by Julia Donner
Rave studied the shadows under the bed’s canopy overhead. Cassandra cuddled against his side, her cheek on his chest. He didn’t know if she slept or was quietly thinking.
The fire ebbed and died as he organized scattered thoughts. She would keep her word and marry him. He wasn’t worried about that now. The problem was that he knew in his gut that she was still hiding something from him. He didn’t like not trusting her. He had seen too much of that and the resultant acrimony that followed in his parents’ marriage.
A lot needed to be accomplished by tomorrow, even though the ceremony itself would be brief. A stack of papers sat on his desk, waiting to be read and signed. Lady Duncan needed to be told. It seemed like a full night’s work. A nap wouldn’t hurt.
He rolled onto his other side, smiling when she followed and nuzzled her nose into his back. He almost laughed out loud when her hand stole between his legs, as if to assure herself that her personal instrument of pleasure hadn’t escaped. Cupping his hand over hers, he fell asleep.
Chapter 30
Moonlight streamed through the bedroom windows. The rising moon slanted a wide blue swath across the floor. Cassandra stood in its dissected shadow and looked at the man asleep on the bed. She now knew that his cool exterior harnessed intensely passionate inclinations—the former rake contained by the sober ascetic.
She studied the impossibly broad expanse of his back as she decided what to do next. His skin, pale as marble, felt equally hard and smooth. Even in sleep he radiated power, and like a resting volcano, frightening to behold. When awake, he made her restless, breathless and confused. His kindness bewildered her in comparison to his unreasonable jealousy. And he was of all things crafty.
Looking back, she saw how he plotted every maneuver of his campaign to win her—not that such dedication was without merit; a female would have to be lacking in brains or humility not to be flattered by such persistent masculine pursuit.
For years, she pretended a lack of interest in her former suitors to avoid marriage and the necessity of explaining her lack of virginity, but there was no ignoring a Ravenswold. His pursuit revealed an alarming talent for perseverance and ingenuity. Her insatiable response—the visceral tug whenever he was near—made it easier for him. She didn’t want to resist the newly discovered pull of the wanton within. In the course of an evening’s romp, she learned to respect this aspect of her femininity. Ravenswold made it known that he planned to cherish and nurture her passion.
The match could only be called sensible. He constituted the embodiment of her dreams. Perhaps he was a bit on the large side, but that suited her right down to the ground. Fleet had been the sealing bond. For Fleet, she’d do anything.
She had thought to reward Rave with a few kisses and soon learned she’ been fooling herself. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. She merely used the excuse of gratitude as a sop for her pride. Gratitude had nothing to do with what she felt for Ravenswold. Best of all, she would never need an excuse of any kind with him. He knew her too well.
That left the problem of Arthur.
Ravenswold breathed the slow, even pattern of deep sleep. He hadn’t eaten much at dinner. Hunger might wake him for a late night supper. She doubted that he’d sleep for long. She noticed the stack of papers on his desk, neglected work from the steward, but with luck, he might sleep through the night.
She located her shift and dress on the floor. Back in her room, there was time to rest before meeting with Asterly. She napped until Tessa came, then pretended sleep and listened, while Tessa extinguished the lights before finding her own bed.
After Tessa left, Cassandra rose from her warm nest and went to the balcony. The moon, descending toward dawn, glowed in a starlit sky. Night’s damp chill invaded her nightgown and crawled up her legs. The stone flagging felt cold and rough against her bare feet. She pulled back a veil of vines and withdrew a flat box.
Cassandra hastily dressed in the dark, struggling with the weight of guilt and betrayal. She wasn’t entirely in the right. She wished she could tell Rave, but he’d made that impossible. He’d never be jealous of Fleet, but another man? He threatened to kill before. She’d seen evidence of his temper; the hydrangea bushes had never been the same since crushed by Farmer Wicks. She couldn’t take the chance of subjecting Arthur to that sort of treatment. Arthur saved her from Beason and for that she owed him loyalty and gratitude. Perhaps she could explain to Arthur about Ravenswold tonight, if Arthur were in condition to comprehend and forgive her for not waiting.
Cassandra despaired at feeling so horribly pulled. She still loved Arthur but not in the way she felt about Rave. Indebted to Arthur, she couldn’t ignore his plight.
She found her boots in the dark and pulled them on over the pair of leathers Asterly’s valet supplied. She exhaled a snort of disgust, thinking how men believed that only they had the proper feelings about honor and the wholehearted acceptance of duty. Wherever did they get the fatheaded idea that women were devoid of elevated morals and values? She felt them keenly.
She buttoned up the britches and jacket with her teeth clenched and chin set at a belligerent angle. The old groom at Tamer Hall once said that she was the only female he’d ever known that was a gentleman at heart. Back then, she accepted the compliment with pride. Now that she was older and proud of her womanhood, she felt insulted.
“Why should men think they’re the only ones with a sense of what’s right and wrong?” she griped at the dark, empty room.
Shaking herself free of outrage, she prepared the room. She made a swift inventory before going into the dressing room to collect the makeshift sack. She’d tied the pillowslip closed and allowed the strings to dangle down the back of the high wardrobe, making the hidden cache easy to find.
Cassandra settled the sack of provisions over her shoulder so that its weight settled on her spine between her shoulder blades. She steeled her resolve and slipped out into the night. A bit late from too much thinking, she hurried from one shadow to the next. Once out of the inner courtyard, she’d have to run to make the appointed time.
She loped toward the topiary hedges, marveling at how much she’d changed, inside and out. Gone was the lady with the air of decided elegance, the role she hated but had been forced to play. The desperate girl, who dared to sneak out into the dangerous London night to save her friend, resurfaced with startling ease.
Cassandra knew her duty. She always had and wasn’t about to cry off on an obligation. Arthur came first tonight. Rave could have her for the rest of their lives, but this one time, she would repay the man who made it possible for her to be with the mate God had chosen for her. Rave would just have to understand, if she could muster up the courage to tell him.
***
Ravenswold sat at the desk, quill in hand, with his head bowed over a stack of papers. He vaguely heard the tap on the sitting room door. Jenkins made a discreet noise.
After finishing the sentence, he glanced up, surprised to see that his valet had brought someone into his rooms without prior consent. One glance told him many things. Cassandra’s maid looked worried, and Jenkins wouldn’t have brought her into this part of the house unless it was urgent.
“Begging your pardon, my lord,” Jenkins said, his tone hinting his displeasure, “but Miss Tessart insisted on speaking with you regarding a matter that cannot wait.”
“Thank you, Jenkins.” Rave set down the quill and closed the lid of the standish. “What is it, Tessart?”
The maid glanced at his valet, prompting Rave to reassure her. “I have nothing to hide from Jenkins. Please, tell me what has you overset.”
“Oh, your lordship, she’s gone!”
Rave frowned and stood. “Start at the beginning, Tessart. Would you like to sit down?”
“No, I thank you.”
Rave retook his seat so as not to appear intimidating. He waited for Tessa to speak around a throat working to suppress strong emotion. She clasped her hands at the waist of her plain night robe of
brown flannel and avoided looking him in the eye.
“Miss Cassy missed her meals today, which isn’t out of the common way. Some days she eats like a groundskeeper and the next not at all. She’d been up early for a ride and wouldn’t take a nap. All worked up about that beastly horse. After I came up from luncheon, I thought she looked a bit fagged out. Excuse me, I meant to say tired, my lord. And then she asked for lemons.”
“Lemons,” Ravenswold said.
“She said she wanted them for her freckles, but she hasn’t any. I figured she might be feeling poorly and just too stubborn to admit it. She hates being sick, even refuses to believe that she is. Always asks for lemons when she’s not feeling the thing. Makes up a potion, like nurse used to do.”
“I see. Go on, Tessart.”
“Howsomever, I check on her tonight, like I always do, before I go to my own bed. Make sure she’s tucked in, all nice and cozy. That done, I went off to my nest, but I couldn’t sleep for worrying about her, thinking she’d caught a chill or something. It’s so damp in the early mornings, so I thought I’d just go feel her head to see if she was feverish, you know?”
When Tessa hesitated, Ravenswold encouragingly asked, “And was she?”
“She isn’t there! Just some pillows and things crunched up under the covers to make it look like there’s a body under’em.”
Ravenswold looked at Jenkins. “Check the stables. She may have gone down to that confounded horse.”
Tessa broke down and wailed, “No, I already thought of that!”
“Steady, Tessart. I need you calm and clear in the head. Have you checked to see if she might’ve bolted—gone away on her own?”
“What do you mean, my lord?”
“Are there clothes missing?”
Tessa’s scowl revealed that she didn’t like what she had to say next. “The same crossed my mind, and I did check. That’s what’s strange. Nothing’s missing, none of her clothes, excepting her old riding boots. She’s got so little, you know. I’d know right away if something fetched up missing. And her nightgown is with the stuff scrunched up under the blankets. It don’t make sense, my lord. What’s become of her?”
Rave thought for a moment. “Has she ever done anything like this before?”
Tessa’s gaze shifted away. “Well, no. Not really, as you could say, like this. She tells me everything, if she’s going out, and such. But there was that one time—”
“What time?” Ravenswold rued the sharpness of his tone when the maid cringed.
“Long time past,” she answered in a small voice. “In London. She went out alone one night and didn’t come back until very late, near morning.”
“Do you know why?”
“Not the right of it, my lord, but I’m thinking it had something to do with that toad, Beason.”
“Beason!”
“Oh, my lord, please don’t be angry. I really shouldn’t be telling you any of this. She made me promise never to tell!”
“Miss Tessart,” Ravenswold collected himself and leveled a stern gaze on the anxious maid, “Joan, is it?”
Tessa performed a jerky curtsy. “Yes, your lordship.”
“We will be frank and honest. You’ll soon be living under this roof. Your loyalties will be as much to me as they are to Miss Cassandra. I assure you that I only have her welfare and happiness in mind. Do you believe that?”
“I-I hope so.”
“Trust me, then, Tessart, and tell me about the man she goes out to meet.”
Fear widened Tessa’s eyes. She swallowed and gathered her courage to speak. “Since you know it’s a man, I might as well tell you what I know. It’s not much. It all started that time when she was gone all night. Since then, she’s only seen him a few times.”
“What does he look like? Do you know his name?”
“I don’t know, your lordship. She writes to him. I did see a bit of one letter. That’s how I knew it was a man. She never puts the direction on, but waits and takes them to the post herself, putting the direction on at the last. She sends me off when she does that. Thinks I don’t know what she’s up to.”
“Do you recall the content of the letter?”
“It’s in some sort of code. It doesn’t make sense. I know very well how to read. Miss Cassy taught me.”
“Any names or specific information?”
“Nothing that I can make sense out of. In the letter she always calls him her Mutual Friend. That’s about all I know. It’s the only thing she’s ever kept from me, and I’ve known her all my life. She said it was for my own good not to know. Is she in some kind of trouble?”
“What causes you to think she’d be in trouble?”
“It’s not unusual for her to go out at dawn, but this is night. It got me thinking. The only other time she went out at night was so terrible she refused to talk about it, and she tells me everything.”
“Did she tell you about Billy Hempstead?”
The words shot out of Tessa’s mouth. “That wasn’t her fault! That rotter—“
Tessa slapped a hand over her mouth. She stared, her eyes huge and horrified by the slip. Ravenswold studied her, the room silent while he thought. Jenkins stood in a corner, cloaked in shadow, appearing impassive and deaf to all that had been said, but poor Tessa stood in the center of the room, glancing between the two men as she wrung her hands and waited.
Ravenswold finally asked, “In this letter you read, did there appear to be anything threatening, such as an implication or the insinuation of harm or blackmail?”
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was sort of funning. Happy, even though it was written so oddly, and she always signed it very personally.”
“Explain what you mean by ‘personally’.”
“She signed it ‘Yours truly and with deepest affection’ and wrote it with a smile, so I doubt it was a code or the letter was a threat of any sort.”
The maid smothered a squeak when he lurched to his feet. She shrank back, bumping into Jenkins, when Rave headed for his bedchamber. Jenkins showed no surprise at the sight of the weapon he’d fetched, but the maid choked down a whimpering wail.
Chapter 31
Cassandra’s maid watched him with a fist pressed against her mouth while he buckled on the foil. Apparently the girl knew the difference between a dress sword and the true fencing weapon. Then he figured that Tessa’s mistress probably had an intimate understanding of how to use them.
Tessa showed her mettle and loyalty when she begged, “Oh, please, your lordship, forgive me for being so forward, but I know she loves you! That other one, there’s got to be a good reason why she’d sneak off like this.”
“There’d better be,” he said, shrugging into a coat.
His drab-colored greatcoat, modestly designed with only four capes, must have made him loom above her like a monster. Tessa shrank back a step when he shoved his arms into it.
Jenkins, acting disinterested and composed, extended gloves. “Shall I have Farnsby tack up the gray?”
“No. The fewer who know about this the better. I’ll do it myself. Show Tessart out, and don’t wait up for me.”
Disgruntled, Jenkins murmured, “As you wish, my lord.”
“Please,” Tessa choked out, her heart in her eyes, “You won’t hurt her?”
“I won’t,” Rave promised. “Thank you for your candor, Miss Tessart. I realize this hasn’t been an easy interview. I shall see to it that you aren’t blamed for telling me what you know.”
He could see she yearned to say more, but his last words were a firm dismissal. He felt her watching when he strode down the shadowed corridor. He stopped at the end of the hallway and raised a gloved hand to the wall. A wall panel slid open and Rave entered a passage he hadn’t used since the morning he followed Cassandra, when she sneaked out to meet with the man she met tonight.
In the barn, he swiftly saddled Poseidon and rode down the service drive behind the house. They stayed on the grassy verge where the turf muffled the so
und of Poseidon’s heavy trot. Ravenswold curbed his impatience until well away from the house then pressed the stud into a canter.
He stopped at the entrance gate to think, trying to judge how Cassandra’s mind might work out the problem of meeting someone on the sly. It was impossible to make a guess with so few clues, so he rode toward the village.
Luck was with him when he crossed paths with a man returning from the pothouse situated at the far end of the village. Anyone leaving the tavern and coming this way had to walk the length of the village and would’ve immediately made note of a stranger or anything out of the ordinary.
When Ravenswold reined in beside the contentedly humming pedestrian, he recognized Jem Blake, one of his tenants. Jem doffed his cap when Ravenswold briefly explained his concern that one of his guests might have become lost on the way home, which must surely be impossible to Jem’s way of thinking, with only the main post road that led directly to Ravencourt’s gate. No matter. Rave needed information now.
Jem reported that a gentleman had rented a horse from the inn earlier in the evening, and two men had been seen riding on one horse near Ravencourt. One of the men in the taproom commented that he thought the stranger was a frequent visitor at Ravencourt.
This event had been the main topic at the pothouse, and the only information Jem had to offer, other than the interesting fact that the rented nag would be returned in the morning and not left at the next posting inn.
Ravenswold nodded his thanks and rode in the direction of the village before turning into the trees beside the road. He stopped behind the screen of the night-shadowed forest to sort through what he’d learned.
A man, a stranger, rented a horse that would be returned by morning. Two men were seen near Ravencourt. His guests were all abed, and no horses were missing from the stable block. None of the pieces fit together. Strangers rented horses from the inn every day. The two men could have been from one of the neighboring houses. But wait, there were two men on one horse.