He dropped his head back against the wall and winced as he aggravated his wound. He might never be whole again, but at least he’d set her free.
—
Richard was waiting on the jetty as they pulled into the cove, the tails of his greatcoat blowing in the wind. Heloise endured his smothering hug as she disembarked, but there was no time for talk. Kit raced down the gangplank and the two men embraced with gleeful exclamations, and then all was bustle as they organized Raven’s transfer from the ship. Two burly footmen formed a chair with their linked arms and carried him, complaining, up the steep path.
Heloise clutched her yellow gypsy shawl around her shoulders to ward off the damp chill and followed the procession up the steps cut in the cliff. Had it really been only three weeks since Raven’s ball? An eternity had passed since then.
A gray drizzle permeated the air as they started down the hill toward Ravenwood and Richard turned to her with a smile. “There’s no need for you to come, Helly. I’ll see Kit and Raven settled. You go on home and see Maman and Father.”
Heloise bit her lip. Of course. She couldn’t go with Raven. She wasn’t one of the boys. She was back in the land of propriety and censure, where an unmarried woman could no more tend to a male friend in his home than she could fly to the moon. She wanted to shout and scream, but lacked even the energy for that. What was the point?
She turned and trudged toward the border of their lands, deliberately averting her gaze from the crumbling seashell folly in the distance. As if she needed more reminders of Raven’s history of rejecting her.
It was strange and jarring, being home. Her parents were overjoyed to have her back and she felt a twinge of guilt that she’d caused them so much worry. She gave them a highly expurgated version of her adventures, ignored their concerned questions, pleaded exhaustion, and fled to her room.
Everything here looked exactly the same, but she experienced an awful sense of disconnection, homesick even though she was home. Her room had always been a sanctuary, but it offered scant comfort now; Raven was everywhere she looked. Heloise screwed her eyes shut tight, but the afterimage of him was burned into her brain. Her chest felt hollow, like she’d left a vital part of herself in Spain, but already the whole adventure wavered in her mind, fading, as if it had happened to someone else.
She curled up in the center of the bed, drew the covers over herself, and prayed she wouldn’t dream.
Chapter 41
“You’ve a visitor,” Richard said, by way of greeting. He closed Raven’s bedroom door and sauntered over to the side of the bed with his usual languid grace.
Raven frowned, instantly suspicious of his casual tone. “Other than you? If it’s your sister, tell her to go away. I don’t want to see her.”
Richard made himself comfortable on the chair next to the bed and stretched out his long legs. “It’s not my sister, although you really ought to see her. She’s asked after you every day for the past week.”
Raven sat up, managing to hide a wince at the pain that lanced through his thigh. Doctor Gilbert had checked the wound a week ago and declared it fine, but the damn thing was taking a frustratingly long time to heal. He was going out of his mind with boredom.
“Tell her I’m fine. Tell her I’m considering her reputation, even if she’s not. She shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a man’s bedroom, invalid or not.”
Richard shot him an amused glance. “Since when did you care about proprieties? Especially when it comes to inviting women into your boudoir?”
“I’ve always cared about reputation when it comes to your sister, you know that. And besides, she’s not ‘women,’ she’s…” Raven floundered for a suitable adjective and settled for “Something else entirely.”
Richard grinned. “Well, that’s true. I can’t believe you spent so long in her company without strangling her. You have my undying respect.” He leaned over and poured two glasses of brandy from the decanter on the nightstand. “Here you go. Drink up. Doctor’s orders.”
Raven accepted the tumbler and took a grateful sip, then stared moodily at the amber liquid. “How is she, by the way?” He tried to match Richard’s casual tone, but suspected he failed miserably.
“Miserable,” Richard said, echoing his thoughts with uncanny accuracy. Raven schooled his face into a blank mask.
“She talks and laughs, but there’s no spark.”
Raven swirled the liquid in the glass. His gut knotted unpleasantly. He shouldn’t drink brandy on an empty stomach.
“She’s like Mother’s Swiss music box. When you wind it up the top opens and a little bird automaton pops out and sings a tune.” Richard took a slow sip of brandy. “It’s beautiful. But completely unnatural.”
Raven took another drink. His friend was too perceptive for his own good. “I kissed her,” he muttered.
Richard raised his brows.
Raven raised his eyes to heaven. “I did a lot more than bloody kiss her, all right?” God, this was harder than he’d imagined. “I seduced her.” He tensed and waited for the explosion, but it never came. “Go on, hit me. I deserve it.”
Richard put down his glass. “I thought something like that must have happened.”
Raven shot him a wary glance. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’m not. This has been on the horizon for years. The only surprise is that you held out for as long as you did. Everyone knows the way you look at each other. The temperature goes up a hundred degrees whenever you’re both in the same room. It was only a matter of time before one of you snapped. And besides, knowing Heloise, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have been entirely one-sided.”
Raven’s heart was racing. “Does your father know?”
“He probably suspects.”
“Will he expect me to offer for her?” He held his breath, like a man hanging from a ledge by his fingertips.
“No.”
Raven exhaled. The sinking feeling in his stomach was not disappointment. Of course it wasn’t. He didn’t want to get married. It was the brandy. Guilty conscience. Relief at being let off the proverbial hook. All of the above. He cleared his throat. “Well, that’s good.”
“He does want her to marry, of course. He’s wanted that for years.”
“Of course.”
“She could still accept Wilton.”
Brandy splashed onto his wrist. He set the tumbler down and wiped his hand on the covers. “Really?”
She couldn’t marry Wilton. Wilton was dull and worthy, comfortable and kind. Everything he was not. Wilton would crush her soul with respectability. Wilton wouldn’t take her adventuring. Wilton wouldn’t help her cross out a single item on her list. He’d frown and disapprove. Except for the one about the stupid feminine skills like knitting and crocheting. That one he’d like, the sanctimonious sod. Raven clamped his lips together. Heloise Hampden was Not. His. Problem.
Wilton wouldn’t cherish her. He’d belittle her achievements.
He’d never make her come.
The idea of another man even touching her was enough to have him take another swig of brandy. He savored the burn in his throat and tamped down the urge to cut off Wilton’s hands.
“Father wouldn’t agree to it, anyway,” Richard said, pouring them both a second drink.
“Why not? He’s been telling her to marry someone exactly like Wilton for years. The boring old fart’s an earl, isn’t he?”
“It’s not about titles or money. Father would let Heloise marry the tinker if she loved him. But only if the tinker loved her back.”
“Ah,” Raven managed.
“She doesn’t want Wilton, and he couldn’t handle her, in any case. She’d walk all over him. God knows, the girl would try the patience of a saint.”
Raven raised his glass in a mocking toast. “Amen to that.”
Richard met his eyes, his gaze direct and shrewd. “You’re no saint. But it’s you she wants.”
For half a heartbeat Raven stilled. And then he fo
rced his glass to his lips and took a deep swallow. “I’m not the man for her.”
Richard shrugged. “I think you’re exactly the man for her. Who else should she have? A drunken wastrel like Collingham? A fortune-hunting fop who cares more about the fit of his coat than about her?”
“I’m not offering for her. I’m doing her a favor. She can do much better than me.”
“That’s true. Besides, if you offered for her, she’d probably just think you were asking out of a misplaced sense of duty.”
“I don’t want to get married. Ever.”
Richard’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “That’s exactly what Heloise said the other day, so you’re undoubtedly safe. As far as I’m aware, no one’s ever persuaded her to do anything she doesn’t want to.”
Raven narrowed his eyes. “Forget it, Richard. Now go away.”
“Don’t you want to know who your visitor is?”
Raven bit back a curse. He’d forgotten all about that. “If it’s not Hellcat, who is it?”
Richard’s smile widened. “Your esteemed grandfather.”
Raven sank back into the pillows with a groan. “Oh bloody hell. What does he want?”
That was just typical of the sneaky old buzzard, taking advantage of the only moment of weakness he’d had in the last few years. Raven was in no physical shape to either physically eject him from the house or to escape himself.
“The same thing he’s wanted for the past six years, I expect,” Richard said. “Your forgiveness. A reconciliation. Although I quite understand why you hate him so much. The bastard does want to give you thousands of pounds and the title of marquis.” His mouth curled at his own sarcasm. “How utterly unreasonable.”
“It’s not as simple as that and you know it.”
“I know he’s a wily old devil, just like you. And I think he’s doing whatever he can to make amends for past mistakes.”
Raven closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted. He knew exactly what Heloise would say about the matter. She’d tell him to let go of the past and forgive his grandfather. But then, she was so much more merciful than Raven was.
Richard smiled an evil smile. “I’ll tell him to come up, shall I?”
Chapter 42
“Your grandfather, sir,” a footman intoned.
Raven didn’t bother to bite back a curse. Instead he took the opportunity to study the figure that entered the room. There was no doubt that they were related. It was like looking at an older image of himself: the same green eyes, same straight nose. The duke’s hair was gray now, but still, the similarities were undeniable.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your esteemed company, sir?”
The Duke of Avondale’s mouth curved into a cynical smile that Raven had seen reflected in his own mirror a thousand times. “My doctor recently suggested that bracing coastal weather might be beneficial to my health.”
“Ah. The condition of your health is always a subject that interests me greatly.”
His grandfather acknowledged the acidic double-edged politeness with an inclination of the head. “Indeed. I heard you were indisposed from my good friend Castlereagh.”
He seemed supremely indifferent to the animosity rolling off Raven.
“I’ve no need of a nursemaid. It’s too late to act concerned about my welfare now.”
The old man crossed the room, leaning heavily on his gold-topped cane. He sat next to the bed, in the chair Richard had vacated. His eyes met Raven’s. “I am sorry for what happened, William. More than you will ever know.”
Raven turned his head away and stared blankly out the window. “I don’t care. I don’t want your apology, I want you to leave.”
“Have you never done something in the heat of the moment that you bitterly regretted afterward?” the duke asked softly. “Something you’d do anything in your power to take back, if you could.”
Raven squeezed his eyes shut. He wished he could close his ears, too, to block out the patient, reasonable words. Damn him. He thought of Heloise, of the way he’d treated her. Shame rolled through him, so acute he winced. He’d acted in anger and jealousy and fear, and hurt the one person he’d sworn to protect. Even worse, unlike his grandfather, he’d done it with full knowledge of the pain he was inflicting.
“Go away.”
His grandfather ignored the command. “I’ve had six years to regret what happened when you were kidnapped, William. I was proud and stubborn and I didn’t want some criminal bastard to have the upper hand over me. So instead of agreeing to his demands I hired my own men to find you. But they took too long. I should have just paid the ransom and had you back again, and to hell with the money and my pride. I’m sorry.”
Raven couldn’t bring himself to speak. He stared at the clouds scudding across the sky beyond the wavy panes of glass.
The duke sighed. “I have something for you.”
From the corner of his eye Raven saw him rest his cane against the bed and remove a gold signet ring from his left hand. He placed it on the coverlet by Raven’s hip, careful not to touch him.
“That was your father’s. He gave it to your mother as an engagement ring. Every Marquis of Ormonde has worn it, for over three hundred years. It’s yours. Even if you still refuse to accept the title.” A hint of humor warmed his voice. “Perhaps you’ll have need of it, too.”
That startled Raven enough to turn his head. “How so, sir?”
The duke regarded him shrewdly. “Lord Hampden once told me that he’d accept nothing less than a royal duke for his brilliant daughter. But royal dukes are so thin on the ground these days. I do believe he’d settle for a mere marquis. However disreputable.” The green eyes twinkled. “Provided the marquis loved his daughter, of course.”
Raven met the old man’s gaze squarely. “I have no plans to marry, Your Grace.”
The old man rose stiffly to his feet and made his way to the door. “Don’t be as great a fool as I was, William.”
Raven closed his eyes as the door clicked shut. He and his grandfather were so alike, much as it galled him to admit it. He’d sworn never to feel sympathy, compassion, or understanding for the old man. But Heloise’s damned altruism must have been rubbing off on him. His grandfather was only human. He’d made a mistake, just as Raven had.
A knock at the door interrupted such dangerously merciful thoughts. Manvers, Raven’s inscrutable valet, entered with his customary lack of fuss.
“I have located that poem you requested, my lord. It took a little time, but I have it here.” He handed Raven a slim leather-bound volume.
“Thank you, Manvers. That will be all.”
Raven settled himself more comfortably against the pillows and inspected the cover. It was a collection of poems by the Civil War poet and soldier Richard Lovelace. He flicked to the page marked with a ribbon. Ah, there it was. He’d recalled snatches of this damn poem the entire time he’d been imprisoned. It was entitled, aptly enough, “To Althea, from Prison.” He read the last stanza. The poem had been written nearly two hundred years ago, but the poet’s thoughts had mirrored his own exactly.
Stone Walls do not a Prison make,
Nor Iron bars a Cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an Hermitage.
If I have freedom in my Love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such Liberty.
Raven gazed at the printed lines until they blurred before his eyes and the truth hit him with the force of a blow. Loving Heloise wasn’t bondage. Loving her was freedom.
The blood rushed in his ears. He’d always left women before they had the chance to leave him, before he became attached to them. It avoided the risk of being hurt, or disappointed, as he’d been with his grandfather. The idea of permanence, of being tied down to one place and one person was utterly terrifying. But if that person was Heloise, and the place was by her side? That was another matter entirely.
He’d
been such a coward, afraid to reach for her. Afraid to willingly accept the ties of love and give his heart over to her keeping. He shook his head. She was his. No other man would put his hands on her. He’d been her first, dammit. He was going to be her last. Her only.
The rightness of that sank deep into his bones and Raven let out a choked laugh. He wasn’t good enough for her, but God, people in life never got what they deserved, did they? Sinners won the lottery, and good, kind men like Tony died young.
Heloise was stubborn, infuriating, and altogether too provocative for his peace of mind. Damned if he was going to let her make someone else’s life miserable.
His grandfather was right. She deserved to be a wife of a marquis, not a disreputable smuggler spy. He’d accused her of cowardice for shutting herself away with her translations and codes, but wasn’t that exactly what he’d been doing, too? He’d used his drive for justice as an excuse for never staying in one place too long, a way of avoiding roots and responsibilities. To reject his father’s titles and position was an insult to the memory of his parents, an insult to everything he could be.
He felt the weight of it all then, the responsibilities of his position, and realized with a start of surprise that he wanted those claims upon his heart. Heloise was his anchor, the kite string that kept him tethered. He shook his head again. Perhaps that bullet really had disordered his brain. Who’d have thought he’d ever choose bonds? But for her? Anything. He’d dedicate the rest of his life to trying to be worthy of her.
He sat up straighter, ignoring the pain in his thigh, and rang the bell. Manvers appeared almost immediately.
“Yes, my lord?”
“I need paper, pen, and ink. And tell my grandfather to stay. He’s going to help me host a ball. In two weeks’ time.”
Manvers’s inscrutable expression showed no hint of what was undoubtedly his inner turmoil at hearing such news. “Another ball, my lord? So soon after the last?”
Raven smiled at the subtle reprimand. “Not a masked ball this time, Manvers. This will be an entirely more sedate affair.”
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