The Tigresse and the Raven (The Friendship Series Book 1)

by Julia Donner

  Lady Duncan’s piercing voice shattered the heated reverie. “Answer me, you tiresome girl! I’ve been talking at your head for a full five minutes and you’ve not heard a word.”

  “Aunt Jane, you startled me!”

  “I don’t know why. I’ve been screeching my lungs out, trying to get your attention.”

  “I beg your pardon. What is it?

  “You are wanted out front of the house.”

  Cassandra groaned. “More guests?”

  “No. Your betrothal present has arrived.”

  That brought her down from the clouds. “Betrothal present? For me?”

  “Have you gone completely deaf? Certainly it is your betrothal gift! Now mind your manners, as if my telling you would do any good, and take yourself out there.”

  Cassandra’s shoulders sagged. Not another gift! Her rooms were crammed with every conceivable kind of gift. She may have appeared deaf and blind to the daily barrage of trinkets, but she was far from stupid. Nor gullible. She’d guessed his game from the start. She didn’t want to feel obligated or that she had to be bought, and it irked her that her own maid was in on the scheme.

  There was no stopping a Ravenswold. One might as well try to empty the oceans with a spoon. And what was to be done with such cunningly laid and tempting traps? He made his goal so clear that she suspected he carried a special license with him at all times. Earlier, when he crushed her to his chest, there was a suspicious crunching sound in his coat’s inner breast pocket.

  “Aunt Jane, I don’t think that I can bear up under another onslaught.. I have never been coddled. You know that I have not. I cannot think how to deal with such generosity.”

  “You made that perfectly clear to your poor uncle, who had nothing but goodness in his heart, when he offered you clothes and a dowry! I have no opinion of a person who would treat her intended spouse in a like manner. Go out there, I pray, and accept what he has for you with good grace. Believe me, Cassandra Jane, a little coddling and petting would do you a world of good.”

  “But Aunt Jane, there has been so much! Confections, clothes, fans and that lovely music box, which by the way, is liberally sprinkled with real gems. And the flowers! I can scarcely breathe for the scents.”

  “Must I lay violent hands on you and drag you out there by your ear?”

  Cassandra huffed a martyred sigh. She got up and looped her arm through her aunt’s suggestively jutted out elbow. “Very well, Aunt Jane, lead me to the chopping block. No blindfold, if you please.”

  “You are unnatural and mean-spirited,” her aunt loftily said, seizing the last word.

  Cassandra let her have it. She’d exhausted her store of obstinacy from fighting unbeatable battles and endless emotional ups and downs. She walked with her aunt in silence, descended the broad staircase and strolled across the introductory hall with its ancient banners sagging from the rafters overhead.

  The front door stood open. Cassandra picked out her maid’s cap-covered blond curls in the gathering of servants standing under the portico. Ravenswold’s head towered above them all. She could hear their whispering comments but couldn’t see beyond the crowd or understand what they were saying.

  Cassandra expected her present to be something on the order of a carriage with solid gold wheels or a brigantine under full sail. She couldn’t test the accuracy of her suspicions because she couldn’t see through the gawking servants, who made an opening for her when she went outside into the fading afternoon light.

  Farnsby stood on the velvety soft rolled turf beyond the gravel drive, holding a horse by a lead rein. One might have thought that a younger mount in better condition would be a more appropriate gift for the bruising rider she knew herself to be. The abuse-blemished stud gazed across the park to a distant land, paying no attention to his inquisitive audience. Time and her heart stopped.

  Cassandra’s tight-lipped, frozen aspect alarmed Ravenswold. He looked over her head to Lady Duncan, whose odd, mangled expression was the kind she used when striving to grind down any sign of demeaning sentimentality. But she wasn’t looking at the horse; Lady Duncan watched unchecked tears slide down her niece’s pale cheeks.

  The servants shuffled nervously. The awkward silence continued until finally broken when Cassandra whispered a single word.

  “Fleet!”

  The name got caught in her throat. She raised her voice again, calling louder. The bay stallion’s black-tipped ears twitched. His nose lifted to send a whickering answer across the drive. Farnsby dropped the lead rein at Ravenswold’s nod. The horse ambled across the matted grass, favoring his left foreleg.

  Ravenswold took Cassandra’s arm and assisted her down the steps. He feared she wouldn’t be able to see through the constantly falling tears. He’d only meant to please her and was stunned by her fragility and utterly broken spirit.

  Cassandra and Fleet met on the gravel drive. His scarred, black muzzle nudged her chest, inhaling her scent. Fleet let his nose rest there and closed his eyes, while Cassandra tentatively reached up, as if seeking a vision that would vanish if touched.

  “Rave,” she whispered. “Tell them to go away.”

  He nodded to the servants, and they filed inside. Lady Duncan whipped out a handkerchief for a swift, covert swipe before following the staff indoors. Ravenswold waved Farnsby away. He willed himself to turn back to a scene that would wound him more than any insult or injury.

  Cassandra had her arms around the stallion’s neck and her face buried in the glossy black mane. Horse and man stood with quiet patience while she clutched her long-lost friend as if he would be once again stolen away with the last of her girlhood illusions.

  Cassandra eventually collected her emotions. She turned her head and laid her cheek against Fleet’s tear-dampened neck. Her words came out gruff when she found her voice. “There’s no way that I can ever thank you for this, and may I have your handkerchief? Mine is beyond the scope of my present sentiment. Thank you! Men have such sensible handkerchiefs.”

  She kept the large square of linen crushed in her hand, needing it again when Fleet nuzzled her ear before lowering his head to sniff the crushed oyster shells.

  Cassandra grasped a fistful of ebony mane. “I was told he’d been put down after a bad fall.”

  “Lady Duncan mentioned the attachment, but I—”

  “I know,” she interrupted. “I’m acting foolishly.”

  “Not at all! I wept for days when my first pony had to be put down.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Nine.”

  “Oh well, all of nine and still allowed to cry? What a good mama you must have had. Rave, if you can understand…Fleet is all I have left of Tamer Hall and the only happiness I’ve ever known. I worried about him. He ran too many races.”

  “I won money on him! Little did I know when Lady Duncan told me about a pet of yours named Fleet that she was talking about Fleetwood’s Marvel. Perhaps you should take up that lead rein before he wanders.”

  “Can’t blame him for wanting back on the grass. It’s his leg, Rave. He limps.”

  Rave followed her and the horse to the resilient turf. Eager to reassure her, he said, “Farnsby assured me that it’s mostly from improper healing before running him again. He thinks it doesn’t cause much pain, only stiffness. He has a liniment for it.”

  “My poor darling,” she crooned. “We shall wrap your leg in heated cloths and rub it until you feel all better.”

  Her cooing voice provoked Fleet to nudge her, a push that shoved her into Ravenswold. He wrapped his arms around her and whispered in her ear, “Not very gentle, is he? But I can appreciate his aim.”

  Her laugh came out weak and watery. She used his handkerchief to mop up a fresh batch of tears. When Fleet nibbled at her gown, yanking at the cloth, Rave moved quickly to draw her away.

  “No, Rave, he doesn’t bite. He’s asking for a treat. I used to wear an old hacking jacket of my father’s that had enormous pockets for storing his goodies
.” She patted Fleet’s neck. “You are too old for sugar lumps. Carrots and apples from now on, and if you behave, a sweet mash, hmm?”

  Ravenswold released her. “I perceive I am de trop.”

  He allowed time for a private reunion before he rejoined them. She didn’t notice when he left to find Farnsby to make good on her promise of a rubdown. She was happily involved in checking every inch of Fleet’s battered body. The stud soaked up her company and affection. He grunted with pleasure when she found his favorite scratching places on his neck, behind his black- tipped ears, and along his spine. Her mood joyous, she played with her horse, cuddling Fleet like a lapdog and not a stallion with a history of savaging anyone who dared to approach him with a saddle.

  “Rave, you must come and see how well Fleet remembers all of his tricks!”

  Ravenswold strolled to her side. He tucked his fingers into his coat pockets out of reach of Fleet’s teeth. “You taught him to climb trees before you got him to walk on water?”

  She sneered, playfully appalled. “Climb a tree? How undignified! He plays dead. Don’t you want to see?”

  “Yes, I do, but not now. Take him for his rubdown, Farnsby.”

  Farnsby respectfully tugged on the lead. Fleet looked at Cassandra, who gestured and said, “Go with Farnsby, my love. I’ll see you soon.”

  Rave pulled her to the portico steps. He placed her hand in the crook of his arm, covering it with his own to keep it there. “Save a bit of cuddling for me, if you please.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder for a last look.

  “Oh, Rave, it’s not a dream. That’s my Fleet sauntering across your lawn.” Under her breath she fervently whispered, “For this, my lord, you’ll get a good deal more than cuddling.”

  He made a swift survey of the introductory hall. Finding it empty, he murmured, “There’s an interesting challenge in those amber eyes of yours, one I’ve never seen before.”

  She lowered her voice. “Care to make a wager?”

  When he nodded, his gaze locked with hers, she continued. “I have every intention of waiting for the marriage bed but that doesn’t mean we can’t live dangerously.”

  It took him a moment to find his wits. “I’ve never been one to turn down the addition of spice in my life. Your wager?”

  Her laugh sounded husky, nervous. “I want another try at what happened in the library. A test, if you will, to see who can hold out the longest.”

  Rave’s voice sounded hoarse and unrecognizable when he asked, “What if we can’t?”

  “Control ourselves, you mean?” She smiled. “We won’t be the first couple to have anticipated their vows.”

  Honor demanded he must give her fair warning. “This is a bet I can win by losing.”

  “I’m well aware of that, husband-to-be.”

  “Then here’s my wager. If you lose, we wed tomorrow.”

  “And if you lose, I get whatever I ask for.”

  “Done! My rooms in five minutes. It’ll only take a moment to cancel an appointment with Pridd.”

  She shook her head. “Too soon. Your room in twenty minutes. I want to see Fleet one more time.”

  “Ten minutes and no longer. We’re doing this while it’s still light.”

  He loved the way she quivered when she fully realized his intent. She accepted the challenge with a brisk nod. He watched her fly down the passageway to the back stairs, the quickest route to the stables. His insides turned to jelly thinking about what he was going to do to her to win the bet. He spun on his heel and took the staircase steps three at a time.

  Chapter 28

  Before returning to the house, Cassandra dipped her hands in a pail of clean water at the pump to wash the film of barn dust from her face and hands. After assuring herself that Fleet was happily settled, she passed a message to Asterly to confirm that they could meet at half past midnight.

  Although she accomplished what needed to be done, she worried that her allotted minutes had come and gone. At least she could grant Rave his wish; some time remained before the sun set.

  She seized a handful of gown, hiked up her skirts and ran. She ignored the stares of the staff when she dashed through the kitchen and up the back stairs. Wide-eyed servants flattened themselves against the staircase walls to make room. She sped along the hallways, laughing at gaping footmen. She entered the west wing where no servants were allowed unless summoned, which meant she could run full out and did so until she reached the door to his sitting room and wrenched it open.

  Ravenswold waited by the desk, bristling with impatience. His jacket and neckcloth hung from the chair he’d sat on to pull off his boots. He strode to the bedchamber and opened the door. He stepped inside and held it wide for her. She flew through and whirled to face him. He locked the door with a decisive snap. The key clattered when he tossed it onto a side table.

  Her gaze latched onto his. She struggled to slow her breathing and the wild rhythm of her heart. His attention dropped to her heaving chest. He yanked his shirttail from his breeches. “Take everything off.”

  Cassandra glanced at the bank of windows where brocade draperies were drawn back with tasseled cords. The mellow light before sunset sparkled on the diamond-shaped windowpanes. He deserved this and much more for bringing back her Fleet. She deserved this because she wanted it. With a shock she realized she wanted it more than Fleet.

  She boldly stepped into the sunlight. Her trembling hands couldn’t manage the fastenings. His lean fingers were steady, swift and impatient when he took over the chore. She marveled that he was so familiar with female attire and then cast away the image of him with another woman. She refused to spoil this moment with doubts or thoughts of inadequacy. He’d better like what he uncovered, because hers was the last female body he was ever going to see.

  Well, perhaps not. There could be a daughter.

  This thought got wiped from her mind when he parted her gown and shoved it off her shoulders. The thin muslin dropped into a heap around her ankles. Tessa and her aunt insisted that only a shift was to be worn under the stylish but flimsy muslin frocks. Her heart thudded under his stare. Only a wisp of thin lawn remained, which he reverently lifted over her head.

  Cassandra lowered her arms and studied the new and exciting sensations coursing through her body. Air whispered across her bared skin, enticing her flesh to tighten. Waiting, she stood before him, dressed only in the golden light shining through the windows.

  “Merciful God, Cass, you look like a madonna.”

  Made bold by his awe, she said, “I don’t plan to act like one.”

  She braced a hand on the bedpost to untie her stockings and kick off her slippers. Her eyes widened when he jerked his shirt off and knelt before her. Her body sagged at the sight of so much bared male skin.

  He started by wrapping his fingers around her ankles and gliding up the long length of her legs. He hesitated when his thumbs reached red-blond curls. Her flesh contracted when his lips skimmed a searing path back and forth across her belly. She pressed her spine into the bedpost’s carved wood to stay upright. She shivered inside and out and couldn’t stop.

  “Relax your legs, Cass.”

  “Can’t. If I move,. I’ll fall down.”

  “Grab hold of the bedpost.” He looked up and taunted her with a grin. “Or have I won so easily?”

  She groped behind her back for the wood. “I’ll make you pay for that remark.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  He eased a hand behind one of her locked knees and gently lifted. She stopped breathing when his lips grazed her flesh. His touch was light, teasing and devastating. The work of his mouth made her legs buckle. Rave caught her around the waist. Her hands went to his shoulders when he lifted and set her on the edge of the bed.

  Eye level with his chest, she placed her hands on his ribcage and discovered that his body felt as hard as it looked. She slid her fingers through the wiry dark hair, fascinated by the curls that twined around her fingers. She noti
ced his deepening breaths. The thud of his heart against her palms increased with the range of her investigation. He stopped breathing when her fingers glided lower to the waistband of his riding breeches.

  “No fair, Rave. You’re not wearing inexpressibles. Buckskin isn’t as revealing, but I think I can find my weapon.”

  She gently bit the flesh above his navel. Starting at the root, her fingernail scraped a slow path over the swollen ridge straining against the breeches. She got only two buttons undone before he stopped her. One hand shot out to capture her wrist and the other grabbed the bedpost. She smiled when he paused to marshal his control and jerked free of his grasp. She scooted back and stretched out on the bed, waiting.

  Rave opened his eyes and his heart stilled from the sight of Cassandra sprawled in feline glory against the counterpane, her arms spread wide. She wore nothing but a smug grin of victory. Her smile faded when he parted her legs and stepped between them. When she tried to close her legs, he pushed them wider and silently laughed.

  “The hand can be a cruel implement of war, Miss Seyton, and one of endless possibilities. I believe it’s my turn to inflict a little creative misery.”

  The tip of his tongue circled the center of her palm before he pressed and held it against his chest. Her eyes widened when he used his other hand to demonstrate his threat. His fingertips tickled a slow path from the well of her throat down to her contracted belly. She nearly came off the bed when he slid his hand lower and then two fingers inside her damp warmth. When she squirmed and tried to evade, he released her hand and gripped her shoulder to hold her in place.

  Panting and desperate to dislodge him, Cassandra laughed and pried at his grip on her shoulder. When that didn’t work, she reached for the instrument of exquisite torture between her legs. She wrapped both hands around his wrist just as his thumb found a place capable of numbing pleasure. He applied steady pressure.