“Are you feeling faint?” he asked, and there was that smile lurking in his eyes, on his lips, as if life was just one big joke to him. “You look rather pale, Melanie.”
“Word of a Raven? Crap! You lied to me,” she said, and her voice sounded as if she’d been shouting for hours, husky and throaty and very sexy. “You used me to get through the stone.”
“It was the only way I could come through to your time as a mortal. You said you would help me, Melanie—”
“But not like that! You should have told me what you were going to do.”
“I didn’t tell you because, well, to be frank, Melanie, you wouldn’t have been very happy with me, would you, if you knew I was coming back with you?”
“Of course not!”
He smiled as if he’d made his point. She was still lying on her back on the ground, so he squatted on his haunches at her side. The muscles in his thighs bunched beneath the tight trousers, and Melanie couldn’t say for sure whether or not he was wearing any underwear but…Her gaze lifted abruptly to his.
“Go on, say what you have to say. Clear the air. I promise not to interrupt.” He was speaking in an infuriatingly patient voice.
“You’re dead. You died in 1814. You can’t be here. It’s impossible. It’s not logical.”
“I’ve already explained that. I was dead, but now the queen of the between-worlds has given me a second chance. To change history, to change my past. To save myself and my family.”
“But why you? Out of all the men in all of history, why should you get a second chance?”
He thought for a moment. “Why not?”
Melanie groaned in frustration.
He reached out and hauled her unceremoniously to her feet. “I accept that this must be a terrible shock to you. Are you sure you’re not going to faint?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? No, I’m not going to faint! Definitely not.” But her head was spinning, and her stomach was heaving, and she took one breath, and then another, and closed her eyes.
His fingertip was against her skin, following the curve of her cheekbone, then veering toward the corner of her mouth. “You said you’d help me,” he said, and he was so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. Dead men didn’t breathe. Dead men didn’t smell of clean laundry and leather boot polish, and something else that was warm and male and spicy. Still she kept her eyes shut, as though by doing so she was removing herself from an impossible situation.
“Melanie,” he whispered, “I need you,” and his lips brushed lightly against hers.
Electric. Every nerve ending in her body sat up. She knew she should tell him to stop, but just now she didn’t have the energy—or perhaps she was waiting to see exactly how far he would go to get his own way.
His mouth came down again, this time more forcefully, and he cupped the back of her head with the palm of his hand. Holding her in position for his warm, confident, and very experienced kisses. It was just like the dream except that this time she wasn’t going to wake up.
“Help me,” he whispered, lifting his head a fraction, and then he went in for the coup de grâce. Lips, mouth, tongue, even teeth, nipping gently at her swollen lower lip.
Oh, God. Melanie knew she had never been kissed like this before. She’d never lost herself in any kiss so totally, so completely, to the point where her inner voice was silenced. Well, almost. It was still there, a tiny murmur, reminding her that he was manipulating her and that she mustn’t trust him, but it was so hard to push him away when she was enjoying herself so much. He’d made every inch of her come alive. He was a sensual gourmet, and she was the feast…
I can’t. I don’t want to.
But even as her libido was protesting, Melanie gave him a hard shove in the chest. He stumbled back. She glared at him, her skin flushed from something more than anger. There was an expression in his eyes…He looked confused, as if for a moment he’d been as lost in the kiss as she. But then he blinked, and he was smiling that smile again, that nothing-ever-bothers-me smile, and she dismissed any doubts she might have had.
“Curiosity,” he answered her unspoken question. “I wanted to know if women still taste the same in your time.”
“Well now you know that they do, don’t do it again.”
“What, never?” he asked, in mock innocence. “Don’t men kiss women in your time? Maybe that’s unfashionable, too.”
Melanie’d had enough. She stepped around him and proceeded down the hill.
The house was visible across the fields, but it was very different from the Ravenswood of the Yuletide Ball of 1813. Now neglect reigned supreme.
“What happened?” Nathaniel Raven was right behind her. “I saw Ravenswood when I was a ghost, but I couldn’t make myself heard or understood. I couldn’t ask anyone for help,” he added, with a meaningful sideways glance at her. “The place looks as if no one’s lived in it for years.”
“Miss Pengorren was old; she let things go.”
“Even so…”
“It’s been a long time since you lived here,” Melanie reminded him, hurrying along. “You can’t expect it to be the same as—”
“This is my fault,” he cut her off.
“How can it be your fault? You’re dead.” God, did she really say that?
“Exactly.”
“What you did in the past couldn’t possibly have any bearing on the here and now.” She sounded like her old self again, in charge, in control. It was a tremendous relief to be back in her own time again, even if she was still in Cornwall and not at home in London.
“Of course what we do in the past has a bearing on the here and now,” he was saying. “Don’t be naïve, Melanie.”
The wall with the gate in it was getting closer. Maybe she could shut him out and phone for help? And tell them what…? Save me, I’m being stalked by the infamous Raven?
“My death changed history.”
“Now who’s being naïve?” she said irritably. “In a minor way, perhaps, yes, but you must have known what would happen if you became a highwayman? It’s not a respectable profession, is it? You were breaking the law, and you were bound to be punished eventually.”
“Whose law?” His voice was getting fainter, but she was too busy arguing to take much notice.
“Whose law? Good old English law. The stuff I had to pass countless exams on. What other law”—she glanced back—“do you mean?”
Nathaniel Raven was gone. Melanie stumbled, coming to an abrupt halt with her hand against the rough wood of the gate. A splinter dug deep into her palm and she yelped and pulled away.
“Where are you?”
There was no answer. She looked carefully all around her. The fields were empty, a chill morning breeze stirring the grass, and away to her right she could hear the sea pounding against the cliffs. Other than that, nothing. He really had vanished.
Maybe he had never been in the first place.
Was it all a dream after all? But she’d touched him, spoken to him, experienced the full force of his charm. He had kissed her, for God’s sake! Could she really have dreamed all that?
Not possible.
“Nathaniel, where are you?” Only this time she whispered the words, as if she was afraid of the answer.
Still nothing.
With shaking hands, she unlatched the gate. A voice hailed her as she closed it behind her, but it wasn’t Nathaniel’s voice. Eddie was coming toward her through the overgrown gardens, wearing a jacket that made him look like a refugee from an eighties disco party. He cupped his hands and blew into them, rubbing them together energetically.
“Chilly morning. Have you been out already? You’re a keen one.”
He looked younger in the morning light, in his thirties rather than his forties, his hair hardly grey at all, and his brown eyes were smiling and friendly.
“I went for a run,” she said, knowing she was beaming back at him and unable to help it. He was just so normal that Melanie wanted
to throw her arms about him.
“What, up there?” Eddie jerked his head toward St. Anne’s Hill. “They say there are piskies inside that hill.”
“Piskies?”
“It’s the Cornish way of saying pixies. You know, faeries. According to folklore they come out at night and dance and get up to mischief, steal your children and put their own little miserable creatures in the cradles instead. That’s what people used to say in the old days, anyway.”
Melanie knew there were worse things than faeries in St. Anne’s Hill. For a moment she was tempted to tell Eddie everything, as she had last night, but some inner sense of caution and self-preservation stopped her—he’d think she was a nut. Anyway, she wanted to think it over somewhere quiet.
“You don’t believe in faeries, do you, Eddie?”
“I fluctuate.” Eddie dug his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched as he walked along beside her. “I keep an open mind. Lot of superstition still around down here. What about you?”
Melanie shrugged. It was the best she could do.
“You haven’t seen him again then?” Eddie said. “The Raven?”
Melanie eyed him uneasily, but he didn’t wait for an answer.
“He’s become quite famous, our Raven. The local tourist office has a guide brochure on him, and his grave gets quite a few visitors. Most of them teenage girls with a crush on him.”
“I can’t imagine it.” But she could, that was the trouble.
“There’s a book in the house, in the library—all about the family, if you’re interested.”
“The library?”
“Miss Pengorren used to call it that. It’s the room where she did her paperwork.”
“Oh, the ballroom.”
He gave her a curious look, but thankfully he didn’t take her up on it. His mind was on other matters. “It was strange, how she went to that place in London at the end. She’d always said she’d die at Ravenswood. Everyone expected her to stay.”
“She was ill, Eddie—”
“There’s a nursing home near Truro, private hospital. She had her sights set on a bed there, if worse came to the worst and she had to leave the house. But London…it makes no sense.” He shook his head.
“She wanted to come to London,” Melanie spoke gently. “She rang and asked Mr. Foyle to make the arrangements for her. I was there at the time. I wouldn’t worry about it, really, Eddie. Sometimes when people get sick they get frightened. They change their minds. Maybe she didn’t want to be by herself in such a big house.”
“She wasn’t alone. She had me.”
“I’m sorry, Eddie. She wanted it that way.”
He pulled a face, but he didn’t seem convinced. “Do you need me to be around this morning? To go over the house or anything? It’s just that I planned to go into the village, get a few things from the shop there…post some letters…I shouldn’t be long.”
“I’ll be fine.” They had arrived outside the house, and Melanie climbed the steps to the door. She reached out her hand to open it, but the contact caused a sharp pain in her palm, where the splinter had lodged.
“Are you all right?”
“It’s nothing. A splinter.”
He looked genuinely concerned. “Do you want me to get it out for you? I have a first-aid kit in my cottage.”
“No, I can manage.” His mention of the cottage reminded her of something she’d meant to ask next time she saw him. “Eddie, is your caretaking job full-time?”
His wry glance told her he knew what was in her mind. “Cushy job, eh? No, it’s not full-time, and it doesn’t pay much. I’m writing a book, you see. This gives me somewhere to live and a bit of money until I make my first million.”
“Oh.” It was difficult to tell whether or not Eddie was serious.
“I’ll see you later then. Give me a hoi if you want anything.” He waved as he turned away.
Alone outside the door, Melanie found herself reluctant to go inside. She was anxious, unsettled, and despite his sudden disappearance, she had the very uneasy feeling that her adventure with the Raven was far from over.
Nathaniel had climbed over a stock gate farther down the garden wall. He’d enjoyed listening to Melanie calling for him and letting her think he could vanish at will. As soon as they were back in her own time, she’d begun to get far too bossy, and he wanted to regain some of the upper hand. He’d every intention of rejoining her inside the grounds, but a man had come up to her, and they’d begun to talk. So Nathaniel had taken himself off, an intruder in his own home.
Now he wandered disconsolately through the park, kicking at fallen branches and piles of rotting undergrowth. It was a mess, and he was frustrated that everything he had loved and valued had come to this. Surely there was an easier way to change history than persuading Melanie Jones to help him?
“No, there isn’t. It’s the only way.”
The voice came from above him. Nathaniel halted and looked up cautiously. A large eagle sat on the branch of a tree, gazing down at him with strange blue predatory eyes above a curved yellow beak.
“Your Majesty?”
The bird flapped its wings, and there was a flash of red. “You tricked her into letting you through the stone, my Raven. That wasn’t very fair. She’s not a fool, you know. She’ll be wary of you next time you ask for her help.”
“I had no choice. I don’t have enough time for subtleties, as you well know. Besides, I knew I could bring her around later.”
“I hope so, for your sake.”
There was silence; the park had gone quiet. Maybe the queen had that effect on all creatures, great and small.
“Is all of this my fault?” he asked, and she seemed to understand that he meant the extinction of his family name as well as the deterioration of Ravenswood.
“Everything that happens is linked,” the eagle said.
“You said that Melanie will help me understand my enemy and defeat him,” Nathaniel reminded her. “When we were watching the dancing, Pengorren knew she was there. He sensed her. How could that be, Your Majesty?”
“So many questions!”
“I wouldn’t feel comfortable if I was bringing Melanie into danger.”
The eagle sighed. “Very commendable.”
“Not really, I am merely preserving my manhood. Melanie Jones seems well able to take care of herself, and if she knew I was using her as some sort of bait”—he glanced inquiringly at the eagle—“she would remove my balls.”
The bird chuckled in a most disturbing way. “What a pair you make, you as smooth as crème brûlée and she as prickly as a thistle.”
“Hmm, a French dessert and a Scottish weed. You see, we’re completely incompatible.” But he smiled. “I have an idea, Your Majesty. Perhaps you could find me another woman, one who isn’t quite as difficult to get along with.”
The eagle spread its wings. “Don’t try and cozen me, Nathaniel!” it shrieked. “Do as you are told or suffer the consequences.”
“But—”
“I must go. Remember this, you do not have long, Nathaniel. Don’t waste too much time being charming.”
“But, Your Majesty!” he shouted, as she flew away.
She was gone.
He was filled with unaccustomed gloom. Despite what he’d said to the queen, he didn’t believe Melanie was capable of saving herself from Pengorren. The last thing he wanted was someone else to rescue in the limited time he had to succeed. And what, pray, was her contribution to his redemption going to be? A good telling off? He might as well go back to the between-worlds right now and await his fate.
That’s right, Nathaniel, you’d like to give up and die, that’s your way out, isn’t it, when things get tricky? Except that I need you. You’re my pathway to a new life.
Startled, he turned around, but there was nothing and no one, only the dappled shadows thrown by the trees. The voice was inside his head, a memory from those confused and pain-ridden days in Spain after he was wounded. Now it tri
ggered inside him a slow, angry longing for vengeance.
“You won’t get away with it,” Nathaniel told the voice. “Not this time. This time I’m going to stop you.”
Nine
Melanie had found antiseptic and tweezers in the antiquated bathroom. Now she stood by the mullioned windows in the big upstairs room, head bent over her throbbing palm, trying to decide on the best way to extract the splinter. It was deep, but it looked as if it was all in one piece. She leaned closer, adjusting her grip on the tweezers. If she could just get hold of the end and ease it—
“Can I help, Melanie?”
His voice directly behind her startled her so much that the tweezers jerked violently, driving the splinter farther into her flesh. “Ow!” She spun around, heart thumping wildly, furious that he’d crept up on her.
Nathaniel Raven, with his hazel eyes gleaming wickedly and his mouth quirked up into an equally wicked smile, stared at Melanie.
“My apologies,” he said politely. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” His gaze dropped to her hand. Before she could begin to tell him what she thought of him, he’d taken her palm in a gentle but firm grip. “How did this happen?” he asked, brushing one finger lightly over the injury.
She should stop him, but his presence, his touch paralyzed her. “The wooden gate into the garden,” she said, watching him closely.
He held her eyes a moment longer, and then returned to his examination.
“You are real then?” she blurted.
He gave a deep chuckle, lifting her hand to the light.
“Where did you go?” she asked, as much to distract herself from the unreality of the situation, and his warm touch, as because she wanted an answer.
“There’s another way into the grounds, a little farther along the wall—a gate for livestock. I went that way. I would have told you where I was going, but you were too busy talking to yourself. Then I saw you with a man.” He raised a dark eyebrow, waiting.
“That was Eddie,” she said. Her faculties seemed to be returning to normal—at least her heart had stopped racing—although with him standing so close it was difficult to breathe evenly. Ridiculous schoolgirl stuff. She’d have to get control of it before he noticed, if he hadn’t already. “Eddie’s the caretaker.”
Immortal Warriors 02 - Secrets of the Highwayman Page 6