"Perhaps. And no. There are a few things I need to know, before I make up my mind and this is the only chance I have to see him alone."
Eventually he agreed to let her wait in one of the small private rooms, although he warned her, "Hale won't like this. He's very much against women being allowed into clubs like Deverell's."
She sighed. "And you wonder why I hesitate to accept his invitation to Greyledge? Even if mama is blind to everything but her own needs, you must see why he and I are totally unsuited."
Ransom ought to understand her more than anyone, she thought. As children they had survived their parents’ tumultuous marriage together, and as young adults they had endured the infamy of that divorce. They both knew, therefore, the far-reaching disaster that could occur when the wrong two people became connected, even briefly. Ransom was just as averse to marriage as she was.
But she was getting ahead of herself. Hale had not proposed, nor made any suggestion that courtship was on his mind. The few times he'd touched her may have been incidental, even if it felt as if the world stopped when it happened. His lips brushing her cheek could have been an unfortunate miscalculation of distance and space in the moonlight. And he escaped in haste immediately after, so perhaps he was embarrassed by it.
She had clearly heard the man say he was not looking for a wife.
Yet he followed her about and the way his eyes scoured her was not disinterested. His fierce regard was a wildfire, leaving scorched earth in its wake.
Argh! It was most infuriating that she could not ascertain his motive.
The man showed very little of his thoughts and feelings, and that was quite the opposite to her own family's habits. She suspected he wouldn't think it gentlemanly to have so much expression on his face, which made it all very difficult for her.
As her father always said, it was better to get these things into the open, and if there was something one wanted to know, one should ask.
* * * *
She was standing just inside the door, as if about to take flight. When he entered, she stepped back, her reticule clasped in both hands, looking unusually nervous.
What had she done now, he mused. It must be something very bad this time, since she actually looked guilty.
"Miss Deverell," he exclaimed. "What are you—"
"It was the only opportunity to meet with you alone, sir. And before you object, I came through the back entrance of the club and no one but my brother knows I'm here." She gave a half smile. "Your delicate sensibilities about the rules won't be affected too badly."
In fact, on this occasion he did not mind a broken rule. Not that he would tell her that.
He gestured for her to sit. "You must have something very important to talk about."
But she refused the chair and gripped her purse tighter. "I wanted to apologize, sir, for those things I said when we danced. About death and women being safe in graves." She lowered her lashes, studying the floor between them. "It was a terrible thing to say."
Hale scratched his brow, confused. "That's what you came to see me about?"
"Not only that." She looked up again, and he suffered a sharp pain under his ribs. He had never seen eyes so beguiling, so lushly framed by thick, black lashes. "You and I have only just met, sir," she said softly. "Do you think it wise to invite me to your house?"
Now he went from pain to amusement. "Why? Might you burn it down? Incite the household staff to rioting?"
She frowned. "Tell me why you invited me, sir. I must know."
"I see. You mean to ask my intentions yourself. I should have expected that from a woman who prides herself on being a rebel." Again he gestured for her to sit, and again she shook her head. He walked to the fireplace and stood there a moment, hands behind his back, staring at the flames. Finally he turned to look at her again, feeling as if he had retained his composure after the very pleasant shock of seeing her waiting there for him. "I thought it would be a good deed to invite you to Greyledge," he said.
Her lips parted; her frown deepened. "For me?" she exclaimed crossly. "Charity? I can assure you I don't need it."
Hale cleared his throat before a laugh might escape from it. "Not for you. For anyone else whose house you might have decided to visit. I will save them the consternation by inviting you to mine instead."
Slowly her frown cleared. "You're teasing me."
"Are you sure?"
She wrinkled her nose like a naughty child and walked around the room, swinging her reticule on a little black ribbon, clearly churning it all over in her mind. "Matthew Bourne claims that you are responsible for his brother's death somehow. Why would he say that? Did Douglas not die of a fever while he was abroad?"
He groaned softly. Of course he could not tell her the entire truth of how Douglas Bourne died. The madness and suicide was not his secret to tell, but he could let her know the extent of his involvement. So he said carefully, "Young Matthew does not want to believe the facts of his brother's death. He must blame somebody for what happened and so I have become his target."
"But why you?"
"I caught Douglas Bourne cheating at cards and privately warned him that it could not happen again. It did and so I called him out on it publicly. After that, several other instances of his dishonesty came to light and his family sent him abroad to escape the scandal. His brother, therefore, sees me as the catalyst for the unfortunate events that followed. Because I would not allow Douglas to break the rules and escape without consequences." He ran splayed fingers back through his hair. "Matthew has spent the last two years trying to get his vengeance upon me. It gives the boy a purpose, I suppose."
She was looking at him steadily, head tilted to one side, taking it all in. The coals in the grate crackled softly behind him and that was the only sound as they studied each other in the soft, flickering bronze light of fire and gas lamp.
"I'll have to believe you," she said finally with a little shrug. "You just have one of those damnably infuriating faces."
"Thank you," he muttered, bemused.
There followed a pause while they studied each other in the firelight. Hale realized this was the first time they'd been alone together. Truly alone. It was certainly not something of which his aunts would approve.
"When I saw you waiting here, Miss Deverell, I thought it meant you had decided upon your answer. That you'd come to tell me the good news." If she had decided to turn him down, she would surely send a note, not come in person.
He felt like a boy, he realized in some mortification; a boy with sweaty palms, standing in mute anxiety waiting to hear an examination result.
"Will you not join me to eat?" he added. "I am dining informally, as you see. No waiters or other diners to disturb us."
"Would that be proper?"
He couldn't answer that because he knew there was nothing proper about her being there and he should have told her to leave at once. It was the shock, he supposed, that stopped him from chasing the miscreant out. But he was lucky to get one sight of the beautiful menace in a day, let alone two encounters.
"Your lordship, at the Winstanley ball, you said quite firmly that you and I could never be friends."
That comment must have stuck in her mind. Surprised to find it bothered her to such a degree, Hale felt a smile tugging at his lips and he allowed it some freedom to stretch. Just a little. "That is indeed what I said."
"And now?"
He ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of his cheek, mentally weighing the danger. According to his aunts she was out to seduce him— a wager with her brother. But Hale was confident he could manage this. At Greyledge he would have the upper hand, but first he had to get her there.
Finally he said, "I am willing to try. You must show me how these things are done. I am quite at a loss as to how one would proceed with such a friendship."
"Don't you have friends?"
"Not young, unattached, attractive female friends. That would be most...unusual." That, of course, was what he mea
nt when he made the comment to her at the ball. But apparently she had heard it as an insult.
She was breathing fast, the polished jet buttons on her coat winking in the candlelight. Down swept those fluttering lashes. A little pink stained her cheeks. "You know my reputation, sir. Why would you—"
"Yes, I have heard all the stories, but as you said, some tales are exaggerated. I prefer to find out the truth for myself."
She had claimed not to need his approval— that, of course, was part of the Deverell image, the bravado— and yet, when he ran into her at the theatre, she took the time to let him know that his impression of her was inaccurate. That she was not all bad, whatever he'd heard. Why tell him that when she cared nothing for his, or anybody's, good opinion? Apparently he confused her.
Well, he knew that feeling only too well himself.
One moment she tried to avoid him, in the next she was pushing her way into his view again, just to question him, as no other woman would dare. As if she felt the same pull that he did, and she too tried, in vain, to fight against it.
He slowly walked up to her. "I mean to find out what the infamous Raven Deverell really feels and thinks and wants. What truly makes her smile, and whether anything ever makes her sorry. I want to know the genuine Raven Deverell, not the facade she shows to everybody else. That, madam, is why I invited you to Greyledge."
* * * *
Now at last she knew why she suffered this anxiety, like a knot tightening in her chest. He wanted too much from her and once embarked upon a path, he would not give up. Somehow she'd known the danger from that first dance, when he held her too tightly, too possessively.
He had looked into her eyes with that dark, searching gaze and sought to strip her bare, rattling away at her armor and the iron nails that sealed it.
"I have been accused of sitting high above you all and passing judgment without knowing the facts. So I will discover for myself," he said, "whether you are really as wicked as rumor tells." His head bent toward her, and she could barely breathe. "So you will come, won't you, and give me the chance to find out? It is only fair."
Raven's thoughts were scattered, almost deafened by the pounding of her heart. Most men were happy enough with what she gave them— the daring rebel who laughed and teased, the girl their parents warned them against. It was always lighthearted fun, never serious, never a commitment. If they ever wanted more and tried coming closer, she quickly set them aside and moved on.
But from the beginning she had been unable to set this man aside. He was immoveable, unshakable.
And in spite of the great value she placed on her independence, Raven could not help but be drawn to his quiet strength.
She took a deep breath and forged ahead. "Well...my mama is very excited at the prospect."
"And you wouldn't want to disappoint her."
She wound the ribbon of her reticule around one finger. "My mother could also benefit from some time away from her temptations here in town."
"Indeed. Her French gentleman." He raised his eyebrows in a disapproving manner. "At least he has not set his sights upon you."
She was amused by that idea. "Would you be jealous of poor old Monsieur Reynaux?"
He didn't answer, but suddenly looked rather bewildered. This expression was familiar to her now.
Raven set her reticule down. "If you have no objection, sir...there is something I must do." It had been killing her since she first saw him. Now, while he stood in speechless confusion, she raised her hands to his neck cloth and began to retie it in a more fashionable knot. "Your wardrobe is in dire need of some refreshment."
While amending someone's attire, she felt the soles of her feet get their balance on sturdier, more familiar ground.
* * * *
He had no idea what to do. In that moment he was at her mercy. Removing her hands from their meddling would require ungentlemanly force. And while her gaze was focused under his chin, the tip of her tongue peeping between her lips in concentration, he was once again struck by her unusual loveliness. Hers were not classical features that might be done justice in pastels, posed beside Grecian columns or portrayed reclining daintily on a couch with two well-behaved spaniels. No, her looks were better suited to an outdoor scene, with wild wind billowing through her loose hair, eyes ablaze with passion and full lips poised for a kiss. His imagination painted onward with broad strokes until he even saw tangled grass and flowering thistles pulling at her skirt, while a storm bruised the sky above her.
Fingers still working with his neck cloth, she said, "May I bring my friend to Greyledge?"
"Your friend?"
"Yes. As I told you, I did have some before you came along."
"Her name?" It had better be a female this time.
"Miss Mary Ashford. I tried to introduce you at Lady Faulkner's."
He thought for a moment. "Ashford...of Allacott Manor in Somersetshire?"
"Not any longer."
"Ah, yes..." He had heard about the old man selling his land to the railway in desperation after losing his sons in the Afghan war. A tragic business.
"She is perfectly respectable and a friend of which I am very proud. Even you could find nothing amiss with Mary."
"Will her presence not interfere with your wager?"
She frowned at his neck cloth. "I don't believe she rides horses."
Horses? What did they have to do with anything? He squinted down at her.
Catching his expression, she added, "You refer to the horse race, do you not? The one to which you challenged me earlier today when we met in the park?"
Ah, of course, he was not supposed to know about the wager she had with her brother.
"That's better," she murmured, making a last adjustment to the new knot she had tied under his chin. "A marked improvement, even if I say so myself."
Since he had nothing in which to study his reflection, he could not judge her handiwork and would have to trust her. It was an unusual sensation and he did not know yet how he felt about it.
"May I bring my friend then? She does not get out much, as you can imagine. It will be the highlight of her year."
He bowed his head. "You may. Should you decide to come."
Raven looked down at the fire for a moment and then back up at him. "Are you going to kiss me now?" she said abruptly.
Again he was reminded of her note. Will yew marry me? Yea or nay?
"Certainly not." But his gaze slid immediately to her lips. She was testing him, of course, seeing what she might get away with. Trying to shock. "That would be most improper, Miss Deverell."
"But I'm not proper. I'm a Deverell."
Yes, she was very proud of that, hence the frequent quoting of her father's sayings and beliefs. "I see you are determined to keep up the act."
She sighed. "I cannot be anything other than what I am and that may not be what you—"
He put his hands around her face and she was silenced. Slowly he lowered his lips another few inches and claimed her mouth in a leisurely, heavy, very warm kiss.
There, he mused, let her complain about that.
* * * *
She tasted port wine on his lips. Surely it was not enough to make her drunk, but she did feel giddy, the floor under her feet shifting again.
Finally she pulled away and he let her go, hands dropping to his sides.
His dark hair was a little less orderly than usual. A curl flopped to his temple and he did not move to sweep it back. Suddenly he looked more handsome than he had ever been. Each time she saw him, his looks improved.
"You're not going to think of falling in love with me, are you? That would be so dreadfully awkward."
He looked askance. "I will try not to."
"I was hoping a kiss would get that out of your thoughts. Should there be anything of that sort on your mind. I thought you would see that there is absolutely no likelihood of anything like that between us. Once we got that kiss over with."
"I see." He nodded solemnly. "Should th
ere be anything of that sort on my mind."
"Yes. Because it's terribly difficult to try and stop a man once he starts falling. It's very inconvenient."
"I... appreciate your concern, madam."
Raven looked at his lips and considered whether they ought to try another kiss. Just to be sure it was behind them and not a matter for potential unease in the future.
But then he said, quite calmly, "I wonder if you are brave enough, Miss Deverell, to come to Greyledge. I might uncover the real woman beneath the masquerade you've created." His eyes shone down at her, his lips softly bent in the trace of a smile, amused and challenging at the same time. "Perhaps you are all bold talk."
"I have nothing to fear," she replied, chin up, trying not to feel the imprint left by his determined kiss upon her mouth, although it felt as if her lips were swollen. "But perhaps you do, sir."
His left eyebrow arched arrogantly. "Me?"
"Because I shall accept your offer and come to Greyledge with my mama on Friday." She curtseyed and walked to the door. "May you not regret it."
"Why would I?"
She smiled. "I am not the only one, sir, who hides behind a mask. You do not like to show what you are thinking and feeling and so you wear a countenance of stony disinterest. It fooled me at first, but I begin to see through the little chinks in your armor. So if you mean to pry under my mask, be warned, I shall do the same to yours." And then, because she could not resist, Raven gave him another quick wink. "Wolf."
It was utterly improper and yet awfully appropriate for their situation.
Chapter Fifteen
It took three days to travel from London to Greyledge. Usually it took Hale half that time, for when alone he stopped fewer times to eat or sleep. With ladies in his carriage it was necessary to pause the trip more often and for longer lengths of time.
Lady Charlotte also came with several large trunks that had to be accommodated and she was most particular that they be well guarded at all times and remain undamaged on the journey. Her appetite was seldom satisfied at the inns along their route, for she had a wide range of dislikes and only a few, very particular likes. All of these things she expressed loudly. The woman's habitual discourtesy to those she considered inferior to herself was clearly humiliating to her daughter, as it was costly to Hale's pockets when he was obliged to add an apology to the bill.
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