A Raven's Heart

by K. C. Bateman

  “So why a cat? Cats are haughty and cruel. Is that a fair reading of your character?”

  “Why a dog, sir?” she countered archly. “Are you loyal? Faithful? Devoted?”

  He chuckled. “Hardly. But don’t worry—I’m not about to mark my territory against one of these elegant pillars. I’m considered relatively domesticated.”

  Heloise repressed an unladylike snort. After the past decade working as a spy alongside her brothers, Raven was about as tame as a jackal. And she shouldn’t be finding such puerile humor amusing. “If you’re hoping I’ll throw you a stick, I’m afraid you’re doomed to disappointment.”

  His lips quirked as if at some private joke. “How true. You realize, of course, that as cat and dog we can never be friends. I think the best we can hope for is friendly enemies.”

  She made a moue with her mouth. “That is disappointing.”

  His lips curved upward. “Ah, but then, I’ve always found enemies extremely…stimulating.”

  Her heart thumped at his suggestive tone. The fiend could make even the most innocuous conversation fraught with innuendo. Or maybe it was just her overactive imagination.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked smoothly before she could form an appropriate response. “A saucer of milk?” His voice held the ghost of a laugh. “Or perhaps you’d prefer champagne?” A servant appeared at his elbow and he took two glasses of the sparkling liquid. “Drink up,” he urged gently.

  “I really shouldn’t.” She wasn’t used to drinking spirits. Almack’s only served tea and lemonade. And she’d already had one glass.

  He curled his fingers around hers and raised the glass to her lips. “You really should.”

  The champagne burned down her throat, blissfully cool. No doubt the vintage was hideously expensive; money was no object for Raven. Her fingers burned where he touched her and she sucked in a relieved breath when he released her hand. His nearness was having the most unsettling effect on her nerves. She glanced around the room, trying to appear no more than innocently curious. “I wish I knew which of these people was our host.”

  She waited for him to take the cue and reveal himself.

  “You mean Ravenwood?”

  Heloise raised her brows under her mask. Apparently he wanted to remain incognito, too. Interesting. “Yes, I’d like to congratulate him. He’s certainly achieved what was promised on the invitation—an evening of heaven and hell.”

  Raven’s shoulder brushed hers as he moved to stand beside her, and she risked another sideways glance at him. His coat was exquisite, perfectly molded to his body as if someone had poured liquid silk over him and simply waited for it to dry. It was a miracle it didn’t rip when he moved. The stark contrast of black and white enhanced the lean perfection of his features. Heloise took another long sip of champagne.

  He glanced around, a slight, cynical smile on his lips. “Yes, someone should tell Ravenwood this is an excellent party. The brandy’s contraband, the rooms are so overcrowded one can barely breathe, and I can see at least five—no, six—of the seven deadly sins being committed as we speak.”

  That was true. Examples of pride, envy, greed, gluttony, and lust were everywhere she turned. Tables groaned with food, solid silver platters piled high with exotic fruits and cheeses. A rumble of chatter emanated from the card room next door, the chink of glasses mingling with occasional exclamations of delight or groans of despair.

  There were other groans, too. Heloise hastily averted her eyes from a couple huddled in a darkened corner. The man’s hand seemed to be disappearing into the scandalously low bodice of his partner’s gown.

  “I trust the evening’s sufficiently uninhibited for your taste?” Raven inquired politely.

  She swallowed. “Yes indeed. Although there seems to be far more of hell here tonight than heaven.”

  “A quirk of society, is it not? We adore the wicked and loathe the good. Our host is the perfect example. They say he’s blackened beyond redemption, yet those same hypocrites fall over themselves for an invitation to this very ball.”

  “Your choice of mask is very apt,” she laughed. “The word ‘cynic’ derives from the Greek word ‘kynikos,’ meaning doglike.”

  As soon as she’d said it, Heloise wished she’d held her tongue. Such bookish knowledge was sure to betray her. How many other women in the room had an interest in Ancient Greek, for heaven’s sake? She held her breath, expecting exposure, but Raven merely inclined his head.

  “It’s not cynical if it’s true. Everyone reads Dante’s Inferno and skips his Paradiso. It’s because paradise is boring. Hell is far more interesting.”

  A throaty laugh from nearby drew her attention.

  “Ah, the divine Lady Brooke,” Raven murmured, following her gaze. “London’s favorite merry widow.”

  And your most recent mistress, she added silently. Her heart sank as she studied the voluptuous woman, whose impossibly curvy body seemed to defy the laws of gravity. Heloise glanced down at her own sadly average chest and sighed wistfully. If she’d been born with a body like that in addition to her brains, the world would have been hers for the taking. “A marble statue with those proportions would fall flat on its face,” she muttered darkly.

  “Maybe she has enormous feet to act as counterbalance?” Raven offered blandly.

  Heloise bit her lip. No doubt he knew the precise dimensions of Lady Brooke’s feet. Along with every other part of her. She cleared her throat and attempted to inject just the right amount of casual speculation into her tone. “Perhaps our mysterious host is her companion. Rumor has it she’s Ravenwood’s latest paramour.”

  Raven tilted his head. “Is that what rumor says?”

  Heloise shrugged. “She certainly has all the necessary attributes he seems to require in a mistress. Namely, an ample pair of breasts and an inability to speak coherent English.”

  He chuckled. “You seem remarkably well informed of Lord Ravenwood’s taste in women.”

  Heloise waved her hand in a vague, airy gesture. “Oh, you know how it is. There are no secrets in the ton. Especially when it concerns an eligible bachelor like Lord Ravenwood. His previous mistress was French. And the one before that an Italian opera singer. I suppose only taking up with foreigners saves him from having to exert himself to actually talk to them.”

  He slanted her a wicked sideways glance. “I’m fairly sure he doesn’t engage them for conversation.”

  Heat rushed into her face as her skin prickled with awareness. Raven invariably managed to veer every conversation off onto a distinctly racy tangent. She gave an unconcerned lift of the shoulder and ignored the ache in her chest at the idea of him with another woman. “Well, I expect she’ll be replaced soon enough. Ravenwood seems to be able to snap his fingers and have any woman he wants.”

  “Not all of them,” he murmured. “A select few have remained frustratingly elusive.”

  Her heart stuttered. He absolutely wasn’t talking about her.

  “Still, it’s true Ravenwood’s never had a problem attracting most women,” he continued, as if they were discussing nothing more innocuous than the weather. “Nothing elicits desire in a female more than the promise of a ducal title and an outrageously large”—he paused teasingly—“house.”

  Heloise’s mood lightened at his self-deprecating humor. A face like a fallen angel and the body of a Greek god probably don’t hurt, either. She glanced up at the arched ceiling and pretended to admire the soaring architecture. “It’s certainly impressive,” she said, straight-faced. “Very…imposing.”

  “Ravenwood would be delighted to hear it. A man never tires of women praising the size of his endowments.”

  Heloise bit back an unladylike snort as the quartet in the corner struck up a waltz. Couples began to form on the dance floor and she stiffened in surprise when Raven slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto their midst before she could object.

  “Dance with me.”

  She shouldn’t. It would onl
y make things worse. She should reveal who she was and tell him about the message. But the crowd pushed them together and her face pressed up against his chest and she made the tactical error of inhaling. Oh Lord, he smelled delicious, like a forest after rain. She placed her hands on his lapels and pushed backward. Raven’s hand slid down her back and came to rest at the very bottom of her spine, scandalously low. Heloise drew in an unsteady breath as his touch burned through the fabric of her dress. They fitted together perfectly.

  “I don’t think—”

  “Good,” he countered softly. He removed her hand from his chest and repositioned it on his shoulder. “In situations like this thinking is highly overrated.” He captured her other hand, brought it up to shoulder level, and whirled her away into the dance.

  Heloise gasped. Such magic. Her body knew the secret, even if it hadn’t informed her brain. The confidence of his steps, the surety of his grip, transferred themselves to her and she was flying over the floor as if they’d done this a thousand times before. Which they had, of course, but only in her fanciful childhood dreams.

  Raven splayed the fingers of his left hand and tugged her closer still. The muscles of his arm flexed beneath the fabric of his jacket. Her breasts pressed against the hard contours of his chest and the blood heated in her veins. He was almost a full head taller—her cheek only reached his shoulder—so his size should have been intimidating, but instead she felt oddly protected.

  When the music ended they swirled to a giddy stop. Heloise pulled back, breathless as the couples around them began to disband, but instead of releasing her, Raven tightened his grip. She glanced up and his sudden intent stillness made her skin prickle with alarm. She watched, mesmerized, as he slowly tilted his head and lowered his mouth toward hers.

  Good Lord, he was going to kiss her! Right here—in the middle of the crowded dance floor!

  Disbelief and reckless anticipation sizzled through her veins. Why not? She’d promised herself some forbidden fun, and kissing Raven definitely came under that category. This might be her only chance—ever—and besides, he’d never need to know it was her.

  She angled her head and parted her lips. Closed her eyes in breathless anticipation. Raven’s warm breath skimmed over her cheek and she almost groaned in frustration when he paused a hairbreadth away from her lips in deliberate restraint, drawing out the moment until every cell in her body was screaming for him to make contact.

  Heloise strained upward on tiptoe. His mouth grazed the very corner of hers in a tantalizing butterfly kiss that sent fizzles of excitement racing over her skin. She turned her head, blindly seeking his lips, but he pulled back with a chiding sound, his fingers tightening their grip on her upper arms.

  Heloise opened her eyes and frowned behind her mask. What on earth was he waiting for, the dolt? An engraved invitation?

  And then those perfect lips curved into the smug, self-satisfied smile she knew only too well and her stomach plummeted in dread.

  Raven’s chin brushed her temple as he casually tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Hellcat Hampden,” he scolded softly. “What in God’s name are you doing in my ballroom?”

  Chapter 3

  For one moment of awful, icy realization, Heloise couldn’t move. And then she whacked him on the arm. Hard.

  “Ravenwood! You beast! Get off me!” She placed both palms flat on his chest and shoved as hard as she could. The deceitful swine didn’t budge an inch. “You knew it was me the whole time! Why did you carry on?”

  He stepped back, that wicked mouth curving into his usual irritating grin. “Why did you?” he countered. “And don’t tell me you thought I was someone else. You knew it was me, too.”

  “I did not,” she lied indignantly, certain she was blushing to the roots of her hair. Thank God she was wearing a mask.

  He still didn’t let her go; his hands gripped her elbows, keeping her close against his chest. “I must say, that was a very interesting experiment. How far would you have gone if I hadn’t called you out? Could I have steered you into the games room for a bit of indiscretion? Could I be seducing you right now on that billiard table in there?”

  Heloise gasped in outrage, even as his scorching mental images sent a shameful wave of heat through her body.

  “Admit it. You were enjoying it.”

  “I was not!” she said, very aware of what Shakespeare had to say about ladies who protested too much. But if she didn’t protest she’d throw her arms around his neck and beg him to kiss her properly, and she had far too much self-respect for that. She would not become another of his faceless conquests. His paramours were as interchangeable as his cravats. And about as intelligent.

  “Come on, you’ve fancied me since you were sixteen,” he goaded mercilessly.

  “It was a temporary aberration. I’m cured of it now.”

  Raven released one of her arms and steered her effortlessly through the crowd. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Hellcat? Because I know you weren’t on the guest list. And don’t tell me your brothers are here. Richard’s in London with your parents and Nic’s still on his honeymoon.”

  “You seem remarkably well informed of my family’s whereabouts,” she snapped, unsuccessfully trying to disengage her elbow from his grip.

  “I’m a spy,” he whispered. “I know lots of things about lots of people. Why aren’t you up in London with the rest of your family?”

  She affected a shrug. “There’s something I’ve been working on here and I wanted to get it finished.”

  His mouth tightened. “Another scholarly translation?”

  “Sort of,” she hedged. “In fact, that’s what I need to talk to you about.”

  His lips flattened into a disapproving line. “You shouldn’t be locked away studying dusty old tomes. You should be out, enjoying yourself.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t get invited to that many ton functions,” she said pointedly.

  He ignored the barb. “You know what I think? I think you’re hiding. Even without that mask.”

  She crossed her arms. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You bury yourself in books and research because you’d rather deal with Ancient civilizations than interact with real, live people.”

  Heloise felt a spark of anger, mainly because there was a grain of truth in what he said.

  “What are you so afraid of?”

  Of letting go, she almost said. Of opening myself up. Because I did that once and look what happened; you rejected me.

  Luckily Raven didn’t seem to require a response. “I expect it’s too much to hope you’re chaperoned,” he said bleakly. Her stubborn silence was answer enough. He sighed. “Some things never change. You, Miss Hampden, are a magnet for disaster. Don’t try to deny it. You may have fooled the ton with your bookish airs and demure ways, but I know you. You’ve a penchant for trouble.”

  “I do not!”

  He raised a disbelieving brow. “If there’s ever a plume of smoke on the horizon, I’ll stake my life you’ll be at the bottom of it with a tinderbox, an out-of-control bonfire, and a guilty expression.”

  She glared at him. “That is not true!”

  “You were such a scruffy little urchin. Always traipsing around the estate and getting into scrapes.” He shook his head, chuckling. “You never could refuse a challenge, either.”

  Heloise ground her teeth. She hated the way he constantly reminded her of her childish exploits. Would he never see her as a woman? He treated her with the same affectionate disdain as her brothers did. She half expected him to ruffle her hair. If he tried it now she’d kick him in the shins.

  “You try to hide your true nature but you can’t fool me.”

  She huffed inelegantly.

  He adopted a mock-pitying tone. “It’s sad, really, to see you so repressed.”

  She rolled her eyes, both horrified and amused.

  He chuckled. “Yes, I see it as my earthly duty to bring you out of hiding.” />
  She almost choked. “It is not your duty. You’re neither my relative nor my husband. You have no responsibility for me whatsoever.”

  “For which I thank God on a daily basis,” he muttered fervently. He took two more glasses from a servant. “Here, drink this.”

  She accepted it without thinking. A drunken reveler jostled her arm and a cold wash of champagne splashed onto her chest and trickled down between her breasts. “Oh, bugger-and-arse!” she muttered.

  “That’s what I love about you, Hellcat. Always so ladylike. Just when I despair that the impulsive hellion I grew up with has vanished, you say something like that and the world rights itself again.”

  She growled at him. Actually growled.

  “You shouldn’t do that, either,” he admonished gently. “It makes little wrinkles in your nose.” He ran a forefinger over the tip of her nose left uncovered by the cat mask. Heloise’s stomach flipped. She quelled the impulse to snap her head around and bite him.

  Why was he the only one who could make her abandon six years of hard-won decorum with nothing more than a few sly comments and childish jibes?

  “That’s what I love about you, Ravenwood,” she echoed sweetly. “You’re so unfailingly ungentlemanly. I don’t feel the slightest need to act with propriety when I’m with you.”

  His smile turned wolfish, and she realized belatedly how her words could be misconstrued. He didn’t disappoint. “I’m considered an expert at making prim young ladies abandon propriety. I’m glad I have the same effect on you.”

  Heloise suddenly recognized the champagne-spilling culprit behind them; Lord Collingham. She instinctively ducked her head and hunched her shoulders. Ravenwood chuckled.

  “Avoiding Collingham, are you? Is he still proposing once a season?”

  Heloise nodded. “The drunken idiot’s surprisingly persistent. And he’s so stupid he’s immune to my usual strategy for dissuading suitors.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I discuss etymology,” she said. “At great length.”

  “Insects?”

  Heloise clucked her tongue. Raven was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. His air of languid insouciance disguised the fact that he was almost as well-read as herself. “You know it’s not. That’s entomology. I’m talking about words. Their meanings, where they come from.”