If she could get him to go back to London, then she would tell Hale once it was done, and then he'd see she was capable of managing her own affairs. That she was not just a silly, pampered girl he would spend his life looking after and worrying about.
She wanted him to know she had strength beyond being stubborn. To have him be proud of her. Oh lord, she truly was in love with him. Her heart was very full and aching. As soon as she saw him again, she must tell him how she felt.
But now to handle Matthew and put this old business behind her.
"How did you travel here?" she asked.
"By mail coach."
"Then I can give you the fare to go back, if you—"
"I'm not going anywhere without you."
"Matthew, I am not leaving with you." She took a deep breath. "I am going to marry Sebastian Hale."
To her surprise he did not look up from the plate, but stuffed his mouth with bacon until grease ran down his chin. Then he muttered, "No, you won't. Reynaux will take care of him. If he has not already."
She frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Matthew wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve. "We knew Hale would follow you here. After all, he chases you wherever you go."
"What does Reynaux have to do with that?"
"Alphonse Reynaux has been waiting to get a clear target— to catch that man on his own— and now he will. Thanks to you, Hale finally came out of hiding."
* * * *
He took a short cut to the village, using a horse path through the forest. But he came to a halt when he spied a bundle of clothing that looked very much like a woman laid in the grass. He did not dismount but shouted to see if there was any movement. His voice echoed around the trees and then all was quiet again. It struck him suddenly, as eerily quiet.
Until the shot rang out, loud and clear.
Something hit him with such force that it pushed him sideways out of the saddle. Bowsprit reared up in alarm and the last thing he saw was the path of dewy moss hastening to meet his face. The last thing he smelled and tasted was blood.
And then there was silence again.
It felt as if he was falling and falling and falling, through a very deep rabbit hole into darkness.
* * * *
"I don't believe you. What does Reynaux have to do with anything? How do you know him in any case?" She felt her temper rising as Matthew sat there smugly, his lips shining with bacon grease.
"He knew my brother Douglas in Paris, and when he came to London two years ago, he sought me out. Asked if I could help him get to the Earl of Southerton, against whom he apparently has a very large axe to grind. Of course, Hale was living like a recluse until recently, much to Reynaux's frustration, and he had not been able to get a sight of him. Your father had banned Reynaux from Deverell's so he couldn't even meet the man there. I was happy to help."
She felt sick, her hands and feet turning numb as the room began to spin and the day's heat gathered.
"Reynaux missed the first time, and managed to hit a bloody ugly vase on the Faulkner's terrace instead. I must say, he's not the world's most efficient weapon of vengeance, but the French buffoon will be a wonderfully amusing pest to annoy the blazes out of Hale. He does persevere, despite his ill luck. Plucky little fellow and quite determined."
She stood, gripping the back of the chair with one hand. "You must be insane. I knew you could be reckless, Matthew Bourne, but I never thought you could be involved in anything like this." Now her mind ran over the events of last evening too— her mother's illness and Reynaux's failure to show the least concern. Was he somehow behind that too?
And then she remembered seeing her mother pick up the wrong glass at dinner. She had thought little of it— other than the rush of embarrassment it caused— but then she had not known there was anybody looking to harm her darling Wolf. The two incidents had not connected in her mind until now.
"If you have caused Hale to be hurt I will never forgive you. And I will see you both brought to justice."
"I'm not a murderer. I'm the son of a Marquess." He chuckled, wiping his plate with the hunk of bread. "I don't care what happens to Reynaux. He is nothing to me but a useful way to end Hale's reign of arrogance and finally get revenge for my brother."
"As far as that matter is concerned, Hale told me the entire story. Of Douglas being caught in some deception and fleeing abroad to hide from the accusations. The earl had nothing to do with your brother's death. All he did was try to right a wrong."
Matthew pushed his plate across the table and it fell to the stone floor with a clatter. "I daresay he told you my brother killed himself too, did he? He would have no scruple about perpetrating that filthy lie to further defame my brother's memory."
"About that he said nothing. He only told me the cause for your brother being abroad."
There was a scuffling in the doorway of the inn, and Raven looked over to see Mary with a pistol pressed to her cheek, her eyes wide with fear. With her, came Reynaux. The Frenchman was sweating and disheveled, out of breath, as he shoved Mary forward and followed her inside, still holding the muzzle of that weapon to her head.
"Any of you speak a word, Mesdames, and I'll send this one back to her maker," he grunted. His eyes held a gleam of vicious delight and something very much like...victory. The hand holding the gun trembled. "You, Mademoiselle Deverell, will go with Monsieur Bourne as he desires. There is nothing for you 'ere now."
"What have you done?" she demanded, fraught, heart racing.
He pushed the pistol further into poor Mary's cheek. "Le silence, sil vous plait," he hissed. "Your gallant fellow will not follow you now. He cannot 'elp you. Better you go with Monsieur Bourne, as I promised 'im you would once I was done 'ere."
The landlord, clearly would not intervene while that pistol was in view and it was too early in the morning for any other patrons in the tavern. The four of them were alone.
Terrified for her friend and for Hale— not knowing what had happened to him— Raven looked around frantically for something to use as a weapon of her own.
"You did it?" Matthew stared at the other man, his face turning puce. "You really did it?"
"Oh yes, this time I had the success most sweet. We can celebrate, eh?"
But Matthew tipped forward in his chair as if he might cast up his accounts and Raven guessed he had not really expected the "buffoon" to succeeded. Or perhaps he had not considered how the reality would feel.
"Come, Bourne, put up your 'ead! We must go before the alarm is raised and the dogs sent after us."
"I...I can't. Oh, Christ! No! What have we done?"
As the confused Reynaux momentarily turned his attention to Matthew, lowering his pistol, Raven grabbed the tankard from the table and threw it, hot cider, spices and all, into the Frenchman's face. She shoved him backward and yelled at Mary to run for help. Her friend did not hesitate, but flew over that doorstep.
Reynaux tumbled against the wall, cursing in French, the gun going off into his own foot and then at Raven, but missing. She did not care. In that moment she would have given her life if it could save Hale. But she feared she was too late for that. Grabbing her chair, Raven held it aloft and stepped forward, meaning to bring it down over the villain's head, but she slipped on the spilled cider and went down hard, cracking her head on the flagged stone floor.
Chapter Twenty-Four
He opened his eyes and saw Miss Mary Ashford's bonnet. What was she doing in the rabbit hole with him?
Then there was Wilson, the gamekeeper, staring down at him with his sun-browned, wrinkled, anxious face.
Whiskey. Yes, whiskey would help.
Where was Raven? He must find her—climb back up the hole to fresh air. He scrambled, dirt under his fingers, but his feet just kept slipping.
With the need to get to Raven pushing him hard, he made a fierce thrust for the surface, but a searing flame tore through him, seized his body in a ruthless grip and he closed his eyes. He heard a scream. A
deep, wrenching, gut-ripping scream. And he knew it was his own.
* * * *
The sun shone softly into the room and a good breeze made the curtains shiver, the gold tassels that tied them back, twisting and dancing.
It was quiet, peaceful, the air filled with the fragrance of roses, carried up from the garden below.
That patch of sun would fade the pattern on the carpet, he thought drowsily.
Aunt Evelyn's face moved into view, smiling through a wisp of steam from her teacup. The lace cap that framed her face was very delicate, like the petals of a flower. He'd never noticed before how pretty it was, how intricate the work that went into it.
"Ah! You are awake. You look much better today, dear boy. I am so glad. The worst is over."
He tried to smile but could not be sure if it worked. His face was numb.
"Would you like some tea?" she asked. "A little sweet tea?"
Slowly he shook his head. Ah, that movement hurt. But the worst pain was in his side, his ribs.
"The doctor is very impressed, but he says we must make sure you don't rush to get up. You must let us look after you."
He heard the gentle chink of china as she set her cup back in its saucer.
"Where is she?" he managed, breathing hard.
"Hmm?" She blinked. "Lady Jane Newcombe is cutting flowers for your room. Such a lovely girl and so helpful at this difficult time."
"But...where is—"
"Lady Charlotte remains in her bed." Her cap twitched irritably. "Serena says she is a malingerer, making the most of her brief illness to remain here long after she should have gone back to London. But as long as she stays in the bed she is no trouble to us. And that little Miss Ashford sits with her most evenings. I believe they play cards or she reads to Lady Charlotte."
He tried to swallow but it felt sore, as if a bramble scratched at his throat.
"You will be pleased to know the sergeant apprehended that dreadful Frenchman and he is being held in custody until the Assizes. He will hang for shooting at you, that much is for sure. Despicable fellow. They found the swine at the inn in the village. The landlord kept him there until the sergeant arrived."
"Reynaux," he groaned.
"Yes. He claims you were behind some railway scheme in which he once lost a small fortune. So he says he shot at you to revenge his honor, or some such nonsense."
Hale pressed his head back into the pillow as another spasm of pain seized his ribs. When it finally passed, he breathed deeply. "Where is Raven?"
"Miss Deverell? Why, she ran off back to London with that young Matthew Bourne, of course. Serena says it was inevitable and you should have known better."
* * * *
The days passed slowly. He was able to sit up and eat, which helped regain strength. The doctor came to check on his wound and explained how the bullet had hit him in the side, but narrowly missed any important organs.
"There was a great deal of blood," he told Hale, "so your assailant thought you were dead. He was shocked to hear that you still lived. Fortunately you're physically in very good form, your lordship, and you have a very strong spirit which kept your heart pumping despite the shock, and your body healing despite the wound. I must say, I've never seen a man's body fight off infection with such determination."
And he knew he fought because he wanted to see Raven again. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her.
The only news of anything beyond his room came from his aunts, who nursed him when the doctor was not there. None of the other ladies, of course, could be admitted while he was in this state. It would not be proper. So he could not receive a visit from Miss Mary Ashford, or hear her opinion on anything that had happened, even though he knew she was the most sensible of all the women currently left in his house.
While confined to his bed, he had a great suspicion that things were being kept from him. Not for a moment did he believe that Raven had gone off to London with Bourne. Certainly not willingly.
"See what happens, Sebastian, when you consort with the wrong people," his Aunt Serena had remarked briskly, when she sat with him one evening and looked up from her knitting to catch him wincing and sweating from the pain of his gunshot wound.
There would be no help from that quarter if he wanted to find Raven.
But the aunts had no choice when it came to letting the doctor see him. That was his key to the outside world.
Through the doctor he managed to get a message to Miss Ashford and received her reply very soon after, confirming that Raven had not been seen since the day Hale was shot and the landlord at the inn would only say that she had gone with a fellow to London. Mary was sure her friend had not gone willingly, but she did not know what to do. Lady Charlotte still considered herself too sick to be moved from Greyledge and continued enjoying the luxury of her rooms in the south wing. In that lady's opinion, her ungrateful, rebellious daughter must simply have decided to return to London with her old "friend".
Apparently, his aunts refused to believe Mary's version of events, but much to his relief, he learned that she had taken the wise step of writing to Ransom Deverell, letting him know his sister was in trouble.
Hale thought of what he could do from his bed. The frustration was keen and sharp, making him ever more eager to get up and return to full health again.
* * * *
Raven found herself back in London. A prisoner at Redvers House.
Matthew, clearly losing some of his last shreds of sanity, seemed to think they could forget what had happened and he acted as if she now belonged to him. For a while she wondered if that bang to her head had completely muddled her brain, but it did not take long to learn what had happened.
While she lay unconscious on the floor of the Greyledge Inn, the Marquess of Redvers had arrived there to find his son. Seeing Matthew with a bloodied young woman and fearing an even greater scandal, the nobleman had sought to cover up the incident, paying the innkeeper to hold his tongue and then spiriting both his son and Raven back to London.
By then, the Marquess and his wife were vastly relieved to have their only surviving son back again in one piece. With a broken engagement behind them, they hoped to smooth over the cracks and put on an unblemished face, no matter what they must do to achieve that. If it meant accepting Raven Deverell at the risk of otherwise losing Matthew, they were prepared to stifle their doubts and fears— at least for the time being. They would do anything to make him content, as long as he stayed and did not run off again.
Matthew made the most of this power he now had over them. He told his parents that he and Raven must be married, because they had been alone together at the inn.
Meanwhile, she was not allowed outside the house. The scar on her brow was all that remained of the incident at the inn and she felt healthy, but Matthew insisted she was not well and needed constant watching.
He assured her that Hale was dead, but she had no other proof of that. She saw no newspapers and the household staff must have been warned not to speak to the unexpected guest.
The walls of the house closed in upon her. There was always a footman at the door, waiting to halt her progress, a maid to fuss if she left her room. No letter she wrote would find its way outside those walls.
Matthew would not talk of Reynaux and his connection to the murderous Frenchman. In his mind he could pretend it never happened, as if he had no part in it.
Raven, lost in grief and yet uncertain until she had proof, did not know how many days had passed until she finally saw a newspaper and, horrified, realized it was a week since she and Mary left Greyledge to ride into the village.
"Matthew, you must know that this can't go on." She swept into his dressing room, the newspaper in one hand. "People will come to find me, and the truth will out. Someone will surely realize I am here. I am not going to marry you."
"Yes, you will. My father will procure a special license, so we do not need to wait the three weeks. He will do anything I want to keep me here now."
>
Tossing the paper to a nearby chaise, she stared at him. "A marriage to me will never happen, Matthew. You are living in a dream world. As we speak, your parents are trying to think of some way to make this— and me— go away. Your father probably only agreed to me being here because he was afraid I might be badly injured and that would get you into an even greater bind. I'm sure that when he saw me on the floor, bleeding from the head, he was horrified. He knows what my father would do to you if I was mortally wounded in your company."
"What is amiss?" He laughed easily, arms out, shoulders shrugging. "You were not hurt. It is only a scratch and soon it will be invisible."
She took a deep breath. "You never did care about my safety. You only ever think about yourself and what you need. You used me as bait."
"Don't be so dramatic. I always thought you should have been on the stage."
"But is that not what you did, Matthew? You knew Hale was following me in London and so you advised Reynaux of where he might find his target. Then he found my mother and renewed their long-past friendship."
"Hale deserved everything he got."
With supreme effort she held her temper and her tears. "I suspect you began to regret what you had done when you saw that I was falling in love with Hale."
"Love? How could you love him? A man like that? Not with your ice cold heart."
She bit her lip, a great overwhelming sadness welling up inside her.
"That, my dear Raven, is what makes us perfect for each other. You're the same as me. We neither of us feel too much, too deeply. We laugh together and nothing ever matters."
"Perhaps I used to think that way. But it does matter, Matthew. Sooner or later you have to grow up and face your consequences, amend your mistakes. Pretending the bad things did not happen will not erase the past."
Chasing Raven Page 23