Deborah Simmons

by The Last Rogue

  The knowledge that only he would uncover her made Raleigh fumble uncharacteristically, and he paused a moment to rein in his burgeoning desires. He glanced at her reflection, wondering if she would call a halt, but after a low squeak of protest, she let him slip off the spectacles and set them down on the dark polished surface of the table.

  “Can you see anything?” he whispered, and then bit back a laugh as she squinted at the mirror.

  “I see a plain girl without spectacles,” she replied. “Oh, it’s no use, Raleigh!” she exclaimed, trying to turn in his grasp. “Nothing can change the fact of what I am. I am not Charlotte, and I never will be!”

  Her sudden vehemence surprised him, as did the reference to Wycliffe’s wife. Not only were the sisters seemingly close, but Jane had never exhibited the slightest interest in imitating her sibling. However, this was not the first time since their marriage that she had compared herself to the woman who was once crowned a “goddess” by the ton.

  Raleigh drew in a slow breath, knowing that he must tread carefully. “I should certainly hope not. One Charlotte is enough for the world,” he said lightly. “You have your own beauty, which is as compelling as hers when you allow people see it.”

  Ignoring her disbelieving frown, Raleigh reached for her braid and very slowly began to loosen it. His fingers were shaking again, and he smiled ruefully, for a simple task became something entirely different with prim, untouchable Jane. Despite himself, Raleigh felt himself grow hard at the very thought of letting her hair down, of seeing it free for the first time. It was sleek and darkly golden in the lamplight, and he took his time, savoring every silky strand. Lud, who would have thought that anything about Jane could be so smooth!

  The low pulse of desire became more urgent, a hunger that ached to be assuaged, and Raleigh sucked in a sharp breath as his knuckles brushed the nape of her neck. He wanted to put his mouth there, instead, and he struggled to hold himself in check. Lud, he could not remember ever denying himself, and the effort seemed to heighten every sensation until it was sharp and honed.

  Shuddering, Raleigh focused his attention on not bumbling like a clod, and finally her locks flowed freely down her back, falling in a shimmer of gleaming strands to her hips. Oh, Jane, why would you hide such bounty? He glanced to the mirror once more, startled to see her unhappy frown.

  “See! It’s flat,” she complained, though her voice seemed to have shifted an octave higher and a flush marked her cheeks.

  Raleigh shook his head. “It is not curly, like Charlotte’s, but as rich and elegant as satin.” He ran a hand down the length of it, but when his palm grazed the curve of her derriere he felt like a man stretched upon the rack. This little demonstration for Jane was rapidly becoming more intense than the most heated of his sexual encounters, for every part of him from his brain down to his toes was aroused beyond endurance.

  Wrenching his gaze back to the mirror, Raleigh concentrated on eliminating all of her doubts. “Your hair is delightful, Jane. Your skin is flawless, your eyes exotic, like some rare flora from an island paradise. You are too busy comparing oranges to apples to see that you are comely in your own right.”

  Her reflection blinked at him, unconvinced, and Raleigh sighed. “Let me ask you this,” he said, trying a new tack. “Have you ever seen the sun rise on a warm summer morn?”

  At the question, Jane gave him one of her familiar looks of exasperation, and he bit back a grin. “Yes,” she admitted, a bit sourly.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Her reply was wary, as if she suspected him of some trickery, and Raleigh wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away all her fears. Instead, he continued his efforts at enlightenment, for he knew that he could never really see Jane until she saw herself.

  “And of a summer’s evening, have you ever walked in your garden, while the stars twinkled above and the scents rose all around you?” He rested his hands on her shoulders to gently keep her facing the mirror.

  “Y-yes,” she answered on a shaky note.

  “They are both lovely, but as different as night and day, and so are you and Charlotte. She’s like the sunshine, but you,” Raleigh said, leaning close to her ear, “are like the night. Darker, deeper, sparkling with hidden joys, steady, yet inviting—”

  Jane cut him off with a sniff. “Nonsense!”

  Taking a deep breath near her hair, fragrant from her bath, Raleigh straightened. “As for the rest of you…you have a woman’s body, Jane, slender yet soft and curved.”

  As if to demonstrate, Raleigh slid his palms from her shoulders and very slowly, moved them lower, over the prim white nightrail that covered her to her throat. But even through the material, he could feel the heat of her, buried away, waiting to be discovered…

  Gently, he slipped his fingers inside the dressing gown and down, over her breasts. She gasped and jerked away, but he pulled her back against him. Through the thin material he caressed her, softly at first, then more boldly, until he felt her nipples harden beneath his fingers.

  She sagged against him, and Raleigh wanted to part her dressing gown, to touch her—all of her—there in front of the mirror where he could watch her transformation from the prim young lady she showed the world into the passionate woman he had discovered. Aroused, hot, eager…virginal. Raleigh groaned as the reminder arose, unbidden, in his mind.

  Jane was innocent and unsure, both of herself and of the husband who had been so suddenly thrust upon her. How could he do her this disservice? Sliding one hand lower to settle upon her belly, Raleigh heard her soft squeak of surprise and delight. He had not intended to seduce her, but she was enjoying herself. Surely, pleasure between them could not be cause for regret?

  Torn between his raging desires and the sense of honor that he rarely was forced to recognize, Raleigh was at a loss, but the decision was taken from his hands when a loud crash echoed behind them. Naturally, he was too frustrated to appreciate the timely interruption.

  “Lud, I knew it! Now what?” he cried as wind gusted through the room, extinguishing the lamp. “That demned bugger Cornelius is wreaking havoc upon my marriage!” he exclaimed, suppressing an urge to shake his fist at the ceiling. Releasing Jane, he turned, blinking in the darkness. Only a sliver of light entered from the adjoining room, but it was enough to see that one of the tall windows had shattered, scattering shards of glass over the parquet floor. What the devil? The rain had stopped, and he did not think lightning could have caused such a blow.

  “I thought we agreed that there was no ghost,” Jane squeaked from behind him.

  “As you say,” Raleigh muttered. “Whatever it is, it has demned poor timing. Stay here,” he said, pushing Jane down into a chair. He wished now that she had not torn down all the old draperies, for he felt exposed, even here on the far side of the room.

  “Your feet!” Jane said in a breathless voice from behind him. “Don’t walk on the glass! I’ll get your boots.”

  “No! Stay where you are,” Raleigh said, more harshly than he intended. He did not want Jane wandering off in this madhouse. All the senses that had been aroused by his wife were now sharply focused upon protecting her. Although the window could easily have been broken by a falling branch, Raleigh did not want to take any chances. Too many strange things had been happening at Craven Hall to trust this latest incident to nature.

  As he gingerly picked his way forward, Raleigh’s suspicions were soon confirmed. Sitting a short distance from the window was a large object that looked like a rock. Moving closer, he saw that it was tied with string.

  “What is it?” Jane asked from behind him.

  Kneeling, Raleigh carefully reached for it. Hefting it in one hand, he rose to his feet and walked back to Jane. “It appears to be something heavy wrapped in paper. Let’s take a look.” Motioning for her to follow, Raleigh slipped into his room, but once inside he pulled his wife into a corner, away from the windows. There he untied the knot and spread out a damp piece of fool
scap.

  “There’s writing on it!” Jane said. “Perhaps it is a message.”

  “Or a warning,” Raleigh said dryly. “But I thought such curses were always discovered on an ancient scroll.” When Jane eyed him blankly, he lifted his brows. “The gothics, Jane,” he reminded her. “We’re living them. I vow that the Ravenscars will never believe it.”

  Indeed, although Sebastian and Prudence would probably be green with envy, Raleigh’s own brief amusement with the charade was coming to an end. The stone was large and lethal-looking and could well have struck Jane or left her showered with broken glass, if she had been any nearer the windows. His stomach twisted fiercely.

  “Well? What does it say?” she prompted, and Raleigh glanced up from his musing to see his wife, spectacles in place and apparently unafraid, leaning close. With a sigh, he smoothed out the wrinkled paper.

  “Persew not yer quest. Leave Craven Hall at once!” Jane read aloud. “Oh, my, you were right. It is a warning!”

  “And a poor one, at that,” Raleigh said wryly. “I don’t know about the novels that you have read, Jane, but in the ones with which I am familiar the supernatural threats do not arrive through the window tied to a stone and riddled with misspellings.”

  “Perhaps our haunt is becoming more creative,” Jane suggested with a thoughtful frown.

  Despite her seeming calm, Raleigh found himself growing alarmed. He was not sure what this new prank signified, but he could guess. Since none of the earlier tricks had succeeded in emptying Craven Hall, whoever was behind them was going beyond there frights into the realm of the dangerous, and he was struck with a sudden, sharp anxiety that had never touched his careless existence before.

  “No, Jane, I doubt our prankster is imaginative or he would not steal from others’ prose,” Raleigh muttered. “But, unfortunately, I do believe he is becoming more desperate.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Staring down at the odd message, Jane felt a growing anger toward whoever was trying to make them leave Craven Hall. How dare they interfere? How dare they taint the one place where she felt oddly at home, where she felt in command, useful, contented…desirable?

  The last thought made Jane flush as memories of Raleigh’s soft words and gentle caresses returned to haunt her more vividly than any ghost. For a long moment, she stood there trembling with yearning and embarrassment, caught up in both disbelief and a daunting urge to trust him, when she suddenly realized that the object of her musings was no longer beside her.

  Glancing around, she was horrified to find him stepping into his breeches—right in front of her! Choking, she blinked and turned toward the wall. “Wh-what are you doing?” she sputtered.

  “I’m going out to have a look around.”

  Jane whirled about, oblivious to his half-dressed state as he shrugged out of his banyan. “No, you are not!” He paused to eye her in surprise, and she put her hands on her hips. “First you tell me this person is desperate and then you want to trot outside in the darkness to look for him? I don’t think so.”

  When he seemed about to argue, Jane frantically searched for another way to dissuade him. Briefly, she considered throwing herself into his arms, but she did not trust whatever attraction Raleigh claimed to feel was sufficient to distract him. She might embarrass herself further—or she could end up in bed with him. Blushing hotly, Jane was not certain whether that would be worse…or better.

  “There is bound to be a lot of mud out there after the rain,” Jane said, seizing upon what would surely sway him. “You will ruin your boots and your clothes, besides!”

  For a moment he gazed at her as if she were quite mad, and then he grinned. “Worried that I won’t look my best, love?”

  Ignoring the taunt, Jane racked her brain for another excuse to hold him, for she definitely was not going to let him rush outside. Whoever had thrown the rock might well be out there, armed with another or worse, and Raleigh, a pampered nobleman, was not the sort who should be confronting miscreants. Jane shivered at the thought of him being hurt.

  “And just what am I to do?” she asked. “I refuse to slog through puddles in the dead of night, and I’m not going to wait up here alone, either.”

  That stopped him. He gave her an assessing look before sighing in resignation. “You’re right, of course. It’s just demned frustrating waiting around like a sitting duck for our gothic-loving friend to strike!” Reaching for the fall of his breeches, he began to unbutton them until a squeak of protest from Jane halted his fingers.

  “What’s that?” he asked, glancing up in surprise. Seeing what surely must be shock in her expression, he grinned wickedly. “Ah, modesty. Very well. But first, let’s shut things up nice and tight.” He walked across the room and before Jane guessed what he was about, he had closed the connecting door.

  “Oh, no!” Jane cried. Although just the sight of his bare chest was enough to rouse all of her furtive yearnings, she was too unsure of everything to simply fall back into his arms. “My b-bedroom!” she sputtered.

  “You’re staying here tonight, love,” he said, turning to fix her with an intent gaze that made her insides jump alarmingly. It felt familiar somehow, as if he had had the strings to her heart in his keeping for a long time now, though she had not let him play the puppeteer for years.

  “Raleigh!” she protested, pushing aside such nonsensical notions in order to think. He was already shoving a heavy mahogany cupboard in front of the mural, effectively cutting off her exit.

  “You’ll have to make do in my bed,” he said, his husky voice robbing her of her breath.

  “Oh, no!” Jane murmured, panicked.

  At her soft cry, he turned and surveyed her, his expression rueful. “Don’t fret, love. I won’t pounce on you.” But even as he spoke, he stepped toward the other wall to secure the outer door.

  Her pulse racing wildly, Jane was filled with both trepidation and excitement. “B-but—” she stuttered only to turn in surprise when he walked past her into the dressing room. Startled, she followed him, gaping when he pushed a once-elegant couch bed toward the opening.

  “You’ll scratch the floor!” she said, rushing to help him. The thing was heavier than lead, and Jane blinked in amazement as Raleigh hefted one end with apparent ease. But she had felt those muscles herself, and she knew he must possess the strength that went with them. Strong, yet gentle, she mused, her insides running riot at the knowledge.

  How had Raleigh suddenly gained this power over her? Jane made a soft sound of dismay, for she knew the answer. With sweet words and touches that left her giddy and gasping, with warm eyes that teased and a careless confidence that soothed the senses, her husband had worked his magic upon her.

  “Jane, put this down before you hurt yourself,” he said, but there was laughter in his voice. Never a scold. Never a frown from Raleigh. Dearest Deverell. His name came to mind, eloquent and inviting, and Jane wanted to whisper it. Instead, she dropped the dark piece of furniture and retreated to the comparative safety of the bed, too cowardly to pursue her furtive desires.

  “Good night, then,” she mumbled as she slipped between the sheets. Although she turned over so as to block out the sight of him, Jane could hear the rustle of clothing being removed and imagined the slow slide of silk over that golden skin. With a muffled groan, she buried her face in the pillow, but the linens held his scent, and she closed her eyes upon a deep breath, wanting to weep, for the man seemed to have invaded her every pore.

  Although exhausted from the emotional upheavals of the day, Jane could not relax, bedeviled as she was by rain and blood and strange discoveries, not the least of which was the woman inside herself—a woman who wanted to be kissed, who wanted to believe Raleigh when he called her lovely. Deverell. When had he become so very beautiful?

  As her tension uncoiled, memories played before her of her husband here at Craven Hall, at his ancestral home, and at the Great House. Raleigh, before the wedding, handsome despite his wan countenance, an
d before, a warm body in her bed, his presence shocking and yet…

  Then the images grew more hazy as she saw him through a child’s eyes, elegant, charming and clothed in the finest of fabrics, his light brown hair perfectly arranged, thick and gleaming in a manner her dull locks could never be. Perfect in every way from his mocking blue gaze to the mobile mouth that nearly blinded her with smiles, Raleigh had seemed as bright and beautiful as the sun. And just as untouchable.

  With a gasp, Jane opened her eyes, startled by the vivid recollection and the pain that accompanied it. She had always despised Raleigh, hadn’t she? Surely she had never developed a tendre for him? Yet, try as she might to refute it, the knowledge flowed through her, as if the events of the day had unleashed a torrent of feelings, long buried.

  She had been all of fourteen when the handsome viscount made his first appearance at Casterleigh, and in a stunning, aching revelation, Jane knew that she had lost her heart to him even then. But he had never noticed Charlotte’s plain little sister, and so she told herself that he was not worth her attention. Just as her envy of Charlotte had set her to opposing extremes of manner and dress, so her admiration for Raleigh had forced her to disdain him.

  No, that wasn’t quite right, Jane admitted. No one had forced her. She always had a choice, and she had chosen to react instead of act. She had let the opinions of others shape her very self until she wasn’t sure who the real Jane was or if she even existed anymore.

  She exists. Jane heard the small voice of the girl in the mirror. No longer the plain, bespectacled sibling, she had grown into something else and glowed with the reflection of Raleigh’s approval. At last, the man who held her heart in his keeping had not only noticed her, but he claimed to want her. Now what was she to do about it?

  Jane awoke at a knock on the door and sat up sleepily to see Antoine bustling into the room, chattering a greeting. Starting in surprise, presumably at the sight of her blinking at him from Raleigh’s bed, he backed out of the room, tendering apologies. Jane waited only a few minutes before following him, resolutely ignoring the couch where Raleigh stirred with languid grace.