“I couldn't, Dante.” She mumbled uneasily, her hands falling to her side. A dark and foreboding frown creased his smooth brow.
“Why not?”
“I couldn't.” Kate managed, refusing to look at him. “I haven't a thing to wear.”
“The age-old excuse of a woman, easily remedied.” He supplied smoothly. “I do believe the de rigueur is the usual blue jeans.”
“I can't mingle with your friends.”
“My friends?” Dante issued a deep-throated laugh. “These are the simply horrid friends of Anne's, who will be in attendance. I would appreciate not being the only adult at the function.”
“My friends aren't horrid, Papa.” Anne chastised with a gasp of outrage. “In any case, I invited some of the older crowd.”
“I can't go.” Kate paused, uncertain how she could communicate her actual reasoning to the duo.
“You can't dance?” He posed the question in the easiest of tones.
“No.” Kate's chin shot up defiantly at the mumbled admission, daring him to laugh.
“You can't dance.” Anne repeated in wonder, as if Kate had perpetrated the grandest blunder of the decade. “Where have you been?”
“I was helping my mother raise my brother.” Kate countered.
“Didn't you have any fun?” Anne pried, undaunted.
“It was a waste of time.” Kate supplied earnestly before she continued. “My mother worked two jobs. I had to be home for Adam, to help with his homework and have supper on the table.”
“I wouldn't precisely call the gyrations you perform dancing, Anne.” Dante soothed, folding his arms across his chest. He was smiling, but the expression was tight. “What I conceive as dancing, you deem passé.”
Anne knew she was being chastised for her rudeness. She had developed closeness with Kate her father hadn’t achieved, but knew he desired. Unfortunately, he was mired in the mechanisms of the company. She pursed her lips, deep in thought before her face cleared, and a brilliant idea struck her.
“You need a break from work, Papa. You're becoming a boor.” She proclaimed with mock innocence, fluttering her long lashes. “Why don't you teach Kate the steps of those stuffy dances you enjoy?”
Dante gave his daughter a damning glare before turning his attention to Kate, his stance rigid. Nervously, she chewed at her bottom lip, uncertain.
“Well?” Anne questioned with her usual impatience, ignoring the low growl rumbling in her father's throat as she turned to the seated woman.
“If Kate wishes to be my student, I would be delighted.” He conceded, effectively tossing down the proverbial gauntlet.
“You have guts.” Kate choked, shaking her head. “I'm guaranteed to step on your toes.”
“Oh, trust me, he won't mind.” Anne laughed aloud, as if she had access to a private joke. The girl moved across the room, humming, before she paused before a state-of-the-art stereo system. Swiftly, she thumbed through a stack of CDs. “It's nice to see your taste in music has improved, Papa.”
“Anne.”
“At one time, Kate, my father had the most awe-inspiring appreciation of music.” Anne continued, ignoring her father's warning and pulling a shimmering disc from the case. She inserted the disc into the stereo and adjusted the sound level, immediately filling the room with the soft strains of a recently released ballad.
“Really?” Kate urged, instantly piqued by the girl's comment, her gaze reverting to Dante's grim visage. “What was his taste?”
“Heavy metal, hard rock and the likes,” Anne provided with mock innocence. She turned to the pair and glided across the room, pausing to twirl elegantly on the tips of her toes. “My grandfather and he would have rows about the music and the way he dressed.”
Kate's brows rose, her gaze turning to her impeccably dressed employer. “Go on.”
“My father was always in torn jeans, some openly rebellious rock icon tee shirt, and scuffed work boots.” She supplied, swaying to the music. “I remember his hair was far longer and he rarely shaved.”
Kate's bewildered gaze swept over to her employer. Despite the late hour of the evening, his jacket and tie tossed aside and his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, he exuded unspoken elegance. Aware of her perusal, Dante afforded her a suspiciously mortified shrug.
“I was a rebellious youth.” He supplied as an explanatory excuse.
“The understatement of the century,” Anne quipped, sashaying to the opened doorway. “Grandfather would tell Papa about his conspicuous lack of self-worth and his duty to remember he was a Ravensmoor.” Her eyes rolled dramatically before she continued. “The shouting matches were horrible! I think they were striving to see who could be the loudest.” She paused, turning to wink at her father. “Grandfather always won.”
“He was my father and, on reflection, correct in his disapproval.”
“As if that prevented you from tormenting him,” Anne's unladylike snort amazed Kate as she left the room. Her trilling voice echoed behind her, causing Kate to blink in amazement. “You must ask my strait laced father to show you his numerous body piercing.”
Chapter Eleven
“Dante?”
“I was young.”
“Numerous?”
He reached for the empty glass on the desktop and poured a fortifying drink. Placing the decanter aside, Dante lifted the glass to the light, inspecting the amber liquid before he took of a long swallow.
“To that extent?”
His nostril flared and he released a slow breath. His lips twisted and the familiar dimple appeared. His attention remained fastened to the yellow gold liquid lingering in the glass.
“I was defiant.” Dante admitted with sincere reluctance.
“From what Anne said, you were more than that.” Kate responded cryptically, recalling Jamison's comment.
He's not as he was as a lad.
“Anne was a youngster at the time.” He mused aloud. “I'm stunned she remembers.”
“You shouldn't be.” Kate quipped and he nodded, shutting his eyes.
“You surprise me.” He shrugged. “Is it unimaginable?”
“I would never guess the great Ravensmoor, noted local historian and major automobile manufacturer, was a….Oh, what's the word you use here? Hellion?”
“I was the bane of my father's existence,” he allowed, his features grimly set. “For some reason, it was my exclusive function in life to irritate the old man. If not one deed, it was another.”
“You rebelled?”
“I believed my father set out to curse me, with the name and the title.” Dante admitted gloomily, quaffing the contents of his glass before setting it aside. “Every exploit was for him to notice me, his son, and heir.” Dante allowed defiantly, the comment followed by the issuance of a tight laugh.
“Everything, Dante?”
“Close enough.” He admitted, rubbing at his aching eyes. “Several misadventures were merely the accomplishments of an adolescent with the improper assemblage of peers.”
Kate's shoulders fell back into the comfort of the sofa and she shook her head. “Isn't that called guilt by association?”
“Show me of your friends and I'll tell you of yourself.” He responded cryptically. “The piercings were all the rage, when I was sixteen. Everyone had one on an eyebrow, a lip, or several in the ear.”
He chuckled softly, refilling his glass with a hearty splash.
“And everyone had long hair?” Kate asked and he nodded.
“Have I rendered you speechless?”
Kate nodded.
“Men of my age don't assume positions of power with a lip ring.” He observed pointedly. “Nor do we age very well with one.”
“I suppose you're right.” She shook her head. “I just can't imagine you, of all people, being wild.”
“I was more than wild, Kate.” He admitted contritely. He polished off the contents of the glass, obviously ill at ease. “I was a scourge, but Anne's birth accomplished in controlling several
of my more atrocious tendencies.”
“Assuming ownership of the company changed you?”
“I suspect so. In reality, I didn't have much of say in the matter.” He reflected aloud, chuckling in disbelief. His father had the final laugh after all, his son having transformed into what the older man long desired. “My daughter has sufficiently chastised me for ignoring her and forgetting her birthday.”
Kate sighed, knowing he diverted the conversation away from himself. “Was Anne always precocious?”
“Since birth,” he admitted bluntly. “From the moment I held her, I understood I was in dire straits, when she screamed until blue in the face.”
Kate's grin broadened at the mental image of him with the black haired imp in his arms. Dante hadn't been old enough to be a father, let alone to assume the responsibilities.
“Would you care to proceed with your lessons?” He pondered aloud, shrugging. His eyes swept over the scattered books and he frowned. “If we increase the volume of the stereo, we can use the foyer.”
Kate pulled a face. “Is something wrong with the ballroom?”
He moved with his usual noiseless ease across the room, but hesitated at her question. “Why do you ask?”
“You allowed me full reign of the house….”
“Precisely,” he interrupted gruffly, not looking at her.
“All except for the ballroom,” she suggested softly. “I believe the double doors are locked.”
“In preparation for Anne's party, the dance floor is being varnished. The doors are locked to prevent the polish from being scuffed.”
“I suppose the foyer would be fine.”
Dante turned the stereo volume up, flooding the room with the strains of a popular contemporary ballad. He opened the doors to the study and snapped off the glaring overhead lights, filling the room in soothing semi-darkness. Kate was thankful for the dimness, not wanting her clumsiness to be too obvious.
Dante's approaching steps were silent. Pausing, his dark head cocked to one side, he extended his hand. He dazzled her with the warmth of a wicked smile as she rose.
“May I request the honor?”
Shades of my dreams, she thought, the tips her fingers vanishing within his warm touch. Kate inhaled a deep breath, the atmosphere in the room altering. The seductive tones of the ballad whirled about her, and she nodded reluctantly.
“I should warn you, Dante,” She began hesitantly. “I haven't the slightest idea what to do.”
“For starters, you must come closer.” Dante prompted, his eyes twinkling in the dim lights. He drew her to him, considering her distraught features before clicking his tongue in disapproval. He led her from the cluttered study and into the foyer.
“I don't want anyone to see me.” Her protest was a wailed cry of despair. “Oh, Dante, I don't know….”
“There's not a soul in the house, save for the old men.” He coaxed as he halted, his arm sweeping a broad arc to indicate the portraits of his ancestors.
“Thank God,” Kate breathed.
“Come closer, Madam. It's a prerequisite you position a hand on my shoulder,” he commanded, turning on his heel and facing her. Dante's head lowered and his words emerged in a low and sultry growl. “I don't intend to maul you.”
Kate gulped nervously. She allowed him to draw her close, her gaze resting on his shadowed features. Tentatively, she placed her fingers on his shoulder, her other hand firmly interlaced within his sturdy grasp.
“You're too stiff, Kate.” He chastised, drawing her close, the space of a mere hand width separating them. Dante released her hand and placed her limp fingers on his chest, where she detected the steady beat of his heart beneath his shirt. His arm moved about her waist, pulling her close enough to feel the heat radiating from him.
“Relax, my sweet Kate.” He instructed in a strained voice, the endearment lost to her as he intertwined their fingers firmly together. “Close your eyes and listen to the music.”
“I can't.” Kate didn't know what made her tenser, the fact she couldn't dance or the unaccustomed feel of Dante's arms. He remained silent as she stumbled over her feet, unable to concentrate on the music.
“I believe you enjoy reading and cinema?” He interjected, blithely awaiting her response.
“You know an awful lot about me.” She countered crossly, her nervousness leaving as she glared up at him.
He was silent, his mind working rapidly as he chose his next words. “You were born and raised in Phoenix. Until this past August, you resided in the same flat since your infancy. Your younger brother is Adam Daniel Bennett, who dreams of becoming an archaeologist. You correspond with him three times a week and, I believe, he'll be in London during winter break. Your mother's name was Evelyn and she loved of the cinema, history and reading.” Dante paused, permitting his words to settle.
Kate huffed in annoyance. “What do I know of you?”
“I'm exceedingly contrary, arrogant, and taxing on the nerves. I have a compulsive need to work.” Unhesitant, he contemplated his many faults. “I eat, drink, and work too much. I take my obligations a tad too seriously and have, genuinely, attempted to obliterate any recollections of the hazardous life I used to lead.”
He ended the statement with a grim smirk, privately longing for some of the carefree sense of his younger days. If he were as he'd been in his youth, Kate would have been firmly ensconced in his bed, far too sated to issue the slightest protest.
“You may be, if not more. I think you're the one that needs to relax.” Kate supplied with a melodramatic sigh, attempting to coerce him into a lighter mood. When he failed to respond, she trailed her fingers over his bicep. “Am I to imagine the grand ballroom of an affluent estate?”
“The room is aglow with a million candles and perfumed with the scent of freshly cut roses. There's a woman attired in the most sumptuous of evening gowns.”
His voice was low and persuasive as he glided with the tempo, guiding her patiently along. His fingertips caressed her rigid spine through her dress and he lowered his head, the warmth of his breath fanning the fine hair at her temples.
“Brilliantly candlelit room, elegant clothes and whirling skirts,” she repeated breathlessly, the artfully constructed image filling her thoughts. Kate's raised her face upwards, the hint of a shy smile touching her lips.
“Precisely,” Dante's voice deepened and his hand halted on the small of her back. “A dashing earl approaches the young lady.”
“He’s an egotistical oaf.”
“Egotistical?” He snorted inelegantly at her quip, his accent deepening to a strident English pronunciation. “I regret I must avouch the earl is egotistical, but you must take pity on his wretched soul.”
“Why?”
“He's bewitched by an entrancing American woman.”
“I believe, in the time of candlelight and fancy balls, she's considered a barbarian.”
“Ah, but she's so lovely!” Dante maintained, his eyes lingering with the gentleness of a caress on her upturned face. His fingertips continued with their slow dance on her spine, leaving the most sensuous quivers in their wake.
“If the earl asks her to dance, everyone will gossip.” She brooded aloud, savoring the mental images.
“The earl will create a more serious transgression, if she truly will partner him.”
“Why?” She asked.
“Earls are notorious for having wicked ways.” He whispered, his words an echo of his thoughts.
Dante inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with her scent. Kate blinked at the comment, blushing at the unintentional double entendre, a chill rippling through her. A delicious, melting sensation assailed her and she stared at the cleft in his chin, willing the sensation to leave. Her gaze wandered across the darkness of his shadowed jaw, unintentionally resting on his mouth.
“The scars are on the other side.” Dante chuckled lightly, the sound oddly strained.
“Scars?” She asked, puzzled.
“The
ones Anne thought you need to know about, Kate,” he furnished, the whiteness of his teeth nipping his lower lip. His glittering eyes focused on her upturned face, his expression intent but unreadable. Abruptly turning her, he glided across the foyer and to the opened doorway of the study, the lighting illuminating his face.
Kate gaze traveled across his mouth and she warmed as the corners of his lips tilted upwards, the evidence of the scars apparent to her searching gaze. Too late, she realized he taunted her into examining the tempting fullness of his mouth.
“You must think me extremely gullible,” she accused.
Dante laughed aloud, the huskiness of the sound reverberating and enveloping her with its warm tone.
“What I did was exceedingly underhanded.” He admitted.
“You made me look!” She accused hotly.
“My dear, I'm a bit more than a decade older and far more competent in assuring a response from a woman.”
“You really shouldn't be too overconfident.” She chastised petulantly, easily following each of the precisely executed steps he took.
“I'm a Ravensmoor.” He supplied with conspicuous lordliness, straightening regally to his full height. “We're created, in the womb, innately self-assured.”
Kate rolled her eyes, realizing he was teasing. “Where did you find the time to dance, My Lord of Heavy Metal?”
“I was an avid devotee of the music to antagonize the old lord.” His voice sounded suspiciously strained. Unexpectedly, he recalled the number of times his father took him to task. “In reality, I admit to have an affinity to all sorts of music.”
Kate hummed before she continued. “And the dancing?”
“It's an enduring tradition in this family, Kate.” He responded laconically, although his words were tense. “Due to our alarming stature, we're subjected to private dance lessons. An ancestor insisted we weren't to be distinguished as hulking lummoxes, only capable of stumbling through a battlefield.”
“This explains why I, sometimes, never hear you enter a room.”
He chuckled aloud. “My ancestors would be thrilled to know the instructions have paid off.”
My Lord Raven (The Ravensmoor Saga) Page 13