Lord Ravenscar's Inconvenient Betrothal

by Lara Temple

  ‘A special licence?’

  ‘Yes, didn’t Raven tell you?’ Stanton’s attempt at innocence was distinctly unconvincing. ‘That is the real reason why I came. He asked me to apply for one with the Archbishop. He is clearly taking his new role very seriously.’

  ‘Does he know how much you are enjoying his downfall, Lord Stanton?’

  ‘Most assuredly he does. He made enough game of Hunter when he fell in love with Nell, it is only fair he suffer a little of his own medicine.’

  She shook her head. Men were sometimes beyond her understanding. They certainly had peculiar ways of showing their affection for each other. She cast a careful glance at where Alan was standing by Catherine and Nicky, his dark head bent to something his niece was saying as her hands danced expressively. She turned back to Stanton.

  ‘Did he ever tell you about Rickie?’

  His smile held, but the warmth behind it doused utterly. This more than anything told her precisely how strong the ties between these men were.

  ‘Yes. Not until he was much older. He doesn’t confide easily. It clarified quite a few things for us.’

  ‘So you know he doesn’t want children.’

  ‘Yes. I know.’

  Perhaps she had been hoping for a dismissal or a denial or even another politic qualification.

  ‘Both my best friends lost brothers in tragic circumstances and both have to suffer the pain and, what is worse, the guilt,’ he continued. ‘We each have our own crosses to bear and I don’t presume to be able to understand their brand of pain any more than I expect them to understand mine. I do expect them to accommodate me, though, which is enough of a presumption.’

  She plucked at her gloves and he continued.

  ‘It doesn’t mean you have to let him win, though. He isn’t as smart as he thinks. In fact, if anyone is a damn fool... Ah, hello, Raven. We were just talking about you.’

  ‘Were you? Should I be flattered or should I be searching for the knife in my back?’

  ‘Unworthy, my friend. I was just telling Miss Wallace how pleased I am at your betrothal.’

  ‘No such announcement has been made, Lord Stanton,’ Lily repeated and Lord Stanton stood up and bowed.

  ‘Of course, Miss Wallace. I stand corrected. How pleased I am to make your acquaintance, then.’

  Alan took the vacated seat as Stanton moved towards the others. He turned to her, every line of his body signalling a threat.

  ‘You two appeared to be quite friendly.’

  ‘Did we? I like him. He is very charming.’

  ‘I know he’s charming. Women keep falling over themselves to capture his attention and half the time he doesn’t even realise it. Try not to join their ranks.’

  She laughed at the absurdity.

  ‘Surely you aren’t jealous? That is rather facetious after you yourself advised me I would have to seek what I wanted with other men.’

  He shifted abruptly, the mocking distance disappearing from his face.

  ‘You wouldn’t. Not Stanton.’

  For a moment she saw the twelve-year-old boy who had been sent to Eton within months of losing everything he loved, faced with impossible guilt and impossible choices and still choosing to stand with what he thought was right. She reached out and caught herself, clasping her hands in her lap.

  ‘I would never do that to you. That isn’t who I am.’

  She watched the tension in the etched line of his jaw and the razor-slashed grooves in his cheeks.

  ‘If I married you, Alan, I would be faithful. That is who I am. You should put aside considerations of honour and decide if that is what you want.’

  Both of them were saved from his answer by Lord Stanton’s announcement that he had to return to Bristol as he was going back to London early in the morning. In her own inimitable fashion Lady Ravenscar managed to extend her farewells to the Marstons as well and within twenty minutes the room had been cleared of all guests and Catherine was chiding a yawning Nicky towards the door.

  ‘To bed with you, Nicky.’

  ‘That was nice. I like them, Mama. I hope they come again. Isn’t Lord Stanton so very handsome? Just like a prince...’

  ‘Yes, my dear. Upstairs with you.’

  The door closed behind them and Lady Ravenscar levered herself to her feet.

  ‘It has been a long evening. I will retire as well. Goodnight, Lily. Alan.’

  Lily straightened, the numbness falling away as she realised what Lady Ravenscar was doing. No, she wasn’t ready to be alone with him, but the door had already clicked shut and the tapping of Lady Belle’s cane faded.

  ‘My grandmother has significantly mellowed if she is willing to lower herself to such manoeuvres to further her ends,’ Alan said as he sat down beside her on the sofa. ‘This is not something my grandfather would have permitted, no matter how sublime the cause.’

  ‘Goodnight, Lord Ravenscar.’ She began to rise, but he caught her arm, pulling her back down beside him.

  ‘We aren’t done yet.’

  ‘I am tired, Lord Ravenscar. I wish to retire.’

  The dark night shades of his eyes had softened a little, revealing the silver that would flash when his compassion or amusement surfaced. It tugged an answering response from her, but she resisted it. She didn’t want to soften right now. She had heard of foxes that chewed through a trapped limb to escape a poacher’s snare. She just needed to gather her resolve.

  ‘Yes, I can see that. You are escaping back to your island, aren’t you? First we are going to discuss Hollywell. Why don’t you just admit you are secretly glad you can keep Hollywell for yourself?’ he continued, but the underlying truth in his question opened the floodgates.

  ‘Because I’m not. If I did agree to marry you, I would have a lifetime to be alone because in the end that is all you are able to offer me. I wanted to fill that house with people and children, even if they weren’t my own. I wanted to turn the drawing room upstairs in the south wing into a schoolroom and there would be a reading room for them so I could read to those who hadn’t learned yet, or who just wanted to listen. I know what you think you are doing, Alan, but you are wrong. This just proves it.’

  She gasped as his hands shot out and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to face him.

  ‘I won’t let you marry Marston.’

  His obtuseness drove her pain into rage. She could feel the ebb of her tide, the rise of the destructive anger, but she had been holding back too much that day to stop it from crashing through her.

  ‘Let go of me! I didn’t say I would marry him, but I didn’t say I would marry you, either. I don’t like the terms, Ravenscar. If it means I am ruined, then so be it, I no longer care. This foolish dream I had about coming home to England and living the life I might have had is not worth the price. I shall sell my mother’s jewels and go away, somewhere. America, perhaps, where they won’t mind a little dust on my reputation in exchange for my wealth. I might even find someone who truly cares about me as I do about him. That strange mythical beast might yet exist out there. I’m not escaping to my island this time, Alan.’

  She desperately wanted to shake him, to drag him off his own island, but she watched helplessly as he shut down. It was peculiar that this harsh, cynical look reminded her again how handsome he was, almost unfairly so, giving credence to that Wild Hunt nonsense of a man damned and seductively dangerous. She was beginning to forget his physical beauty, merely seeing Alan, but when he turned coldly furious, it became evident again.

  ‘This is all very edifying, but the fact remains that you will marry me.’

  ‘You cannot force me to wed, Alan.’

  ‘Is that another challenge, Lily? Shall I show it will not take any force at all?’

  Yes, please. There was nothing she could do to stem the swarm of blood filling her with anticipation.


  ‘I didn’t force you to rush into my arms that night at Hollywell,’ he continued.

  ‘I was scared.’

  ‘That wasn’t why you stayed there, that wasn’t why you opened to me, why you moaned in my arms when I touched you, there...’

  His fingers lightly traced a stripe of lace embroidered into her skirt, following the line between her thighs. Her legs shivered against each other and the memory of every moment of the night Grim had scared her rushed through her mind and body, as hot and inescapable as the most virulent fever. In a second her cheeks were throbbing with blood, her mouth dry, her lungs struggling to regulate her breath, and at the juncture of her thighs, an immediate awareness, damp and yearning. If she could have resorted to violence to wipe away her weakness, she would have. But she just waited for the worst to pass before she spoke.

  ‘It isn’t proper for us to be here alone, Lord Ravenscar.’

  ‘We are engaged and allowed a little lenience,’ he replied, his gaze moving over her face, settling on her mouth. He wasn’t touching her, but she felt him, the memory of his taste filling her, and she had to fight the urge to lick her lips, capture that shimmering sensation and prepare herself for more.

  She was stronger than this.

  ‘We aren’t engaged yet. How many times must I say this? Please leave the room or I shall.’

  ‘Then leave.’

  She hadn’t expected that. She stood, half-expecting him to still protest, but he said nothing, his attention on a stray thread unravelling the petals of an embroidered rose on the back of the sofa.

  ‘Goodnight, Lord Ravenscar,’

  The last of the petals succumbed to a sharp tug of his fingers.

  ‘Sweet dreams, Lily.’

  She walked out before she broke utterly. She would concede this battle, but not the war.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It took an exertion of will over every sinew in Alan’s body not to stop her. He twined the pink thread between his fingers, trying to bring to bear all the internal lectures about proceeding calmly and carefully and keep a tight rein on this need to touch her, take her...

  Right now all this good counsel felt as effective as sheltering under a blade of grass in a storm. It would take more than a few pithy homilies to calm this burn of frustration. A few more evenings like this and he would do something drastic, like march upstairs and show her why all this fine talk about choices and propriety and anything but the elemental bond that existed between them was as empty as...as his life would be if she married Marston.

  Damn her. He was done playing fair.

  He shook the thread from his fingers and went upstairs. He would wait until her maid left and then he would make clear her fate was as sealed as his.

  * * *

  ‘Sue? Did you forget something?’

  She didn’t turn as he opened her door, but her arm stopped in mid-brush. Her hair hung long and wavy and lush down her back and over her shoulder and his hands were already mapping their way down its length as he closed the door behind him, turning the key in the lock.

  She turned, her eyes widening, taking in his coatless, bootless state.

  ‘You can’t come in here,’ she whispered.

  ‘I think you’ll find I can.’

  ‘Alan...’

  ‘Let me.’ He took the brush and stroked his hand down the waves of her hair as they fell over her dressing gown, covering her breasts in a mantle of warmth.

  ‘It’s even silkier than it looks,’ he murmured. ‘Do you know, I fantasise about what it would feel like on my bare skin and spread out on the bed when I am inside you.’

  He smiled at the burn of colour that swept the coolness from her skin and wrapped his hand deeper in the auburn waves. He was done waiting and he was done playing by the rules. They never worked for him anyway. Tonight he would break another vow and categorically ruin a virgin and risk his soul into the bargain. It was a fair trade.

  ‘I’ll scream,’ she hissed, recovering from the shock, but her voice shook and she didn’t try to pull away.

  ‘With pleasure. I hope so.’

  ‘You are impossible! You know what I mean.’

  He tightened his hand in her hair, bearing her head back as he bent to speak the words against her mouth. ‘Go ahead. Scream...’

  He smiled at the agonised little moan that met his words. She was his. Right now. For ever.

  ‘Your lips are a little dry, let me help you.’

  He caressed her lower lip with his tongue, drawing it into his mouth and letting it slide out, half-catching it with his teeth before releasing it so he could see the moist glimmer on the lush curve. He was going to taste every inch of her, find every flavour.

  ‘One day I will discover what magical spice you use, Lily. I’ve never tasted anything so delectable.’

  ‘Alan, you can’t do this; this is cheating...’ she whispered, but he felt her hand flutter against his chest, her attempt to push him away turning into an unconscious caress and adding to the urgent pulsing of blood rushing through him like a swarm of angry wasps. He paid no heed either to her or his body, just to his plan.

  ‘I’m just helping you prepare for bed.’ He ran the brush from the crown of her head to the tips of her hair, long, slow, definite strokes. Mirroring them with the slide of his mouth against hers, not penetrating her there, just warming and soothing and teasing until he could almost feel the confused pulsing between her legs in the way her hands were curled into each other, her thighs hard together. Her scent enveloped him, beckoning him with the fantasy of slipping into the warm Caribbean Sea with her, as bare as the elements.

  ‘One day you’ll take me swimming with you in your bay, Lily. There will be nothing between us but warm water and no one to hear your intoxicating moans but the gulls.’

  He kneeled beside her, ignoring the pressure of his pantaloons on his erection as he trailed his hand down to find the ribbon that secured her dressing gown between her breasts and gently eased it free. Her eyes were on his, but dilated, lost in shock and need. If he were a gentleman, he would give her time, woo her fears away, but he was taking no chances any more with his prize. He would woo her after he secured her. There would be no more talk about America and running away.

  ‘Do you know,’ he said as he traced the embroidered pattern along the bodice of her nightgown, sinking into the valley between her breasts, curving under them and raising their weight very gently into his palms, ‘this cloth might actually have come from one of my mills? I will take you there so you can see what it takes to make something so exquisite, so sheer I can see every shade of colour, every change in texture.’ He marked his observations with his fingertips and her flesh gathered and shook beneath them, her breath mirroring the tremors that he could feel down to where he was leaning against her thigh.

  He was shaking as well, with hunger and the need to keep it reined in, with the knowledge that he was finally going to take her, make her unequivocally his, that with each tremor that brought him closer to her his life was changing, opening.

  There would be no going back for either of them, no running away. She was his.

  * * *

  Lily watched his hands, dark and hard against the white lawn of her nightgown, showing her the vulnerability of the flesh beneath. She knew what he was doing. She had thrown down the gauntlet and he was merely picking it up. He would win, too, because she wanted to lose. When he looked at her like that, nothing else mattered but that he not stop. She was no better than her mother and at the moment she didn’t care. All she cared about was right here, his features hard cut with tension, about to take what she had no wish to withhold.

  Her eyelids sank as his fingers pressed gently against her breasts, encompassing them, but when his thumbs brushed up, catching the hard peaks, the whip of pleasure was so immediate and foreign she shut her eyes tight against it, s
agging against him with a cry. In a second he was dragging her out of her chair to her feet and hard against his body, his voice hard and urgent against her hair.

  ‘You want this... Tell me you want this, Lily.’

  ‘Yes.’ She almost choked on the word, her throat was so tight, her mouth pressed against his neck, breathing him in, filling with him. She was back in his room at Hollywell, but this time he didn’t stop. This time she was tasting the silky hot skin, touching her tongue to the rough scrape of stubble along the line of his jaw, seeking his mouth. She was drunk on the need to taste him again.

  ‘I want you...’

  His body contracted around her, like the tremors of fever, and that excited her almost more than anything, the knowledge that he wanted her, that he was clinging to his control. She said the words again, like a prayer.

  ‘I want you...Alan...’

  His name was caught against his mouth as he dug his hands into her hair and raised her mouth to his. This kiss grew wild fast, capturing, tasting every corner of her mouth before claiming its depth until she lost her boundaries, as much him as herself.

  It didn’t stop with her mouth and now she would have fought him if he had tried to stop. Her nightgown sighed to the floor and she was as bare as he had threatened and his hands closed on her breasts again and the rough and soft drag of his skin felt as though he had reached inside her, curved over her heart and soul, and was shaping them as he saw fit. He was turning her into flame, setting free some mythical creature like the tales of the people of Padrones.

  She wanted to feel him. His image of swimming with him in the bay filled her mind, of sliding her body against his, feeling his hands, his mouth sliding against the softness of the water, finding her... Her hands clenched the warm fabric of his shirt, pulling at it. She had lost all shame, all reason.

  ‘I want to feel you on me.’

  He didn’t need a second invitation. He dragged his shirt off, pressing her against him, and she couldn’t resist rubbing herself against the silky dark hair on his chest. It fed the restless hunger inside her, the pulsing heat gathering at her centre.