A Raven's Heart

by K. C. Bateman

  Manvers bowed, his patrician features softening ever so slightly. “I am relieved to hear it, my lord. It shall be done.”

  Chapter 43

  The company of Miss Heloise Hampden is requested by his Grace the Duke of Avondale and his grandson, the Marquis of Ormonde, at a ball to honor the wounded heroes of Waterloo.

  Heloise snagged a flute of champagne from a passing servant and took a deep swallow. Parties were no fun if you’d been invited.

  She squeezed herself behind a marble pillar and tried to block out the buzz of conversation all around. Coming here had been a mistake of epic proportions; she was in no mood to socialize. She wanted to hit things. Break things. Moreover, she was sick and tired of hearing how bloody wonderful Lord Ravenwood was.

  Ravenwood had set up a charitable trust to support wounded veterans.

  Ravenwood had healed the rift with his grandfather.

  Ravenwood was the matrimonial catch of the decade.

  Heloise snorted. For years the ton had given him up as a lost cause. But apparently a little philanthropy and a lavish cold buffet was all that was needed to forgive a decade’s worth of scandal and neglect. The hypocrisy made her ill.

  This joint ball with his grandfather was as clear a public declaration of their rapprochement as an advertisement in the Times. And despite the ridiculously late notice, the cream of society had flocked to attend, all desperate to see it for themselves. Heloise gave a derisive snort. Heavens only knew why Raven had suddenly decided to forgive his grandfather now, after all this time. She doubted it had anything to do with her lectures on the subject.

  She took another long swig of champagne. And speaking of neglect, why hadn’t he—? No. She wasn’t going to think about him. It hurt her chest. She was ice. Marble. Other neutral, inert things. Ravenwood could go to the devil.

  For the past few weeks she’d managed to retreat into a blissful isolation, a muffled cocoon where nothing could touch her. She’d been numb and protected; no pain or strong emotions. But it hadn’t lasted. Anger had crept through her defenses, catching her out when she least expected it.

  The rational part of her brain reasoned that she should be grateful to Raven for showing her an adventure, for giving her the opportunity to prove herself. She’d vanquished her fear of water, was proud that she’d risen to the challenge.

  But he’d also shown her the heights of pleasure her body could achieve, and it would have been better not to know. She would have preferred to exist in blissful ignorance. She couldn’t imagine any other man touching her as Raven had. The idea brought a wave of disgust, not lust.

  And then his summons to this ball had come, and her heart had kicked back into painful, pulsing life. She’d missed him the past three weeks, missed him with an ache in her chest: his lazy smile, his company, his teasing. His presence. The way he only had to look at her to make her hot and shivery.

  The crowd here tonight was very different from that at the masquerade. Heloise was pleased to see a goodly number of elderly matrons, dowagers, and wallflowers present. She liked wallflowers. After she’d received her scar she’d made a point of talking to girls she’d barely noticed before. Not the beautiful ones. The shy ones, the plain ones. And she’d discovered that they generally had far more interesting things to say than the beautiful girls. Ugly girls couldn’t rely on their looks to snare a husband; they had to cultivate humor, wit, and intelligence instead. She was glad Raven had invited them.

  She cast her gaze up at the ceiling and found Hades and Persephone among the painted throng. She narrowed her eyes. Traitorous Persephone didn’t seem to be struggling all that hard. Heloise sighed. Perhaps she was tired of living with her mother. Perhaps she, too, craved a little darkness in which to hide.

  Richard sidled up, champagne glass in hand. “A penny for your thoughts?”

  Heloise lowered her eyes from the ceiling. “Lord Wilton just proposed again. I’m debating whether to accept him.”

  Richard sipped his drink. “No you’re not. You’d be bored to tears within days.”

  Heloise bit her lip. It was hard to argue with facts.

  “Besides,” Richard continued, “how can you consider marrying Wilton when you’re in love with Raven?”

  All the blood leeched from her face.

  “You’ve been in love with him for years,” he said gently. “We’ve all known it.”

  Heloise ignored the aching tightness in her throat and raised her chin. “So? Raven doesn’t even want to see me, let alone marry me.”

  “He doesn’t want you to see him laid low with injury. Male pride.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I saw him right after he’d been shot in the head. You can’t get much lower than that.”

  Richard shrugged. “That’s men for you.”

  Heloise let out a deep huff and scanned the room. “Have you even seen him tonight? Am I the only one who thinks it odd that the host isn’t here?” She waved her hand in a dismissing gesture. “No, of course not. It’s Raven. He can do whatever he likes—even fail to attend his own party.”

  Richard slanted her an amused glance.

  Heloise raised her shoulder. “It’s of no interest to me what he does in his own house.”

  “Of course not,” Richard echoed dryly. “So what do you think of his plans to open a hospital for veterans, then?”

  Heloise wholeheartedly approved of the principle. Just not the scheme’s author. There had been a huge influx of ex-soldiers following Waterloo, men like Sergeant Mullaney who’d defended their country, for whom no provision had been made. They should be honored, not treated like vermin and left to beg on the streets. At least Raven was using his unwanted inheritance for something worthwhile. Still, one good act was not enough to blot out a lifetime of sin.

  “The man’s a paragon of virtue. I don’t want to talk about him. What are you up to? Still trying to track down Phillipe Lacorte?”

  Richard clenched his jaw. His inability to locate the brilliant French forger had been bothering him for months.

  “The man’s as elusive as smoke. But don’t worry, I’ll get him. Sooner or later.”

  His determined look made Heloise smile. Richard was as stubborn as she. She had no doubt he’d get his man eventually.

  She turned and for a split second her heart stopped beating. An older version of Raven was crossing the room toward her, leaning slightly on a gold-topped cane.

  Richard nodded in welcome. “Raven’s grandfather, the Duke of Avondale.”

  Heloise sank into a deep, automatic curtsy as the man stopped in front of her. “Your Grace.”

  The duke raised his quizzing glass and studied her as she straightened. His hair was gray beneath his wig, and his clothes, though unadorned, were of the highest quality. Next to Richard’s broad-shouldered frame, he seemed slight, but he studied her with eyes as startlingly green and shrewd as his grandson’s.

  “Miss Hampden.” He smiled with a slight bow. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance at last. I have heard a great deal about you from my good friend Castlereagh. He says you are invaluable.”

  Heloise flushed. “Thank you.”

  He nodded, as if he approved of what he saw. “And you survived three whole weeks in the company of my grandson. You have both my congratulations and my condolences. Knowing his temperament as I do, I can only assume it must have been an extremely trying time for you.” The hint of a smile twitched the corner of his mouth and a wicked twinkle entered his eye. “And yet you appear to have emerged remarkably unscathed.”

  Heloise’s mouth curved in an answering smile. “I endured it, my lord,” she said demurely. “It was certainly…an adventure.”

  “I am delighted to hear it. My grandson is very fond of adventures. Do enjoy the evening, Miss Hampden.”

  He bowed and stalked off just as Raven’s valet, Manvers, appeared at her shoulder with a small silver tray. He offered it forward to her with a slight cough.

  “From Lord Ravenwood, ma’am.” />
  Heloise glanced down. On the tray sat a single, ripe pomegranate.

  Her heart slammed against her ribs. What did he mean by this? The swine had ignored her for the past three weeks. Was it a challenge? A summons? Trust Raven to be both provocative and frustratingly enigmatic at the same time.

  “Did Lord Ravenwood wish you to convey any message with this?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Manvers’s face was as impassive as ever, but Heloise thought she could detect the faintest hint of a mischievous twinkle in his slate gray eyes. “I do believe he expressed an intention to retire to his chamber.”

  Her face heated, but she exchanged her empty champagne glass for the fruit and managed to nod, as if she’d been expecting just such a bizarre gift in the middle of a ballroom. “Thank you, Manvers.”

  Richard raised his eyebrows and Heloise felt her skin flush even more. She glanced up at the balcony, sure she’d find Raven watching her, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “And I thought ladies liked flowers,” Richard said. “Remind me to stock up on exotic produce the next time I want to get a girl’s attention.” He nudged her shoulder with his own. “Looks like he’s willing to see you now.”

  Heloise swallowed a sudden flurry of panic. “I suppose so.”

  Richard gave her another nudge and his eyes crinkled at the corners. “So what are you waiting for?”

  Heloise pushed through the overcrowded rooms, dodging servants and guests. Her whole body tingled with a sense of urgency, of anticipation. Raven, the beast, knew she could be summoned by such a tantalizing lure. She had to know what he meant by it. The possibilities and connotations made her heart pound.

  She reached the main staircase, ran lightly up the stairs, and raced down the hallway, toward Raven’s private suite, glad she didn’t encounter anyone else. The noise of the party grew dimmer as she ventured deeper into the house and the thick runner muffled the sounds of her slippers. By the time she skidded to a stop in front of his door she was out of breath. Her hair was coming down from its pins and the hand that clutched the pomegranate was clammy.

  She paused, suddenly unsure. No strip of light showed beneath the door. What if Manvers had been wrong? She tried the handle, expecting it to be locked, but it swung open. She stepped inside.

  The room was in shadow. No candles had been lit; only the embers of a fire glowed in the grate. Her spirits dipped in anticlimax. He wasn’t here. She turned, suddenly desperate to get away, but a movement in the shadows stopped her dead.

  “Stay.”

  Raven stood at the window, looking out at the dark gardens. He’d removed his jacket; the pale moonlight outlined his broad shoulders and slim waist and when he turned to her the fire glow laved the angle of his cheek and the straight line of his jaw.

  Heloise let her hand drop from the doorknob and just stood there, tongue-tied and stupid. He stalked forward and reached past without touching her, just a faint disturbance in the air, then closed the door and turned the key in the lock. He took the pomegranate from her nerveless fingers and placed it gently on the bedside table, then casually unbuttoned the silver studs at his wrists. He placed them on the side table then loosened his cravat, tugged it off, and laid it carefully over the back of the armchair by the fire. Then he shrugged out of his shirt.

  He still hadn’t looked at her.

  Heloise couldn’t look away. Her eyes drank in the sight of him, roving his body to ensure his injuries had healed. The bandage was gone from his head, and there had been no sign of a limp when he’d crossed the room. Her pulse beat strongly in her throat as he withdrew a pistol and a knife from the small of his back and laid them next to the pomegranate. He sat on the edge of the bed. There was a metallic clatter as he picked something up and Heloise drew in a shocked breath as she recognized the handcuffs.

  His eyes caught hers.

  Chapter 44

  Raven’s heart was racing as if he’d just mounted the steps to the guillotine.

  He snapped one end of the cuffs around his wrist and pushed down the spurt of panic that assailed him. The snick as they snapped shut sounded like the slam of a prison door; he kept his eyes fixed on her for courage. If he looked away from her he’d be lost.

  Without breaking eye contact he attached the other end to the bedpost and leaned back against the headboard, forcing his reluctant muscles to obey. His skin felt too tight, every sinew screamed with tension. He’d rather swim naked across an alligator-infested swamp than do this, but it had to be done. He had to prove the depths of his love.

  Heloise found her voice. “What are you doing?”

  He managed to summon a faint, self-mocking smile. “Proving you’re the only thing I’ve never wanted to escape from.”

  —

  Heloise couldn’t breathe.

  What did he mean by that? Just because he didn’t want to escape from her didn’t mean he wanted her forever. But at least he was admitting he cared for her, which was more than he’d ever done before. Raven hated being trapped. And yet he’d voluntarily placed himself in the worst situation he could devise, simply for her.

  A reluctant smile curved her lips. A normal man would have used soft words and flowers. Raven sent her strange fruit, locked them together in a darkened room, placed his weapons out of reach, and chained himself to a bed. Lunatic.

  She swallowed the sudden tightness in her throat and aimed for a wry tone. “The fact that you need to attach yourself to a heavy piece of furniture to endure my presence is hardly flattering.”

  “I thought you might appreciate the gesture.”

  She adopted a pitying, superior expression. “I can’t believe you actually trust me to release you. After all you did to me?” She glanced at his pistol on the nightstand. “I should just shoot you right now and have done with it.”

  “I trust you,” he said solemnly. “With my life.”

  Oh, goodness.

  Heloise took a step toward the bed. “This isn’t the same situation at all, you know.”

  Raven’s lips quirked. “You’re right. I’m a willing prisoner.” A hint of his usual wickedness returned as he raised his cuffed wrist a fraction for emphasis.

  “Where’s the key?”

  He motioned across the room. “Over there, on the desk.”

  She nodded, but made no move to retrieve it. She’d spent the past three weeks moping around, alternating between righteous fury and abject misery. She wasn’t letting him go until she’d made him suffer, just a little bit.

  As if sensing her resolve, Raven eyed her warily as she approached the bed. When her knees hit the side she reached out and traced the veins on the inside of his exposed wrist with her fingertips. He hissed through his teeth and gave an involuntary jerk.

  She traced up his arm to his shoulder, enjoying the way his muscles leaped and twitched under her gentle touch. She glanced at him from under her lashes. “I hate to say it, Ravenwood, but it sounds as if you can’t live without me.”

  “I could live without you,” he said softly. “I just wouldn’t want to.”

  The room wavered and dimmed. She’d waited six long years to hear him say something like that, but now, after everything that had happened, it wasn’t enough. She wanted more than a temporary carte blanche. Nothing less than complete surrender would do. He didn’t have to live without her. He had to want to live with her. Permanently.

  Heloise’s pulse hammered in her throat. She’d spent the past few weeks trying to resign herself to a future that didn’t include Raven. Now, suddenly, an entirely different possibility was within her grasp. Like that card in Elvira’s tarot, she held the power to influence her own destiny. She just had to be brave enough to wield it.

  She plucked the pomegranate from the side table and brandished it in front of his nose. “Why did you send me this?”

  Raven glanced at it, then back up at her. “When Persephone’s in the underworld it’s winter up on the earth, right?”

  She nodded. “It’
s not spring until she returns.”

  “That’s how it is with me. When you go, all the light goes, too.” He sounded both defiant and vulnerable.

  A warm glow started deep within her body and expanded to fill her with a piercing joy. He loved her. With shaking hands she broke open the pomegranate and tipped some of the jewel-red seeds into the palm of her hand. She placed one between her lips. Raven’s gaze fastened on her mouth and the naked hunger in his expression made her skin tingle. He raised his eyes to hers and she caught the challenge in his look.

  “You know the rest of it,” he said softly. “If you eat that you’ll be stuck with me forever.”

  She took the seed from her lips and pressed it between his own. “You first.”

  Heloise held her breath. And then Raven parted his lips and took both the seed and her finger into his mouth. She snatched her hand back with a gasp and he bit down with an audible crunch and swallowed. He raised his brows in unmistakable challenge. “Your turn.”

  She swallowed her own seed with an air of defiance. Her eyes never left his. They were bound together now. This wordless communion sealed a covenant as solemn and sacred as vows spoken in church. God help him if he didn’t mean it. She’d shoot him with his own pistols if he abandoned her.

  “Hey, come back,” Raven protested as she suddenly stepped away from the bed. He reached for her with his free hand but she skipped out of range.

  “You’re in no position to be making demands,” she chided.

  He shot her a mock-furious glare and she took a moment to study him in the dim light. He lay stretched out on the bed, long and lithe and powerful. Temptation in the flesh. A heady thrum of joy pulsed through her veins.

  Raven’s eyes widened as she kicked off her dancing slippers and reached round to undo the row of buttons at the back of her dress. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you think I’m doing? I’m taking advantage of you, of course.”

  Her amber dress had only three buttons. She undid them, pushed the short puff sleeves down her arms, and let the dress fall to the ground in a graceful collapse. She undid the front lacing of her short stays, taking a relieved breath as the constriction on her ribs eased, then untied her petticoats and let them drop, too. She was left in just a scandalous rose silk chemise and her stockings.