A Raven's Heart

by K. C. Bateman

  “You think your scar is a punishment?”

  She snapped her eyes open, startled by the anger in his tone.

  “Of course not. I got it saving Tony’s life. How could I regret it?”

  His mask made it impossible to see his expression. Was it pity? Indifference? She exhaled a shaky breath. “Does it bother you?”

  His fingers traced the line of her jaw. Heloise fought the treacherous warmth that slid through her, urging her to lean into his touch, to bury her head against his chest.

  “No. It doesn’t bother me.”

  The warmth of his breath slid across her temple and she suppressed a little shiver of awareness. The heat of his body seeped into her through the layers of clothes. Her heart pumped furiously against her breastbone.

  “You were pretty before,” he whispered. “Pretty and perfect.” His thumb brushed her scar in the briefest of caresses. “That’s so boring. This makes you interesting.”

  He stepped back and Heloise experienced a foolish wave of disappointment. She cleared her throat and gestured at his head. “Your turn.”

  He lifted the snarling Anubis mask. Dark hair fell around his shoulders as he placed the mask on the stone slab beside her. She could barely see him in the shadows, but she knew the contours of his face as well as she knew her own, knew the startling effect of those green eyes against suntanned skin, the thick, black lashes that were wasted on a man. In her more fanciful moments she’d called the color of his hair “obsidian,” mainly because it was such a lovely word.

  “So now we’re both naked,” he whispered wickedly. He stepped close again and her heart somersaulted as his eyes met hers. “Just admit it. Hellcat.”

  “Admit what?” she stammered.

  His lazy gaze dropped to her lips. “The reason you came here tonight. You don’t have anything to tell me. You just wanted an adventure. You want me to kiss you.”

  She jerked back. “I do not!”

  “Afraid you’ll like it?” he taunted softly.

  “Hardly,” she scoffed.

  “Afraid you’ll never want me to stop?”

  God, yes. That was exactly what she was afraid of. She pursed her lips and adopted a faintly bored expression. “Those legions of women panting after you must have warped your brain, William Ravenwood. Contrary to popular belief, you are not irresistible.”

  “That’s true. You’ve resisted me for years. Why is that?”

  She fought the seductive pull of him. “Because unlike so many of your conquests, I possess a working brain?”

  He chuckled.

  “I don’t know why you’re bothering to flirt with me,” she said irritably. “You don’t want me. You just can’t resist a challenge.”

  “Is that what you are?”

  “Of course. It’s human nature to want what you can’t have.”

  He raised a brow and pressed closer, full length against her, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Her heart stuttered. “You think I can’t have you?”

  Her stomach knotted with a strange, curling tension and she laughed to cover her nerves, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that they were alone. In the dark. Far from the house. “Of course not. My brothers would kill you.”

  “Do you honestly think that would deter me?”

  Everything inside her stilled at the predatory intensity of his look.

  “If I truly wanted you, Hellcat, nothing—not your brothers, not your father, not Napoleon himself—would stop me.”

  Chapter 5

  Ah, there it was, Heloise thought with a bittersweet pang. That big, modifying If. She pushed ineffectively against his chest. “I don’t want you to lay a finger on me.”

  He didn’t move. “Don’t lie. You’ve been watching me for years. I feel your gaze on the side of my face. It makes the hairs on my arms prickle.”

  She shook her head.

  “Deny it all you want, but deep down you know it. You want me.”

  “No!”

  He crowded her back against the sarcophagus, stealing the air from her lungs. “Yes.”

  Heloise stiffened in shock as he bent and pressed his lips to her throat, just below her ear.

  “This is the real you,” he whispered against her skin. “This wildness. Let it out. Embrace it.”

  Oh, he was a devil. Taunting her with possibilities she hadn’t dared voice, only dream. She’d spent years suppressing her hoydenish ways, avoiding moats and fires. She no longer shinned up trees, rode bareback, stole pistols. Letting go would be the height of folly. But dear God, it was tempting.

  She drew in a shuddering breath and stared blindly at the ceiling as he kissed a trail of fire down the side of her neck. He didn’t want her. He was only doing this to prove a point. Although it was becoming difficult to imagine what his point was, exactly. He pushed aside the beaded choker at her collarbone and pressed his mouth there, too. Butterflies somersaulted in her stomach.

  She was unmoved. As stony as that marbled athlete. She was absolutely not going to grab hold of his head to hold him in place. This wasn’t why she’d come out here. She needed to tell him about the message. But as soon as she did that he’d leave, and the selfish part of her wanted to steal just a little more time with him.

  Raven kissed the top swell of her breast and Heloise nearly passed out. She clutched the edge of the sarcophagus, a solid anchor when the rest of the world was rapidly spinning out of control. That’s quite enough. And yet her treacherous chin tilted upward to give him more room to maneuver.

  She almost jumped out of her skin when the first firework screamed through the sky, illuminating the interior of the orangery like midday. She caught a brief, clear glimpse of Raven’s face as he straightened, all sharp angles and harsh planes, before the room was plunged into darkness again. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but his lips found hers. And stayed.

  Heloise closed her eyes in stunned disbelief. She’d kissed William Ravenwood a thousand times in her mind, caressed every last inch of his body in her dreams. Reality—the lush, wicked feel of his lips on hers—was infinitely better. His tongue stroked the corner of her mouth and when she gave a startled gasp he slid inside, taking full advantage. Heat bloomed in her veins as everything inside her went on a slow boil.

  He didn’t give her chance to pull away. His hands cupped her face and he kissed her with thrilling urgency, as if she was as vital to him as oxygen.

  Heloise had no intention of pulling back. She let go of the stone, grabbed hold of his lapels, and returned the kiss with equal fervor, instinctively mimicking his movements.

  Properly. He was finally kissing her properly!

  This wasn’t the chaste, knightly kiss she’d always imagined. It was something hotter, darker, forbidden. The culmination of six long years of yearning.

  She wanted more.

  Heloise groaned as his hand slid down and covered her breast, but before she could assimilate the incredible sensation, his fingers slipped inside her bodice and cupped her, bare skin to bare skin. All the breath left her lungs in a rush. She arched up into his touch with an incoherent gasp as she felt her nipple pebble against his palm.

  “Jesus,” Raven murmured against her lips. “Hellcat—”

  Another firework screamed up into the sky and burned away in a blaze of glittering sparks. With a supreme effort Heloise dragged her mouth away from his. Her lips were wet, tingling.

  “We can’t!” she protested.

  He shut her off with another demanding kiss that made her blood sing and her head whirl.

  “This is—” She panted.

  “—long overdue,” he finished roughly.

  In one swift movement he caught her hips and lifted her up, onto the edge of the sarcophagus. Heloise gasped in mixed arousal and alarm as he pushed himself between her open thighs. She could feel him, his stomach, his hips, and oh God, him, hard and thick and demanding, through the fabric of her dress and layers of petticoat. She wanted this, wanted him, with a sudden desperation
that was terrifying.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” he ordered, and she complied without thought. And then his hand was at the hem of her skirts, dragging them up, past stocking and garter and knee. His fingers slid over the heated skin of her outer thigh and he caught her whimper of protest with his mouth.

  She should not be doing this. Absolutely not. But it felt so good.

  With another muffled curse, Raven pushed her backward so she was half lying on the stone. Another firework burst overhead, fizzing and crackling downward like sparks from a celestial anvil. Heloise threw her arms around his neck. God alone knew why he’d suddenly decided to touch her now, after all this time. He probably had some fiendish, ulterior motive, but right now she didn’t care what it was. She kissed him again, deeply, desperately, drowning in the wicked red blackness, raking her fingers through his thick hair, reveling in the silky texture of it. God, the taste of him, like—

  The shatter of glass broke her concentration. Raven swore, and her first confused thought was that someone had dropped a wineglass. And then he shoved her roughly onto the floor. One second she was in his arms, the next she was sprawled inelegantly on her stomach behind an orange tree.

  Heloise yelped as her elbows made painful contact with the flagstones. She started to get up, to berate him, but Raven covered her with his body, squashing all the breath from her lungs. His arms curved protectively around her head.

  A second explosion came, like someone clapping their hands right next to her ear, and chips of terra-cotta exploded from the planter next to her. She tried to lift her head but Raven pushed her back down.

  “Shut up and stay down,” he hissed.

  Her heart was racing. Raven’s dizzying shift from passionate lover to ice-cold professional was disorienting. Her hands were trapped beneath her body and the stone was cold against her cheek. She felt him tense; his weight increased then suddenly eased as he sprang to his feet and bolted into the garden.

  “Don’t move!”

  And then he was gone.

  Heloise became aware of her own panting breath, choppy and panicked. She pulled herself onto her hands and knees and stared dazedly at the glass shards littering the floor around her. They glittered like ice crystals in the moonlight, tinkling like dropped hairpins as they fell from her clothing. She glanced up at the two broken panes in the tall window opposite. Each had an intricate spiderweb of fractures surrounding an ominous central hole. Cold air was blowing in, and she shivered as her brain struggled to accept the evidence in front of her eyes. Every thought seemed slow, like treacle.

  Someone had shot at them.

  Raven had left her.

  She had to move, get back to the house. Warn people.

  Where the hell had he gone?

  Her legs were shaking but she staggered to the door just as a shadow loomed out of the darkness. Her squeal of terror was stifled by a hand across her mouth and a strong forearm that snaked around her ribs and robbed her of breath.

  “Keep still,” Raven ordered gruffly, and Heloise sagged against him in relief, stilling her struggles. He bent to her ear but didn’t release her. “Are you hurt?”

  She managed to shake her head.

  He released her mouth and she took a deep breath in. “What on earth is going on?”

  “No talking until we’re inside.” He grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward the house, his pace so brisk she had to run to keep up with him, two strides for every one of his.

  “Someone tried to shoot you!” Heloise panted, frantically scanning the undergrowth. “What if they come back? What if they try to shoot someone else?”

  Raven frowned at her over his shoulder. “They’re gone. And I said no talking.”

  A crowd had gathered on the terrace to watch the fireworks; a collective murmur of “ooh” and “aah” accompanied each pyrotechnic burst. No one appeared to have heard the shots. Even if they had, Heloise thought wildly, the sound of a pistol discharging probably wasn’t unusual enough to warrant comment at one of Raven’s unholy gatherings.

  “This way.” Raven located a door beneath the curving terrace stairs and bundled her into the dark interior. Without letting go of her hand he marched along a corridor in what was clearly the servants’ domain. Heloise ducked her head as they encountered two liveried footmen bearing trays of champagne, but they merely nodded and continued as if there was nothing unusual about their master dragging a terrified woman behind him.

  A narrow set of stairs and another dim corridor. Heloise could hear the muffled noise of the party from behind the wooden panels as they passed a series of closed doors. More stairs, then Raven pulled her into a richly decorated hallway.

  The change from undecorated service area to opulent main house was disorienting. All was luxury, as befitted the residence of his grandfather, a duke. Heloise caught a brief glimpse of her own startled reflection, all huge eyes and disordered hair, in a gilt-framed mirror as they strode along.

  Raven finally halted. Without relinquishing his hold on her wrist he thrust open a door and pulled her into the room beyond. Heloise took one glance at the giant four-poster bed and distinctly masculine furnishings and spun on him with renewed alarm.

  “Good God, is this your bedroom?”

  Chapter 6

  “Of course it’s my bedroom,” Raven closed the door and dropped her wrist as if she were hot coals.

  Heloise rubbed the red mark he’d left and glared at him, then lurched back against the door as he planted his hands on either side of her head and leaned in close.

  “Don’t pretend you haven’t been desperate to see it for years.”

  Blood rushed to her face at his insolent challenge. She could hardly look at him, considering what they’d just been doing. God, if they hadn’t been interrupted—

  He smiled that maddeningly perceptive smile of his—the one that suggested he knew her every secret and found her mildly amusing. She wanted to throw something at him.

  He pushed away and strode over to the fireplace and she dragged in an unsteady breath. The flare of a taper briefly illuminated his face as he lit an oil lamp on a side table then turned and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, why don’t you explain why someone just tried to blow my head off?”

  Heloise stared at him in astonishment. “I have no idea.”

  He raked a hand through his dark hair. “Wherever you go, disaster follows.”

  She gasped at that blatantly unfair accusation. “Why would it have anything to do with me? You’re the spy. This is your house. Of the two of us, you’re far more likely to have incited someone to murder.”

  He shook his head.

  “Did you see whoever it was?” she asked.

  “No. It was a man, but he rode off before I could get a good look.”

  Heloise frowned. “But you must have been the target. Other than my family and a few close friends, hardly anyone’s aware I even exist. Why would someone try to shoot me?”

  He leveled her with a piercing glance. “I have some bad news, I’m afraid. Castlereagh was here earlier. Your colleague Edward Lamb was murdered last night.”

  All the blood leeched out of her face in a cold wash. She clapped a hand over her mouth. “What? No.” Her legs buckled and she leaned back against the door for support, afraid she was going to pass out. “Edward can’t be dead. I only saw him a week ago and—oh God—”

  Edward was like a brother to her, a kindred spirit. A fellow code breaker, Edward met up with Heloise whenever she visited Castlereagh in London and talked for hours, engrossed in codes, arguing over possible solutions. Theirs was a friendship based on mutual respect. The image of his earnest, bespectacled face with its broad, scholarly forehead filled her mind and she clutched her stomach as a tight ball of grief settled in her chest. Dead? A sob rose in her throat. Oh God. It was like losing Tony all over again.

  Raven poured a glass of water from a pitcher and held it out to her wordlessly. She took it, but her hand was shaking so much the r
im of the glass chinked against her front teeth when she tried to drink. She took a deep breath. “But why would someone want to kill him? Or me, for that matter?”

  He regarded her as if she were dim-witted. “God, Heloise. Don’t you realize how valuable you are?” He rubbed his forehead. “Any British asset’s an automatic target for the French. You think England’s problems have disappeared just because Bonaparte’s been exiled again?” He leaned back against the corner of a desk. “We’re still at war, Hellcat, even if it’s not official. Believe me, there are always people prepared to do whatever it takes to ensure sensitive information stays secret.”

  Heloise gulped as the full implications of that sunk in.

  “Why did you come here tonight?”

  Heloise reached into her bodice and blushed at the impropriety of her hiding place. The translation had been the furthest thing from her mind when Raven’s hand had been there a few minutes ago. She half turned away and extracted the crumpled paper—slightly damp with spilled champagne—with a flourish.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “A message that, until a few hours ago, was undecipherable.”

  “And now?”

  “I’ve cracked it.” Heloise savored the rush of elation. She’d been so excited about her breakthrough, but there had been no one at home with whom to share her success. As a woman she’d been ineligible to fight on the front lines against Napoleon, or even behind them, like Raven and her brothers, but her skill at code-breaking had given her an unexpected opportunity to serve her country.

  “The French change their codes about every six months or so. They created this one just after Napoleon was defeated, and it’s proved far more complicated than usual. I’ve been working on it for months. Tonight I finally had a breakthrough.” She waved the paper at him. “I think this message is about your friend Kit Carlisle.”