, his scent closing around her, warm and musky like a tropical evening. The coolness of the wall behind her was no antidote as his heat poured through her, filling her.

  ‘If you want to hit something, go ahead. I think I’ll survive.’ He didn’t remove his hand from her throat, but with his other he curved the fingers of her right hand into her palm and held the fist against his chest.

  She never allowed Greene to lace her stays too enthusiastically, but they felt tight now. The invitation to let the pressure inside her loose was so potent she didn’t know how she would draw back. She had been so wrong about him. It might not be night-time, but she could feel the pull of this wild hunt. She didn’t know what to do with everything inside her; it was all crowding at the door he was forcing open. The only thing holding her back was the conviction that even this was probably a game to him. He was back in control and she was within an inch of losing hers utterly.

  ‘I wish to return to the Hall now.’

  His thumb lingered on her chin, rose to skim the line of her lower lip and withdrew. He glanced out the window and exhaled slowly.

  ‘That is probably a good idea. The world has decided to drizzle.’

  Chapter Five

  Lily wiped the drops from her cloak, but it was a losing battle. She was clearly being doubly punished for her foolishness in forcing her presence on Mr Prosper and Lord Ravenscar. The open landaulet had been a reasonable choice for a quick trip to Keynsham and Hollywell, but less suitable for a longer ride to Saltford in the swiftly shifting autumn weather. Right now the wind was driving rain straight at them and poor Greene was hunched on the seat by her side in mute misery, grumbling under her breath about English climes, English food and English roads.

  The coachman glanced back at them, the rain running off the brim of his low-crowned hat.

  ‘There’s an inn just over that rise, miss. Small but respectable. Mayhap you should put up there until this blows over or I could go to the Hall and bring the closed coach.’

  Greene looked up at that, her face damp and mottled in the cold, and Lily sighed. It was only half an hour further to the Hall, but it was enough for them to be thoroughly soaked.

  ‘Thank you, yes. The coach is a lovely idea.’

  The inn was a modest white-and-grey building, but smoke was billowing from the chimney and at the moment that was all Lily cared about. The coachman set up a shout for the landlord and helped them down. Inside the low, narrow entrance the landlord stared at them in some dismay.

  ‘You’re more than welcome, miss, but as you can see this is just a country inn and the only private parlour I have has just been...’

  ‘Taken. You are proving exceedingly hard to shake, Miss Wallace.’ Lord Ravenscar stood in the doorway at the back of the public room. Even with her cheeks damp from rain, Lily felt the heat rise in them and was thankful for the absence of lighting. Even after her anger and their tense parting, there was no denying the pleasure she felt just at the sight of him.

  It had been a very long time since she had felt this kind of fascination and never about a person and she knew that was dangerous. Watching him drive away from Saltford while Mr Prosper had climbed into the gig with his clerk, she had told herself it was all for the best that this was probably the last time she would see this man. She had repeated that uncomforting conviction the whole drive and it just made her pleasure at seeing him again so soon all the more bitter.

  ‘Since the drizzle has become a torrent and there aren’t many other inns on this road, it is hardly surprising we sought refuge here, too, my lord. I don’t see why my presence here should discommode you.’

  ‘Don’t you? Pilcher, bring a warm drink to the parlour for Miss Wallace.’

  ‘There is no need...’

  ‘Don’t be a fool. There’s a decent fire in the parlour and none out here. Your maid can sit there and glare at me with her basilisk eye. Or if you are so concerned, I will take my ale out here.’

  ‘I didn’t mean...’

  He stepped back, opened the door and waited, and with a sigh she entered the parlour. It was a cosy little room and the fire was high and welcoming. It was pointless to argue—with him or with herself.

  ‘This is lovely, thank you,’ she said, untying her bonnet and cloak. Greene took them and tutted.

  ‘I’ll take these to the kitchen and see if we can brush the rain and mud from them before it settles, Miss Lily.’

  Alan watched the door close behind Greene with a twisted smile and motioned Lily to the chair closest to the fire. She sat and extended her gloved hands towards the warmth while he settled on the other chair, folding his arms and stretching his boots out towards the flames.

  Seated he appeared even larger than when he had loomed over her. It was ridiculous to be nervous because he was between her and the door, but the room constricted around them to just the small sphere of warmth around the fireplace. She had an outrageous, childish urge to smile at him. Foolishness.

  ‘The maid appears to trust me more than the mistress,’ he said after a moment.

  ‘She trusts me, at least.’

  ‘I noticed that. You cannot be quite the spoilt brat you appear if you command such loyalty from your groom and maid.’

  ‘My heavens, that was nearly a compliment. Perhaps it is merely that I pay them exorbitantly for their unquestioning fidelity.’

  ‘I can tell the difference.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Distinguishing between varying
shades of loyalty is a skill one develops when one’s life depends on it. Where is your bruiser of a groom by the way? Why isn’t he driving you?’

  ‘I have sent him on an errand regarding Hollywell. Why, were you hoping for a rematch? Jackson would be happy to oblige. What did you mean about lives depending on knowing true loyalty? Were you referring to the war?’

  Just as before he sidestepped her question and returned with one of his own.

  ‘Have you reconsidered selling Hollywell?’

  ‘Will you tell me what you want it for?’

  ‘The ferret is back in force, I see. What difference does it make?’

  The door opened and the landlord entered and placed a tray on the table, and the scent of apples and cinnamon filled the air. Lily’s mouth watered.

  ‘Miss’s maid is helping your groom with your coat, Lord Ravenscar.’

  ‘Thank you, Pilcher.’

  Lily picked up her glass and breathed in the scent.

  ‘Cider. I missed this in Brazil.’

  He picked up his ale and smiled at her. For once, his smile was neither taunting nor seductive, but it hit her hardest. It felt so right to be sitting there with him. So comfortable and right.

  ‘The simplest pleasures are often the best. Cheers.’

  He would know, she reminded herself, struggling to dispel the completely inappropriate fog of wellbeing. He knew all about pleasure. That was all he cared about. His own pleasure.

  ‘Will you be visiting Catherine and Nicky again before you leave?’

  The cynical gleam returned, both disappointing and reassuring her.

  ‘I’m afraid not. I have some business in the area and then I will be on my way.’

  ‘Nicky will be disappointed. Catherine will, too, though she won’t say a word, of course. She never does, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel it.’

  ‘Are you trying to work on my conscience? It is a futile effort, believe me.’

  ‘I don’t waste my time on lost causes. I was merely suggesting you might consider taking her with you to Bristol while you are in the vicinity.