Always Mine

by Cheryl Holt

  The instant the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could retract them, and she was glad it was dark so he couldn’t see her blushing.

  “Your mother wouldn’t like it?” he snidely said. “Do I look like I care what your mother thinks?”

  “No.”

  “Then why should you? She seems like a shrew to me. You must realize that. Is she deserving of your fawning obedience? Have you ever asked yourself that question? If you have, perhaps you should answer it for once.”

  Millicent should have risen to her mother’s defense, but his criticism was spot on. “My mother can be overwhelming.”

  He smirked. “You don’t have to be polite with me. When we’re together like this, you can say whatever you like.”

  He waved the flask at her, and she yanked it out of his grasp. She sniffed the contents, then took a cautious sip. It had an odd taste she couldn’t quite describe—like smoky heat—and it slid down her throat in a soothing manner. She drank another swallow, liking it much more than the first.

  She attempted to give it back, but he retrieved a second one from his coat. He tipped it toward her. “I have my own. You can have that one.”

  They tarried silently, enjoying their drinks, and much too soon, she’d finished all of hers. It had a potent, swift effect. Her limbs felt rubbery, her body hot all over—even though it was so cold. All in all, the sensation was extremely pleasant, and she wondered why she hadn’t sampled any liquor before.

  The sideboards in the manor were filled with decanters. From this point on, she’d steal some whenever no one was looking.

  She handed him the flask, and he stuck it in his coat, then he emptied his and put it away too.

  “Now that you’ve tried a man’s libation,” he said, “what is your opinion?”

  “It was very good.”

  He nodded as if she’d provided the right response. “I intend to corrupt you, Miss Carter. I’m predicting it will be very easy.”

  “I doubt it. I’m not interested in developing bad habits.”

  “Yes, you are. I’m an expert at judging people, and the minute I met you, I perceived your true inclinations. Aren’t you bored in the country? Doesn’t all this sky and land drive you mad?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t wait to get back to London,” he suddenly declared.

  “When will you depart?”

  “Not just yet,” he said, which wasn’t much of a reply.

  “What are you and your brother really doing at Carter Crossing? Initially, you were pretending to be a horse trader, but you’re not.”

  “My brother raises horses, so technically, he is a horse trader. I merely came along to help him.”

  “Help him with what?”

  “You’ll find out,” he said.

  “Why did he give me those earrings?”

  “Why would you suppose? He’s hoping to tantalize you. Has he?”

  “Yes, but he must want something in exchange.”

  His torrid gaze wandered down her torso, and it lingered on her feminine areas, as if he was undressing her with his eyes. He scoffed and facetiously said, “Yes, Miss Carter, he wants something from you.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’ll let it be a surprise.”

  “Are the diamonds genuine?”

  He chuckled. “If I were you, I wouldn’t take them into a pawn shop. You’d simply embarrass yourself.”

  Were they fakes? Could it be? Ooh, he was so aggravating. How could she decide if he was telling the truth or not?

  She didn’t like him. He was smug and condescending, but then, she’d never met anyone like him, and she was absolutely fascinated. She ought to stomp off and never talk to him again, but she was mesmerized in a manner that was dangerous.

  He stared out at the ocean, and a ship was passing by, a lone lamp swinging as it cut through rough water.

  “My brother has sailed the ocean,” he said, “but I’ve never been anywhere. How about you?”

  “I’ve never gone anywhere either.”

  “You must be about to expire from all this tedium.”

  “Occasionally, it feels that way. I’d like to have the chance to travel someday.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You’d like to have some fun every so often. You’d be delighted to just head to London. That’s about as far as your borders will ever extend.”

  When he put it like that, she sounded dull and immature, but she envisioned herself as being glamorous and sophisticated. She wasn’t about to have him cataloguing her faults though, so she switched subjects.

  “Your brother is a hero and a horse trader, but what are you?”

  “I’m a gambler and a criminal.”

  “You are not.” She frowned, then tentatively inquired, “Are you?”

  “Yes, I was quite incorrigible when I was a boy, and I grew up causing trouble. It’s just my nature, and I was never stopped from engaging in mischief. I finally realized I enjoyed it immensely, and there was no point in behaving.”

  “Where were your parents? Didn’t they try to mold you into a better person?”

  “They died when I was four.”

  She actually suffered a bit of compassion for him. “How did they die?”

  He shrugged. “The way everyone does, I imagine. They simply drew their last breaths, and it was over.”

  “Who raised you after they were deceased?”

  “No one. That was my problem: a lack of supervision. But it was coupled with my complete absence of any concern about moral restraint.”

  “Where was your brother?”

  “For awhile, he was at a different school. Then, once he was older and had cheated and lied to accumulate some funds, he bought a spot with Sir Sidney. I rarely saw him after that. If I had, he’d likely have kept me on the straight and narrow.”

  “And you chose a life of crime? Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  Her annoyance flared. “I think you’ve been pulling my leg from the start. I’ll bet your parents are alive and well and living in a grand mansion in London. They’re probably merrily spending all your brother’s diamond money. You probably had a totally ordinary childhood.”

  He snickered, but didn’t dispute her assessment. Instead, he asked, “What about you, Miss Carter? Have you ever done a bad deed? Have you ever had a wicked thought? Have you ever lied or cheated or tricked anyone?”

  “Gad, no. I’ve been the perfect daughter, the perfect sister.”

  “Don’t you ever get tired of being so uninteresting? Haven’t you ever wondered how thrilling it might be to throw caution to the wind?”

  He’d precisely described her feelings. She was so sick of Carter Crossing, sick of her mother and brother, sick of their rural estate and their quiet neighborhood. Her path currently led in one direction, that being marriage to stable, boring Preston Melville.

  If she wound up having to wed him, she sincerely expected she’d jump off a cliff.

  “You’re correct about me,” she said. “I’m choking on my life.”

  “I’m ecstatic to hear you admit it. You have to recognize a dilemma before you can begin to solve it.”

  He turned away from the water, and he stepped in very close. He slid his hand under her cloak and rested it on her waist as he had the prior afternoon at the corral. Then he dipped down and kissed her. He didn’t ask if he could. He simply forged ahead with no warning whatsoever.

  She was so astonished that she staggered away and gaped up at him like an idiot, but she couldn’t help it. She’d never been kissed, and her greatest complaint about Mr. Melville was that he’d never tried to initiate an amorous embrace.

  For a few years, she’d had a friend in Frinton, and the girl had liked to read romantic novels. She’d secretly shared them with Millicent. In them, the heroes were always grabbing the heroines and kissing them as if they were off to the gallows and would never again have the oppor
tunity.

  Millicent dreamed of having an experience like that, but Mr. Melville was exhaustingly polite. She suspected that he didn’t even like the notion of passion. She might marry him only to discover that he never intended to proceed. Ever.

  “I take it you’ve never been kissed before,” he said as if in accusation.

  “Oh, I have been,” she fibbed. “Dozens of times. You just surprised me, that’s all.”

  He wiggled a finger at her, indicating she should approach. “Let’s do it again. You know you want to.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I invited you to engage in an assignation.” His voice was soft and coaxing. “Will you go back to the house without a single illicit thing happening? Is that how you’d like this evening to end?”

  The whiskey she’d drunk was coursing through her body. It was making her reckless, was making her feel braver than she actually was. He was right that—if she returned to the manor without participating in scandalous activity—she’d regret it forever.

  And he’d gloat forever.

  She squared her shoulders and marched over to him.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she said.

  “I never thought you were.”

  “I’m not a scared rabbit either.”

  “Are you ready to prove it?”

  “We’ll see, Mr. Shawcross. We’ll see what you can convince me to do.”

  “You’ll like it,” he boasted, “and since it appears this tryst has just gotten much more intriguing, you should probably call me Lucas.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Raven heard Rebecca coming from quite a long distance. Her bedchamber was located in a decrepit, deserted wing of the house, far from the family and the servants, and her footsteps echoed as she climbed the stairs.

  He wondered if she’d picked it for herself or if it had been assigned to her by Beatrice Carter. If so, it would be typical that Mrs. Carter would treat her badly. From the reports he’d read, she was a shrew who enjoyed doling out punishment to people who were weaker than she was.

  Evidently, she had abused poor Rebecca for years and was never happy with Rebecca’s efforts on her behalf. Rebecca was a sort of whipping girl who was blamed for whatever went wrong.

  It was easy for Mrs. Carter to inflict herself on a helpless female who couldn’t defend herself, but they’d soon discover how she fared when she was forced to confront a really angry, really powerful man who wasn’t afraid of anything. He didn’t suppose she’d like the experience very much.

  He was delighted to find himself in such an isolated spot. It meant he could sneak in and out undetected—if he felt like committing such a reckless act. Apparently, he did.

  He’d assumed he was simply having a bit of fun with Rebecca, entertaining himself as he waited for Clayton to arrive. The idiotic cretin was finally in residence, so Raven should have been too busy to trifle with her, but he’d had to accept that he wasn’t finished with her.

  He had the energy and focus to accomplish two goals at once. He could ruin Clayton and Beatrice Carter, and he could amuse himself with pretty, lonely Rebecca.

  Her room was small and modest, much like he envisioned a nun’s cell would be in a convent. There was a dresser, chair, and narrow bed with a lumpy mattress that needed re-stuffing.

  There was a wardrobe too, filled with stylish clothes, and he figured her cousin, Millicent, gave her cast-offs. While he wouldn’t have pictured himself to be particularly sentimental, she was so beautiful that it seemed a crime against nature for her to have to attire herself in her cousin’s discarded garments.

  He was much more intrigued by her than he should have been, so he’d rummaged through her possessions. She didn’t have any mementoes, and considering her poverty, he couldn’t deduce if that was normal or not. Was she simply not the type to hoard tokens from her past? Or had there never been tokens to save?

  As a fellow who’d had every item in his home taken from him when he was ten—even the silverware in the drawers—he traveled light too. He didn’t amass keepsakes to remind him of better times because the better times had occurred so long ago that they were like a dream.

  But also, his itinerant years on the Sinclair expedition team had guaranteed he was usually away from England. Why accumulate chattels? What was the point?

  When she entered, she shrugged off her shawl and hung it on a hook by the door. She looked drained and weary, her expression glum. She probably believed he’d ignored her at the party, but in reality, she enticed him like a moth to a flame. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from constantly peeking at her.

  She was carrying a candle, and he let her set it on the dresser before he said, “Hello, Rebecca. Where have you been?”

  She hadn’t noticed him sitting in the chair by the window. She jumped a foot and whirled around, barely managing to tamp down a squeal of alarm. Not that it would have done her any good to cry out. Who was there to hear a call for help?

  “Mr. Shawcross!” she wheezed when her pulse slowed enough that she could speak. “Oh, my lord, I thought you were…were…”

  She didn’t complete her sentence, but her fear was palpable. Clearly, someone was terrorizing her, and he was curious as to who it might be.

  “Who did you think I was?” he asked.

  “No one,” she hastily said. “You just startled me.”

  “I see that.”

  “I have no idea why you’re in my bedchamber. I can’t imagine how you learned where it was—or why you’d wish to know—but you are leaving immediately.”

  She made a shooing motion with her fingers, urging him out as if he were a misbehaved hound. Of course he didn’t obey.

  “I’m fine right where I am.” He smiled a cocky smile.

  “You are not staying in my room!”

  “I didn’t have a chance to chat with you during the party.”

  “Whose fault is that?” she furiously inquired.

  “I decided I should rectify the situation.”

  “I happen to disagree. I can’t guess what game you’re playing at Carter Crossing, but I won’t play it with you. I won’t scheme against my relatives, and I won’t fraternize with you when you have dubious motives with regard to all of us.”

  “That’s a mouthful. It sounds as if you assume I’m about to engage in spurious conduct.”

  “I’m sure you are, and I plan to warn Beatrice first thing in the morning.”

  It was much too late for Beatrice Carter to protect herself, and he chuckled. “What will you tell her?”

  She didn’t clarify what her remarks would be, but asked, “Do you recall a classmate from your school days named Preston Melville? His father and grandfather were vicars. He’s hoping to be one too.”

  “No, I don’t recall him.”

  “Well, he recalled you quite vividly. After he saw you tonight, he informed me that you are Raven Stone, not Raven Shawcross.”

  Stone had been his father’s surname, the one that had been ruined throughout the kingdom when he’d been accused by Charles Carter of embezzling from Lord Coxwold and other wealthy men. A friend of their father’s had encouraged Raven and his two siblings to conceal their connection to him, so they’d begun using their mother’s maiden name of Shawcross instead.

  Raven had always been ashamed that he’d betrayed his father in such a weak way. If he’d been older and tougher, he wouldn’t have succumbed. But his father had been totally disgraced, and after he’d hanged himself in prison, he’d not only had his earthly reputation destroyed, but he’d destroyed his immortal soul too.

  Because he’d committed suicide, he’d been denied a Christian funeral or burial in a church cemetery. His father, Harrison Stone, had been pious and devout, and his ending—suffered without the blessings of his faith—was galling.

  What benefit could there have been to keep their reviled name? As his orphaned children, they’d had plenty of obstacles to conquer, and they had
n’t needed to carry forward extra burdens.

  “Raven Stone?” he mused. “Never heard of him.”

  She scoffed. “A likely story—that I will not debate with you. Go away!”

  “No.”

  “My young cousin, Alex, is asleep across the hall, and I can’t have him discover you loafing. How would I ever explain it?”

  He shrugged. “So close the door.”

  She bristled with offense. “I’m not about to sequester myself with you. I can’t deduce your intent, but I’m positive I wouldn’t approve of it.”

  “You previously mentioned your young cousin to me. Is he being abused by Beatrice too?”

  “Honestly!”

  “She’s hidden the two of you in this deserted wing of the manor. How long has she forced you into this paltry room?”

  “She didn’t force me. I’m certain it will come as a huge surprise to your grand self, but I like to be off on my own. After a busy day, I enjoy the solitude.”

  “Sure you do.”

  He stood and pushed the door shut, then he spun the key in the lock and stuck it in his pocket.

  “Mr. Shawcross! You can’t be in here with me.”

  “I already am, so your complaints are silly.”

  The tiny space provided no escape for her. He stepped over and trapped her against the dresser. Then he dipped down and kissed her. Their lips touched briefly, then she yanked away, so he placed soft kisses on her cheek and jaw, down her neck to her nape.

  “I like the way you smell,” he murmured, biting her tender skin.

  She tsked with exasperation and tried to pull away, but he wasn’t about to release her.

  “You didn’t talk to me all night,” she said, “and now, you bluster in as if I should be happy to see you.”

  “You should be happy.”

  “You’re deranged. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “If I’m acting crazy, you’re the one who’s driven me insane.”

  “There are so many absurd parts to that comment that I don’t know where to start in addressing them. I’ve never driven a man insane in my life, and I would have no idea how.”

  “Maybe you’re more of a vixen than you realize.”