Deborah Simmons

by The Last Rogue

  “All it needs is a good cleaning,” Jane repeated. She felt his eyes upon her and turned her face away, lest he see too much. Luckily, the trunks arrived just then, drawing his attention from her. The two men dropped their burdens and swiftly exited, following Mrs. Graves and her single lantern into the impenetrable darkness. No doubt they would be happy to bed down in the stables rather than the main house, for no one but herself seemed to care for Craven Hall.

  Raleigh stood by the opening watching them go for a long moment, then turned and shut the door firmly behind him. “Lud, Jane, that woman is positively ghoulish! In fact, this whole wretched place looks like something out of Lady Ravenscar’s books. Perhaps she would be willing to buy the place! Should she be lacking in inspiration, she could always pop up here for a cozy chat with Mrs. Macabre.”

  Swallowing the laughter that swelled in her throat, Jane opened her trunk and reached for her nightdress. “Who is Lady Ravenscar?” she asked.

  “Eh? Oh, Prudence. She writes Gothic novels and married a friend of mine, Sebastian, earl of Ravenscar. Everyone thought she wrote Bastion of Bloodmoor about him. It was quite a scandal.” He chuckled, as if amused by the memory. “Surely, you’ve heard of her?”

  Charlotte had a copy of Bastion of Bloodmoor, but Jane had never read it. Now, she was glad for the lack because the casual warmth in her husband’s voice as he spoke of the author pricked at her. It was not jealousy, she told herself firmly. “I do not read those horrid novels,” she said disdainfully.

  “Lud, Jane, is there anything you do approve of?” Raleigh asked, with a degree of exasperation she had never seen him exhibit before. “Don’t you get tired of standing up on the pedestal all day, looking down on the rest of us mere mortals?”

  Jane bristled. “I don’t look down on everyone,” she argued. Everyone had looked down on her. Poor Plain Jane. No fortune for the family in that face! Grabbing her gown, she strode toward the massive bed, big enough to sleep six people, and glared at the man who would not join her there.

  He was staring back at her with a rather stunned expression on his face. “Are you implying that you only look down on me?” he asked in an incredulous voice.

  Tired, cross and buffeted by a host of emotions she did not understand, including a sudden sharp envy of the highly prized Prudence, Jane lashed out at him. “If you must know, I find your clothing, your manner, indeed, your entire being, frivolous and inane!”

  For a moment, Raleigh stood there, as if absorbing her words like a blow, before bowing slightly. “Then you are in good company, dear wife, for you and my parents are in perfect agreement.”

  Horrified and ashamed by her outburst, Jane wanted to call back her hasty words, but Raleigh was already moving past her.

  “Now, if you will excuse me, I believe the accommodations in the dressing room are more to my liking.” He spoke lightly and moved gracefully, as if her hateful comments did not affect him m the slightest. He was Raleigh, and he cared about nothing.

  Why, then, did Jane feel as if her hasty remarks had wounded them both, irreparably?

  Chapter Seven

  Jane lay awake, her chest tight as she regretted her dreadful outburst. Her papa preached Christian charity, and she knew better than to behave so abominably to anyone. Despite his faults, Raleigh had been nothing but amiable to her, even going so far as staying here just because she had requested it. Right now he was sleeping on a couch in dubious conditions and without the benefit of his valet. Yet, except for fussing about his coat, he had made no real complaint.

  Then why had she let her tongue run away with her? It was not like her. She had always been a model of restraint! Although Raleigh seemed to bring out the very worst in her with his mocking eyes and careless attitude, her sharp words were inexcusable, and Jane blinked away hot tears of shame. Instead of getting much needed rest, she lay in the darkness, composing abject apologies that somehow turned into whispered confidences shared in the darkness of the passageway. Raleigh bent toward her, without that taunting grin…

  Thump. Clank.

  Jane stiffened at the strange sound. Normally, she was oblivious to all night noises, but she could not ignore the muffled tread, followed by the clinking of metal. Holding her breath, she listened more intently and there it was—a distinct but stealthy grinding, above and beyond the rattling of the windows and the wind.

  Clutching a blanket to her breast, Jane sat up and tried to see through the gloom of the room, bereft now even of the candles she had carefully extinguished before getting into bed. She was as pragmatic as Sarah and not given to fancies or frights, but alone in a strange place, subject to an unrecognizable clatter, she felt her skin prickle and chill.

  Perhaps Raleigh was moving about in his dressing room, she told herself firmly. He and Mrs. Graves were the only other inhabitants of the house, and since the housekeeper would hardly be wont to wander the rooms at this time of night, Raleigh must be responsible. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, however, Jane found her attention drawn to the wall opposite his dressing room, for the sound appeared to emanate from that direction.

  Thump. Clank.

  Good heavens, it sounded as if someone were dragging chains through the house! Swallowing hard, Jane peered into the shadows, seeing nothing. She told herself to light the fat candle she had set on the ornate table beside the bed, but just as she reached for it, she noticed that certain portions of the mural seemed lighter than the others. Her hand halted, suspended in midair, for she could not take her gaze from the painting. So intently did she watch it that one section appeared to move.

  A low moan rose from her throat that escalated into a full-blown cry when the movement abruptly stopped. She blinked. Had the stirring been a trick of the darkness, or her imagination? Breathing hard, Jane clutched the blankets to her neck and gazed at the mural, afraid to move.

  Suddenly, noise erupted from the other side of the chamber as the dressing room door swung open and Raleigh rushed in. “What is it? Are you all right, Jane?”

  She laughed weakly, so giddy with relief at his arrival that she wanted to fling herself out of bed right at him. Good old Raleigh, Wycliffe had called him time and again, and she had always sniffed in disdain. Now the appellation seemed so right that she blinked back tears.

  “Yes, I—I am fine. Did you hear anything?” Jane asked.

  “I heard you shriek,” he said. Nothing but a dark shape in the gloom, he nonetheless exuded warmth and safety and familiarity just as if he chased the shadows away with his very presence.

  The light! Able to move at last, Jane reached for her spectacles. After some fumbling in the dark, she put them on and lit the single candle with trembling fingers, only to gasp in horror when she looked up to see Raleigh standing not far from the bed. Stark naked.

  Jane sucked in a deep, strangled breath. “You—you—haven’t anything on!” she stammered, blinking against the sight of him so big and bare.

  “Of course not. I was endeavoring to sleep,” Raleigh said, lifting a hand to rub across his face. Then his eyes shot to hers, the mocking gleam back in full force.

  “Finding fault with my attire again, Jane, love?” he asked, and though his tone was light as usual, Jane caught a hint of something beneath that made her shiver.

  “But—but—Papa and my brothers wear nightshirts!” she explained, unable to tear her eyes from his form. While her brothers had seemed only skinny and vulnerable the few times she had glimpsed them partially clothed, Raleigh appeared stronger and more powerful somehow.

  Stripped of his fancy garments, her husband was impossibly male, tall and broad and golden, with lean muscles roping his arms and legs. He looked sleek and smooth, like a statue come to life, his broad chest narrowing down to a flat stomach and lower…Jane forced herself to look away from the thicket of brown hair, her heart thundering in her ears so loudly that she could hardly hear what he was saying.

  “Can’t fathom why anyone wears a nightshirt. Not ‘tall fashionable, m’
girl. Only come in white, you know, and makes a man look bandy-legged.”

  Now Jane knew he was teasing her, tormenting her for her earlier remarks, and how could she blame him? Her face crimson, she shut her eyes tightly and tried to remember the apologies she had composed before all this commotion. Now was the time to make them, but she could not concentrate upon anything but Raleigh’s startling appearance.

  “Lud, Jane, I thought you were being murdered in here. Pardon me for not taking time to grab my breeches,” he said, his tone softer. She felt him pull a blanket from the bed and then the mattress dipped as he took a seat beside her. A simple apology quickly composed, Jane lifted her lashes and lost all train of thought once more.

  Raleigh sat but a few feet from her, perfectly at ease in his state of dishabille. He had wrapped a blanket around his waist, but his chest remained bare and sleek, with dark, flat circles dotting the expanse and interesting curves that denoted muscles where she would have never suspected.

  Giddily, Jane wondered what his skin would feel like to the touch. Was it as smooth as it appeared? It practically glowed in the low light, a beautiful color, finer by far than her own paleness. He lifted an arm to swipe at his eyes again, and Jane saw the shadow of dark hair beneath it. She gulped as a strange sensation coursed through her.

  “Jane,” he prompted, and she forced her attention to his face. He was eyeing her intently, with a faintly amused expression that instantly made her bristle. The warm languor that had flooded her faded to a dull pulsing as she slowly recovered her composure.

  “I heard a noise,” she admitted.

  “Fancy that!” Raleigh said. “Was it the windows banging, the wind howling through them like hell’s own chorus or the walls shaking prior to their imminent collapse?”

  His exasperated amusement nearly drew a smile from her. “No,” Jane said, keeping her expression sober. “It was not the normal creaking of an old house, but something different, a muffled sound that seemed to be coming from behind that wall,” she said, pointing to the mural.

  “Rats!” Raleigh exclaimed with a shudder. “Gad, there’s probably all manner of vermin making their home here.”

  Jane frowned. “It certainly didn’t sound like rats. More like footsteps.” She thought it best to leave out the part about the rattling chains, for he would surely think her a silly goose.

  Raleigh’s brow furrowed as he looked at the painting cast deep in shadow. “It was probably our beloved housekeeper fleeing the demned place for good, so as not to be caught in its downfall.”

  He rose, and Jane watched in fascination as the blanket slipped low over his narrow hips, exposing his navel and the flat skin below it before catching and holding its makeshift knot. Unable to tear her gaze away, she let it rest upon his broad back as he turned and walked gracefully to the door, darkness settling around him. She heard him check the lock, and then he faced her once more, and Jane’s heart leapt at the sight of him emerging from the blackness, tall and bare-chested.

  Excitement popped and sizzled along every nerve ending in her body as she gaped at him. This was Raleigh? This man was her husband. The knowledge stole her breath and made the beating in her chest thunder louder than any rattling chains. Disoriented again, Jane was seized by foreign urges she refused to acknowledge, like sliding her hand along his skin or leaping from the bed to greet him. Suddenly, she knew she must get rid of him. It was improper, all this flesh, and the two of them alone in the near silence of the old house.

  “I didn’t mean it!” Jane burst out, shocked at the sound of her voice in the silence.

  “What’s that?” Raleigh said, and Jane bit back a gasp as he settled himself on the mattress once more. His hip seemed entirely too close to her foot beneath the blanket and she shifted, resisting an urge to kick off the confining covering. She didn’t know whether the room had become stifling hot or whether she was coming down with something. “Are you all right, Jane?”

  Her eyes flew back to the man so near to her, all golden and smooth in the candlelight. “Those things I said about you. I’m sorry,” she said, loosing a sigh of relief. Now that she had apologized, he could go and she could sleep the sleep of the blameless.

  His lips curved into a gentle smile, and Jane knew she must finish before he annoyed her again or she gave in to the temptations that were scattering her wits. Like testing the texture of that golden expanse or the hardness of the muscle in his upper arm. “I’ve been a crosspatch and I have no excuse except that less than a week ago I went to help with my sister’s children and now…”

  Her words trailed off. And now I am alone with you in the shadows, and you’re different.

  “Now you find yourself in a rat-infested hovel. Quite a change and not for the better, eh?” His grin was crooked, as if he mocked himself, and Jane was swift to object.

  “I didn’t mean that. It’s just that I’m not accustomed to being so far away from everyone and so close to…you.” Too close! her mind screamed. All her perceptions of Raleigh had been upended in the darkness.

  Smiling gently, he lifted a hand, and for a moment Jane thought he was going to touch her. She watched in wide-eyed wonder, terror and yearning all twisted up inside her, but he only took a lock of hair and tucked it back into her braid. “Do you ever wear it loose?” he asked.

  No, because it isn’t bright and fluffy like Charlotte’s, but dull and straight. “No,” she said curtly, turning her face away.

  “You ought to.”

  Jane shook her head. “I—I’m all right now. You can go back to sleep. I’m sorry for the fuss.”

  His gaze slid from her swiftly as he rose to his feet, and Jane felt as if she had pushed him away. She opened her mouth to call him back, but the glint of the light on his hair caught her attention. Although she knew it was gently tousled by slumber, it looked almost as if she had combed it with her fingers. Jane heard herself emit a strangled sound.

  “Why don’t you let the candle burn down?” Raleigh asked, oblivious to her distress. “I think I can afford to buy some more of them, if nothing else.” His usual light tone was tinged with a hint of bitterness, and Jane’s mouth worked helplessly as she struggled for something to say. But he was already moving away from her, his lean body fading into the shadows. “You don’t mind if I take the blanket, do you?” he called over his shoulder.

  Jane sucked in a sharp breath, unable to answer, and she heard his low chuckle before the dressing room door closed behind him. The moment the latch clicked, Jane sank back against the pillows, loosing her pent-up air in a rush. Rogue! But her annoyance at his teasing was swiftly displaced by other memories of him that made her shiver.

  She had seen a naked man! And not just any naked man, but Raleigh. And he looked frightfully good. Jane blushed anew, for she had never imagined that beneath those fancy clothes was such a splendid physique. He was lean, not an ounce of fat on him, but he wasn’t skinny. He needed no padding to fill out the shoulders of his coat or the calves of his pantaloons or the front of them…

  Groaning softly, Jane sank lower, pulling the covers up over her head as if to hide from her own errant thoughts. She must put the image of her bare-bodied husband from her mind, along with all the strange feelings the sight had engendered. At least now he was in charity with her again and she could rest without being plagued by guilt, Jane mused sleepily.

  It was her last waking thought before she drifted off, and if during the night she heard rattling noises and doors closing, they did not disturb her sleep—or the dreams she had of a golden god leaning over her bed.

  Jane awoke with her blankets twisted wildly around her and a strange yearning in the depths of her being. For a moment, she thought perhaps she was ill, but then it all came back to her: Raleigh. Naked. Stifling a gasp, she rose and clothed herself hurriedly, one eye on the entrance to the dressing room, and then, once wearing one of her more serviceable gowns, she hesitated. She had no idea how to find her way through the house, nor would any servants be at ha
nd to lead her.

  But Jane was not the type to sit and wait. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the outer passage, where she was struck immediately by dank, musty air. The smell made her wrinkle her nose and become even more determined to clean and air the Hall as soon as possible.

  Opening doors, Jane wandered at will through a maze of chambers, all dark and dusty, all piled high with years of refuse and books, paintings, papers and odd remnants. Heavy drapes, though worn in spots, kept everything in a state of perpetual gloom, and Jane’s fingers itched to pull them back. But before she could begin sorting through everything, she needed breakfast and an apron to cover her gown against the dust.

  After taking the wrong direction several times, Jane found the main staircase and from there the dining room, which, though as dark and depressing as the rest of the building, appeared to be cleared of the hodgepodge that cluttered the other rooms.

  “Hello!” Jane called out, peeking into the butler’s pantry. Winding her way through it and what looked like a stillroom she found herself in the kitchen, but Mrs. Graves was not anywhere to be seen. Her hands on her hips, Jane surveyed the room, nodding her head in approval at the clean surfaces and sturdy utensils.

  She had just begun to stoke the fire when a dark shadow fell across the floor, making her start. Putting her hand to her throat, Jane looked up to see the housekeeper standing in the doorway, her expression grim. “Oh, Mrs. Graves, you startled me,” Jane said. “I was just setting a pot on to boil. For tea.”

  The housekeeper stared at her in silence until Jane began to feel uncomfortable. “Well,” she said briskly. “Is there anything I can do to assist you with the preparation of breakfast?”

  “No, my lady.” If Mrs. Graves thought it unusual that a viscountess was offering to help in the kitchen, she did not show it, and Jane felt no need to explain her humble origins.

  “Well, then, I shall simply wait in the dining hall,” Jane said briskly. She stepped forward, but Mrs. Graves stood still, and for a moment Jane thought the woman would not let her pass. When the housekeeper finally moved aside, Jane had to stop herself from darting forward. She had the absurd notion that the woman was trying to intimidate her, but she shook it off, blaming the dismal atmosphere that prevailed at Craven Hall for her odd fancy.