by Cheryl Holt
When they returned to Carter Crossing, it would be for Clayton’s birthday party, and they’d arrive in grand style as befitted Raven’s status as a member of the Sinclair team of explorers. At the moment though, Raven’s true identity was concealed, so they were gleaning all sorts of gossip.
The servants always knew every secret, and they were delighted to reveal every scurrilous detail to a pair of friendly men from out of town.
Raven was obscenely rich, his travels in Africa furnishing partial ownership of several diamond mines, so he’d had the funds to garner every financial crumb there was to learn about the Carters. He’d employed accountants, bankers, and investigators to dig into their records, but they’d supplied numbers jotted down on paper.
He’d been anxious to accumulate more personal tidbits so that when he lashed out at Beatrice and Clayton, he could be certain he’d extract the most excruciating penalties available.
For two decades, it had been his single, riveting goal: He would revenge himself against the Carter family for the damage they had inflicted on Raven’s own. It was a vow he’d made at age ten, and he’d never wavered from it.
He was thirty now, so he’d been fuming and plotting for twenty years, and it would be an enormous relief to have it over. Perhaps, once he was finished, he would finally find some peace and figure out how to be content.
His only regret was that Beatrice’s husband, Charles, was deceased. Charles was the biggest culprit in their sad saga, his many felonies initiating the catastrophes that had ruined Raven’s parents, but Beatrice had had a huge role too. Later, Clayton had piled on a colossal dose of shame and grief.
They would all pay. He’d sworn it on his father’s and mother’s graves, and he wouldn’t rest until every Carter was destroyed.
He was a man who kept his promises.
“I’m going for a walk,” he said.
“Good,” Lucas replied. “I can’t have you hanging over the card table and glowering at me. You’d give me away, and I’d rather not be caught.”
“If you wind up getting shot someday, don’t complain to me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Lucas grinned his devil’s grin. “But I won’t ever suffer any punishment for my sins. I’m lucky, remember? I always emerge unscathed.”
“Your unbridled confidence might eventually bring you down.”
“It hasn’t yet.”
Lucas downed his whiskey and sauntered over to the ladder to climb down and locate the stable boys and footmen who had agreed to gamble with him. Raven sighed with exasperation.
Lucas was twenty-four, and though Raven had arranged a trust fund for him so he’d never have to work or worry about money, his brother couldn’t help but engage in mischief. It was simply his nature to be wild and negligent.
Their father’s disaster had meant they’d been separated when Raven was ten and Lucas was four. With their father imprisoned, and their mother dead from a broken heart—the tragedy due to Charles Carter’s embezzlement—Raven and Lucas had been sent off to different orphanages, then different charity schools.
Raven had staggered through the debacle without too many problems, but Lucas had grown up to be a criminal and rogue.
He’d been locked away in juvenile reformatories and was fortunate he hadn’t been transported to the penal colonies as a public nuisance. Raven had been in Africa by then and unable to intervene, so Lucas’s unsavory attributes were totally ingrained, and there could be no saving him.
Raven had been serious when he said he hoped some angry card player didn’t shoot his brother. Or he might cuckold the wrong husband, and Raven couldn’t bear to think of Lucas meeting a bad end. He’d already lost his parents, and their only sister, Lydia, was gone too.
She’d been seduced by a scoundrel, then she and her baby had died in childbirth. Again, Raven had been far away in Africa, and he hadn’t learned of it until fourteen months later. So he had a strong incentive to keep Lucas alive and out of trouble. If his brother perished in a stupid mishap, Raven would be all alone in the world.
He climbed down the ladder too, more slowly than Lucas had. He was just six years older than Lucas, but he felt a hundred years older. Lucas had wiled away his time in London, loafing in gaming halls and brothels. Raven had spent them hacking his way through thick jungle, ducking poisoned arrows, becoming sick with jungle sweats and rashes.
His bones and joints ached, his old wounds ached, and occasionally, he’d fall ill from recurring fevers that never completely went away. Lucas carried on like a carefree, violent puppy, but Raven trudged along like a decrepit codger whose every step was painful.
He left the barn and strolled to the park behind the manor. The moon was up, and he thought about scaling the promontory again, but he probably shouldn’t be out on any cliffs in the dark. Instead, he meandered down the path that led to the beach.
The waves were crashing on the shore, and the sound stirred his wanderlust, making him question the wisdom of tarrying in England. It was nearly autumn, and winter would arrive shortly.
He ought to be on a sailing ship and racing south, but apparently, he’d given up his itinerant existence. He’d bought Oakley, and when he was finished with the Carters, he’d own Carter Crossing too. He’d own their shipping company of Carter Imports as well, together with anything else Beatrice had glommed onto in the past two decades.
He couldn’t deduce how he felt about his decision to stay put. Starting at age eighteen, he’d traveled with Sir Sidney, but the man’s death had destroyed Raven’s prior life.
His best friends had been Sir Sidney’s son, Sebastian, and another member of their team, Nathan Blake, who was Earl of Selby. They hated each other now, due to how events had unraveled after Sir Sidney’s murder.
Raven had dawdled for months at Sebastian’s home of Hero’s Haven outside London, waiting for him to declare that he was heading back to Africa in his father’s place, but Sebastian was too traumatized to go again.
Raven had finally accepted that the expeditions were over, and he’d moved on to deal with his family’s ancient business. But he doubted he’d ever stop gazing at the horizon and wondering what was over the next hill.
He paused to stare at the manor off in the distance, and he let his ire sink in, let it sizzle and bubble up. Every little piece of the Carters’ wealth had been stolen from his unsuspecting father, and it was galling to witness it up close.
He smiled a grim smile. It wouldn’t be theirs much longer. He’d already implemented the plot that would yank it from their greedy, covetous hands, and he received enormous satisfaction from imagining how distressed they would be when they lost everything in the blink of an eye.
Having endured that very scenario when he was ten, he could definitely admit that it was a wrenching state of affairs.
As he turned to the beach, he noticed there was a woman sitting on a log not far from where he was standing. From how her white-blond hair shone in the moonlight, he recognized Rebecca Carter immediately, and the realization was more thrilling than it should have been.
He’d met her earlier in the afternoon, up on the promontory, and he’d been thinking about her ever since. Because she was so gorgeously beautiful, it was difficult to not think about her, but he was intrigued for other reasons too. She was trusting and sociable, so it would be easy to ingratiate himself, then wheedle out details he shouldn’t ever discover.
She intrigued him for another reason too. She so exactly resembled the harpy, Sarah Robertson, that they had to be twins. He didn’t care what Miss Carter claimed about it. The bloody woman had a twin sister.
He didn’t want to startle her, so he neared, then waved to catch her attention.
“Hello again, Miss Carter,” he said.
“I’d greet you too, but you’re too vain to tell me who you are.”
“I’m Raven Shawcross.”
He froze, giving her a chance to react, but she didn’t. The Carte
r servants were tittering over the news that one of Sir Sidney’s men was coming for Clayton’s birthday party, but his identity hadn’t been announced. He’d been curious if the family members might have heard, but evidently, they hadn’t.
“Is that your real name?” she asked. “Or did you make it up?”
“It’s my real name.”
Well, it was as real as could be managed under the circumstances. His actual surname had been Stone, his father Harrison Stone, but with him being a notorious felon who’d hanged himself in prison, Raven and his siblings had been persuaded to begin using their mother’s maiden name of Shawcross.
No one was aware of his past, not even Sir Sidney and Sebastian Sinclair with whom he’d traveled for over a decade. It was a secret he would take to the grave.
“If we weren’t outside in the dark,” she said, “I’d study your eyes to see if you’re lying or not.”
“Why would I lie about it?”
“You probably have a thousand falsehoods buried in that devious mind of yours.”
“I’m merely a horse trader,” he fibbed. “I brought some animals from London for Clayton Carter.”
“I was told that two men had arrived with the horses, but I wouldn’t have pegged you to be one of them.”
“Why not?”
“If forced to offer an opinion, I’d have declared you to be a bandit.”
“A bandit! Why would such an absurd notion have occurred to you?”
“Perhaps it’s your black clothes. Or it might be your furtive behavior this afternoon and your sly refusal to answer any of my questions.”
“I wasn’t furtive. I was just rude.”
“Yes, you were. After I left you, I sent a footman to run you off, but you’d vanished.”
“I went exploring in the other direction. There’s an abandoned property on the other side of the hill.”
She sighed with what sounded like regret. “Yes, it was owned by poor Mr. Oakley.”
As he had already purchased Oakley, he’d gleaned every fact about the place, but he asked, “Was he poor? Was he bankrupt? Is that why it’s in such a sorry condition?”
“I don’t know if he was fiscally poor. I was referring to him personally. He didn’t have any relatives, so there were no heirs to inherit.”
“How long has the house been empty?”
“A few years. It’s such a splendid mansion. If I had a fortune, I’d buy it and restore it to its former glory.”
“Are you a dreamer, Miss Carter?”
“Absolutely.”
She patted the spot next to her on the log, and he walked over and sat down. The wind was brisk, and she was bundled in a man’s coat. Her magnificent hair was tied back with a ribbon, but could barely be restrained. Lengthy strands whipped about, and she kept tucking them behind her ears.
He couldn’t stop gaping at her. She was so arresting; he couldn’t deny it.
“This is the second time in a single day,” he said, “that I’ve bumped into you when you’d snuck away from the manor.”
“It’s a terrible habit of mine. I like to gaze at the horizon and wonder what’s beyond it.”
He snorted with amusement. “I’m familiar with that feeling. It’s called wanderlust.”
“Is that what’s plaguing me? Is it a case of wanderlust? Here I thought it was just my advanced age of twenty-seven. I’ve never been away from Carter Crossing, and I think I’m suffering from the lack.”
“Wanderlust is a hideous malady. At least when a man catches it, he can appease it by taking a trip. I’m not sure what women do.”
“We loaf on beaches and stare at the passing ships.”
“I’ve always been glad I wasn’t born a female.”
“You should be glad. It can be positively exhausting.”
He shifted to focus his attention on her. She had a classic face, her features arranged in the most striking way. She was slender but shapely, her figure rounded and alluring.
Her white-blond hair was striking too and different from any he’d ever previously observed—except for on her twin, Miss Robertson. It was long and curly and untamed. In the moonlight, it appeared silver, so she might have been a fairy sent to tempt him.
But it was her eyes that were most remarkable. They were big and blue, and they sparkled with delight. Out on the promontory, they’d seemed almost violet rather than blue. As with her hair, he’d never previously seen eyes like hers. They were the kind of eyes that could hold a man rapt, that could have him blustering over to introduce himself, then coming off like a fool because he was so tongue-tied.
He clasped a wayward strand and traced his thumb across it.
“Your hair is the most interesting color,” he said.
She grabbed his wrist and yanked him away. “You are so impertinent, Mr. Shawcross. I can’t imagine why you’d assume it’s appropriate to touch my hair.”
“I’m a cheeky rogue. I admit it. I’ve lived in wild circumstances, so any manners I once possessed have vanished.”
“What were your wild circumstances?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” She’d soon find out who he was, so there was no reason to explain. He gestured to her hair. “It’s such a stunning shade.”
“Was that a compliment? If you keep it up, my head will swell with pride.”
“Who did you inherit it from? Your mother or father?”
“I have no idea. They died when I was three, and I don’t remember them.”
“Who were they?”
She peered at him as if it was the oddest query ever voiced. “They were just…people.”
“I doubt that.”
He nearly added, you’re too extraordinary to have sprung from anyone ordinary, but he bit down the words.
There was an intriguing aura emanating from her. It seemed as if waves of goodness were wafting out. He deemed her to be a very sweet person, a very loyal person, a very nice person.
He rarely socialized with gently-bred women. His interactions with the fairer sex typically involved dalliances with doxies in port towns. His life was filled with tough, vigorous men, and there were no females in that world. It was refreshing to tarry with her, and he was enjoying himself very much.
He’d like to dawdle with her all night. It would be lovely to watch the moon set and the sun rise. He thought, if he spent those quiet hours with her, he’d feel much better at dawn. Maybe some of his anger and bile would be tamped down.
Or maybe not.
She was pretty and very charming, but she was a Carter. He couldn’t forget it. He would use her to get what he wanted, that being revenge against Beatrice and Clayton, but the whole family would be ensnared in his scheme. She would be caught too, so he wouldn’t grow attached because he refused to pity her in the end.
“You constantly flee the house,” he said. “Why is that? I’ve already deduced that your cousins are awful to you. Are you wishing you could escape your fate?”
“You are a brash devil, aren’t you? Even if I was chafing and miserable, which I’m not, I would never confess such a dreadful secret to a stranger.”
“You don’t have to think of me as a stranger. You’re quite lonely, so I’m probably the closest thing you have to a friend.”
“Not only are you brash, you’re very vain too.”
“Yes, I’m impossibly vain. It must be difficult for you to stagger through here.”
“It’s fine, Mr. Shawcross.”
“How come you never married?”
“Honestly! What kind of question is that?”
“You seem very engaging to me.”
“There you go with your compliments again.”
“Why has no local fellow snatched you up?”
She stared at the water, her expression a tad haunted, then she smiled sadly. “I almost married once, but it…didn’t work out.”
“Why not?”
“He changed h
is mind.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
“And you’ve been a spinster ever since?”
“I’m not a spinster! I’m unwed by choice, and if you plan to insult me, I’ll stomp off in a huff. Please don’t make me leave just yet.”
“I wasn’t insulting you,” he said. “I was stating the facts.”
“You tossed out the same excuse up on the promontory. You don’t get to be rude to me, then rationalize your appalling manners by claiming you’re simply being candid.”
“You’re twenty-seven, so I rest my case. You’re a spinster.”
She shrugged. “It’s not so bad here. I run the house, and I manage the servants. I have an enormous amount of authority—much more than most females are allowed to have—and I have a young cousin I’m raising. All of it keeps me busy.”
This was news Raven hadn’t uncovered. “Who is the young cousin?”
“Alex? He’s an orphan who’s been with us since he was a toddler. It’s as if I have my own son, but without the bother of a husband.”
“Without the bother of one? Every woman wants a husband.”
“I suppose, but I’ve become convinced that most of them aren’t worth having.”
“Why would you utter such a ridiculous comment?”
“Well, men drink and gamble. They can be bossy, stubborn, and cruel. Many of them are violent.”
“You must have crossed paths with some very terrible marital candidates.”
“There aren’t a lot of options in the country. Mostly, they’re Clayton’s friends.”
“I hear they’re all horrid—and Clayton is the worst of them.”
He paused, expecting her to offer a denigrating remark, but she scoffed. “I’m not about to chime in with offensive gossip, so don’t sit there grinning at me as if I might.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he lied.
“My mother’s kin took me in when I was tiny, and they’ve given me a home and a purpose. I’ll always be grateful to them.”
“But if you could escape this life, if you had the money and the liberty to pick up and go wherever you wanted, where would it be?”