A Raven's Heart

by K. C. Bateman

  He forced himself to move away and sit in the chair, enjoying the familiar creak of leather as he propped his booted feet on the desk, and smiled at the memory of her list. He’d done exactly the same thing when he’d been kidnapped, made a mental list of all the things he regretted not doing. Funny how the imminence of death gave one’s thoughts a certain awful clarity.

  Making love to Heloise Hampden had been high up on his list.

  First on the list, if he was honest.

  He’d sworn that if he ever got out of that hellhole he was going to go after what he wanted. He’d wanted her, and sod it, he was going to take her, and to hell with the consequences.

  Except it hadn’t been that simple. He’d wanted to race over and see her the moment he’d escaped, but he’d forced himself to wait, to make himself presentable again. He’d arrived just in time for her damned coming-out ball, spotted her across the room surrounded by a crowd of admirers. There she was, so bloody beautiful, shining like the sun.

  The reality of the situation had hit him like a physical blow, more shocking than all the actual blows he’d received during his imprisonment. He couldn’t possibly claim her now. He was contaminated, broken. Unworthy.

  Raven shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with his thoughts. That had been six years ago and he’d gone even farther down the path of darkness since then. Someone as good as Heloise was forever out of reach.

  Chapter 11

  Heloise cracked open one eye and groaned. Her head hurt.

  The scuffle of feet overhead and the muted hum of voices confirmed her hazy recollections of the previous night. She was in a cabin. On Raven’s boat. A boat that was still moving, judging by the rocking motion and the sound of waves slapping on the hull. The slow side-to-side roll matched the unpleasant pitch of her stomach.

  She squinted at the sunlight slanting in through the portholes, which did nothing to help the pounding in her temples. Was it morning? Afternoon? Her throat was scratchy. Was that coffee she could smell?

  Someone had partly opened a window, at least; the blessedly fresh breeze gave her the strength to risk moving her head.

  She was not alone.

  Raven sat in the chair, long legs stretched out in front of him, looking irritatingly refreshed. Heloise moaned and pressed her face back into the pillow. How long had he been there?

  “Ah, you’re awake.” He put down the book he’d been reading, poured a cup of steaming liquid from a silver pot on the desk, and offered it to her.

  Heloise held her head with one hand. It felt as if it needed the support. “What time is it?”

  “Time to get up. Drink this.”

  She struggled into a sitting position and shot him a suspicious glare. “It’s not alcoholic, is it?”

  “Coffee. You’ll feel better, I promise.” He took a sip. She watched the dip of his throat as he swallowed and cursed the odd feeling in her stomach, which had nothing to do with last night’s gin. He handed her the cup. “See? No ill effects.”

  She deliberately turned the mug so she wouldn’t have to drink from the same section his lips had touched. He grinned. She gulped it down. Heavenly. It burned her throat and warmed her stomach, and she felt better immediately.

  Raven lifted the satchel he’d brought from the house and tossed it to her. “Look inside.”

  Heloise opened the top and glanced at him in amazement. It contained her favorite pale blue morning dress, her comb, and a bar of her rose petal soap. “How did you get these?”

  “I rode over to your house last night.”

  “You idiot! You let the servants discover I wasn’t in my room?”

  “Of course not. I let myself in. Although they’ll have noticed you’re missing by now, in any case. I left Hodges a note.”

  Heloise gulped and tried to recall if she’d hidden the embarrassing gothic romance she’d been reading under the volume of Aristotle by her bed. “How did you know which room was mine?”

  He gave a piratical grin. “I’ve always known where to find you.”

  “I imagine you’re quite the expert on finding ladies’ boudoirs,” she sniffed.

  The idea of him, prowling round in all his black-wolf potency, touching her things, made her feel faint. A sudden suspicion gripped her and she checked the satchel again. Oh no. There, under the dress, was her favorite teal-colored shift and matching drawers.

  Which meant he’d been rifling through her underwear, too, the weasel.

  He smiled innocently. “I admit, it was a shock to find your room so feminine.”

  Heloise bristled. “What did you expect?” Her room was feminine. True, it was pale green, instead of the traditional lavender or pink, with a large desk and several sturdy bookshelves, but it had gilt accents and elegant furniture, too.

  “Oh, I don’t know. More mummified remains? Jars of pickled newts? The odd sarcophagus or two…”

  She rolled her eyes. “Ha. You’re just intimidated by intelligent women. Someone like me threatens the very core of your masculinity.”

  “That’s not true. I happen to find intelligent women extremely attractive. Especially when they’re only partially dressed.”

  She followed the direction of his gaze. Her dress and loosened corset had slipped down. Heloise gasped, yanked them back up, and scowled at him. Her gaze strayed to the book on the desk, which he’d been reading. She squinted. It looked awfully familiar, like—

  “Hey! That’s mine!” she shrieked.

  Her diary had been hidden in the same drawer as her scandalous undergarments. The battered notebook held mostly mundane scraps of information—notes to herself about new avenues of research, snatches of poetry, quotations she liked—but it also contained her ever-evolving list.

  At least she’d had the self-preservation not to commit the myriad of erotic fantasies she’d had about him to paper. She’d be spared that particular humiliation, thank God, but still, what she had written was sure to be embarrassing enough.

  Heloise made a dive for the book but Raven scooped it up and held it out of reach.

  “That is a private notebook! I can’t believe—”

  “That I’d read it?” he finished with an unapologetic chuckle. “That’s the thing about us spies. We’re insatiably curious.”

  She made another lunge. “That is such a betrayal of trust!”

  He scanned a page and frowned. “What on earth is a Vigenère cipher? No, never mind, I don’t want to know.”

  “Give that back this minute.”

  He turned the page. “Too late. I already read your infamous list. It’s pathetic.”

  She bristled. “What do you mean, pathetic?”

  “As in dull. Boring. Immature. It needs some serious modification.”

  Heloise ground her teeth. “And I suppose you have plenty of suggestions?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” He picked up a pen. “Item number one: ‘Run in the rain.’ ” He glanced at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’d have thought it was obvious. I want to stand outside in the pouring rain and get soaked to the skin, to see if it’s as fun as I remember from my childhood.”

  “I doubt it,” he said prosaically. “And you’ll probably catch pneumonia.”

  “How would you improve it, then, my lord?”

  He tapped the pen against his lips. Such nice lips. Heloise gave herself a mental smack on the head. She had no business noticing his lips. He didn’t need to keep drawing attention to them, either. That was a cheap flirt’s trick.

  “I’d keep the rain,” he mused. “But you should wish to be kissed in it. Then I’d be intrigued.”

  She rolled her eyes. “This may come as a shock to you, Ravenwood, but I don’t spend my spare time dreaming up ways to intrigue you.”

  “You disappoint me,” he said. “In fact, now that I think about it, you should wish to be kissed so thoroughly that you cease to even notice that it’s raining. If you’re striving for decadent abandon, you’ve a long way t
o go.”

  “I’m not striving for decadent abandon.”

  “See, that’s where you’re going wrong. What’s next? Ah. Item two: ‘Swim in the ocean.’ Again, not very exciting.”

  “Not in England,” she clarified. “It’s too cold. I meant somewhere warm and exotic. I want hot sand between my toes and warm water lapping at my feet.”

  She frowned as Raven made an amendment.

  “There.” He gave a satisfied smile. “Now it says ‘swim naked.’ ” He wrote again. “ ‘At midnight.’ That’s far more exciting.”

  She opened her mouth to protest but he forestalled her by raising his hand. “And while we’re on the subject of water, might I suggest another addition?”

  “Why not?” she said sarcastically.

  “I’m going to include ‘Take a bath with someone.’ ”

  Heat curled under her skin and she closed her eyes against an onslaught of incendiary mental images. When she reopened them Raven was squinting at the page.

  “Hello. This one’s crossed out. Does that mean you’ve actually achieved it?”

  “Maybe,” Heloise hedged. “What did it say?”

  “I think, ‘Acquire a feminine skill.’ ” He sent her a secret, intimate smile that had her blushing to the roots of her hair. “The mind boggles. Just give me a minute to envisage all the delightful—”

  “Not those kind of feminine skills,” she blurted out. “I meant learn to knit or sew or crochet.” She almost laughed at his horrified expression.

  “God, whatever for? Now, learning skills in the bedroom I can understand—”

  “Or maybe make something wearable,” she continued valiantly.

  “And did you?”

  Actually, she’d deleted that one in a fit of frustration after a few complete disasters. “No. I tried to knit a scarf once for Nic, but he said it would be better as a noose.”

  “All right. We’ll leave that one for now. What’s next?” His eyebrows rose. “Smoke a cigar, eh? Now, that I can help you with.” He pulled open the drawer of his desk, extracted a slim wooden box, and drew out a thin cheroot. He lit it and took a few draws that made the end glow red. On the exhale a cloud of blue smoke curled around his head like a wreath. He held the cigar out to her, his gaze challenging.

  Her stomach lurched. Just the smell was making her queasy but she couldn’t refuse the challenge. She’d have to brazen it out.

  She placed it between her lips and inhaled. Her lungs tingled unpleasantly. The smoke made her eyes water and she exhaled in a cough, waving her hand in front of her face to disband the smoke. “Ugh!”

  Raven, the beast, just laughed. He recaptured the cheroot, leaned back in his chair, and took another slow drag. “It’s an acquired taste,” he said mildly. “I’ll cross it off your list.” He scraped the pen across the page while Heloise put her hand around her ribs to hold them in place. She was definitely coughing up her own lungs. She was never going to touch a cigar again.

  “Now, what else is on here? Ah! I can help you with this next one, too. It says ‘Play cards for money.’ ”

  Heloise shook her head. “Not right now, thank you. I want to be in complete possession of my faculties before I engage you in card play.”

  He smirked. “Later, then. What’s next? ‘Read improving books.’ ” He glanced around the stark cabin. “Don’t keep any books in here. They fall on the floor when there’s a storm. I do, however, have several books back in my library at home that might be of interest—”

  “I suspect your definition of ‘improving’ is rather different from mine,” she said dryly. “No doubt they’re those ridiculous erotic etchings my brothers are so enamored of. They cherish the fond belief that I don’t know where they hide them.”

  He looked impressed. “Sounds like you’ve read some improving books already, then. What were they? Rowlandson? Gillray?”

  “I can’t recall.”

  Heloise willed her blush to subside as her mind brought up with distressing clarity a particularly graphic engraving of the Prince of Wales in bed with his mistress, which showed him with a ludicrously enlarged male member. At least, she assumed it was an exaggeration. She’d never actually seen a man’s member—aroused, engorged, or otherwise—but such monstrous proportions were surely ridiculous hyperbole.

  She summoned an unconcerned shrug. “I don’t know why you boys think I’d be so squeamish about it. I’m a scholar. It’s a basic human act, depicted on hundreds of historic artifacts. Greek vases are covered in naked men. The Romans put phallic symbols practically everywhere. They even put wings on them and hung them outside their doors as a good luck charm.”

  Raven adopted an expression of awe. “You are an extraordinary woman, Heloise Hampden.”

  She nodded her head in acceptance of the compliment, even though it was somewhat backhanded.

  Raven bent to read the next line on the list. “ ‘Travel.’ Well, that’s not very specific.”

  “To Egypt,” she clarified. “I want to visit all those exotic places I’ve only ever seen in drawings in the Description de l’Égypte.” Egypt was the place for love affairs, of Anthony and Cleopatra. Where Alexander and the great pharaoh Ramses had built temples that had lasted for thousands of years.

  “Egypt, eh? I can do that.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “You’re going to tell the crew to bypass Spain and keep going until we hit Africa?”

  He laughed. “No. We’re still going to Spain.”

  “Then how—?”

  “It’s a trick I learned when I was a hostage.”

  Her lips formed a soundless O of surprise. Raven had never spoken to her of his imprisonment.

  “A man has a lot of time to think when he’s alone for hours at a time. For some reason I kept remembering this fragment of a poem: ‘Stone Walls do not a Prison make, Nor Iron bars a Cage.’ I don’t know who wrote it, but it helped me realize that physical imprisonment is not mental imprisonment. You can go anywhere in your mind. I’ll show you. Where do you want to be?”

  “Sailing down the Nile on a felucca,” she said immediately.

  “All right. Close your eyes.”

  Heloise did so reluctantly, half expecting a trick.

  “We’re not in this cabin. We’re in the shade of a palm tree, on the banks of the Nile. I’ve tied up the boat and sent the servants away. I’m feeding you figs.”

  Raven shifted his weight and she started to open her eyes.

  “No, don’t look,” he chided softly.

  She jumped as he trailed his hand over her forehead and smoothed back her hair. His touch was soothing, magical, and she let herself sink into it, just for a moment.

  “There’s a cotton blanket under us, and warm sand below that. Feel the heat sinking through your bones. The sun is setting, the shadows are turning purple. There’s a cool breeze that brushes the palm fronds together so they rustle.”

  His fingers stroked across her lips, petal soft. Heloise was just about to part her lips and taste his finger when reality reasserted itself. She reared back, breaking the hypnotic spell he’d cast. “That’s quite a trick.”

  Raven stood with an easy smile. “Isn’t it? Come upstairs when you’re ready. I’ll see you on deck.”

  Heloise dressed quickly in the pale blue day dress. Raven’s effortless ability to affect her was a problem, especially in such close confines. Putting as much distance as possible between them would be prudent, but she was stuck with the man, at least for the time being.

  She clearly had two options. She could sulk and complain and generally make his life disagreeable, which did hold a certain vindictive appeal, or she could embrace this adventure as an unexpected opportunity to live. She smiled and made her way up to the deck.

  Chapter 12

  Raven tightened his grip on the bundle of clothes he’d gathered and frowned.

  Heloise stood on the quarterdeck like a queen holding court. A group of besotted sailors surrounded her and from their e
nthusiastic gestures he surmised they were pointing out places of interest along the French coast and identifying the various seabirds for “Her Majesty.”

  An accommodating breeze plastered her dress to her body, outlining her curves. No wonder the men were practically salivating. She drew them like bees to honey. It wasn’t even deliberate; the infuriating girl had no notion of her own appeal.

  Raven stepped up behind her and shot his crew an intimidating look to remind them of their pressing duties. One by one they dropped their heads and sloped back to work.

  Heloise turned, puzzled by the loss of her rapt audience. “Oh, it’s you, Ravenwood. You startled me, skulking around like that.”

  He lowered his brows. “This is my own bloody ship. Who else were you expecting? Fat Prince George?”

  She ignored that little piece of sarcasm and peered up at the mast. “So. This is your boat.”

  “It’s not a boat. It’s a ship.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  He ground his teeth. “Yes, there’s a difference. A boat is small. For waterways like rivers and staying close to shore. A ship is large. It has a captain and a crew, and sails on the ocean.” He tapped the wooden railing with his knuckle.

  She gave an unladylike snort. “Ah, so it’s a size thing. I should have known. You men are obsessed with the relative proportions of everything.”

  A smile tugged the corner of his mouth and he held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I can’t. It’s just too easy.”

  “How come ships are always female?”

  He slanted her a cynical look from under his brows. “Because men can’t resist them, they need constant attention, and they’re bloody expensive to keep.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What’s the name of this particular mistress, then?”

  “We change the name plates all the time, just to confuse the customs and excise boys. Today she’s Hope.”

  “Very appropriate.” Heloise glanced over at him and for a moment he forgot everything, lost in her lavender eyes. Clouds that color meant a storm on the way.

  “You haven’t told me where we’re going, you know.”