Chasing Raven

by Jayne Fresina

  One afternoon, when a rain shower confined them to the house, he offered to show the young ladies to his library. On the way there, they had to pass the portrait gallery and its array of grim faces from past generations.

  "I see a definite family resemblance," Raven remarked drily. "Not a smile among them."

  Mary replied, "But one must sit for a very long time for a portrait. I suppose holding a smile would be difficult."

  "Hmm. Especially when the necessary muscles have so little practice."

  Behind her their host muttered, "We Hales do not have a great deal to smile about."

  "Really?" Raven chuckled. "With this vast fortune and a splendid estate? I will never understand the nobility and their desire to be miserable."

  "But, of course, we have not had Miss Raven Deverell to show us the error of our ways. And make us laugh."

  She glanced over her shoulder and found him determinedly not looking at her, his nose in the air, his lips twisted firmly together as he surveyed the painting before them.

  "The second earl, my great, great, great grandfather, might well have had more to smile at, if he hired you to be his jester, Miss Deverell."

  "So that's why you wanted me here?"

  "Why else?" A smug twitch lifted the right side of his mouth and his eyes gleamed wickedly down at her. "I'll have you fitted for a cap and bells. Then you can sit on my knee during dinner."

  "You mean at your knee."

  "Do I?"

  Mary coughed politely into her hand, reminding them both that she was there.

  Hale gestured for them to move on, but only a few portraits later they came upon one of the man himself. A younger version. At his side sat a pretty woman with pale gold hair, and she held a child.

  Raven's feet had come to a halt and she could not make them move again.

  "Oh," gasped Mary, looking a little pale.

  It was fortunate her mother was not with them, Raven thought, for she would surely have felt the need to fill the silence with some uncomfortable conversation.

  Hale came up behind them. "That is Lady Southerton, my wife. And our son. Thomas." He sounded calm, as if reciting a line he'd used many times before.

  What did one say at such a moment? She was at a loss.

  "It is a good likeness," he added. Only then did she catch a slight falter on the last word. In the next moment he had moved on to the next portrait and so they followed.

  Raven's feet felt heavy. The rain flicking and hissing against all those many windows seemed louder than ever, echoing around her. A good likeness, a good likeness.

  She longed to stay longer and examine the picture, but she could not do so without seeming nosy and insensitive.

  Alone with Mary later she whispered, "Do you think we should have said something about the portrait of his wife? It felt rude to make no comment, but I could not think of a word."

  "I am sure he was grateful that we said nothing. It is not easy to speak of dead loved ones."

  "No. Of course." And he must have loved her. It was obvious. The servants said he kept her room exactly as she left it, and his voice had broken on the words, "a good likeness".

  But marriages among the aristocracy were seldom made for love. As her mother said, they were generally financial arrangements and matters of business, not of the heart. His must have been special then.

  "I've never known you fret about words said or unsaid," Mary commented, her brows arched high.

  "That's because nobody really listens to anything I say. Or at least they do not take it with any sincerity or grant me any significance." She looked down at her fingers, which suddenly looked very inadequate and childish. "But he does. I do not think he misses a single word or gesture. He remembers what I have said many days later."

  She slept poorly that evening, her mind running restlessly over the short period of their acquaintance. Trying to make sense of their attraction to each other. From that first moment, when he took her by the waist and made her waltz with him, she had not been her usual self. His staff thought that she had bewitched him, but perhaps it was the other way about.

  When the maid Rose came to help her dress, Raven asked her about Lady Southerton, but the young girl confessed she had not worked at the house when his wife was alive, so she never knew her and only had a description she'd heard from the other servants.

  "They say she were a lovely lady, very charitable and kind. Like an angel. She were elegant, but her health were fragile and she did not go out much, except to take baskets to the poor in the village."

  Raven nodded slowly, thinking again of the fair face in the portrait.

  The kindly and beautiful Lady Southerton would be forever in her husband's thoughts. No wise woman would try to fill her role.

  And then she groaned, her shoulders slouching. What was it about men and golden-haired "angels"? Even her brother Damon was obsessed with one of them.

  But Hale had kissed her and she was anything but an angel.

  Unlike other men of her acquaintance, he had not tried again since, and she certainly would not demean herself by asking for another such kiss. If she did that he might think she enjoyed the first.

  Which she did, actually. No need to let him know that, or he would assume she was there with the same outrageous idea as her mother.

  Lying back across the bed, hugging a pillow to her stomach, she thought of Damon teasing her in the theatre lobby.

  "It's the challenge, isn't it? You can't actually be attracted to him for any other reason. He is completely and utterly out of your reach. We ought to have a wager."

  "What sort of wager?"

  "That you can't make Hale fall in love with you by the end of the summer. By the grouse shooting."

  She would not dare try, Damon was right about that. Although she had told him she was simply not interested in the wager, Raven knew, even then, that to make the somber and honorable Hale fall in love with a girl like her was impossible. Yet he had come down from his lofty heights to become better acquainted with her.

  And she had a terrible pain in her chest again.

  She needed fresh air and exercise immediately.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Her close bond with Miss Ashford was interesting and unexpected. Had he not witnessed it with his own eyes, Hale would never have imagined two so very different young ladies forming a friendship. But their amity had evidently endured for a number of years.

  At breakfast one morning, before Raven and her mother came down, he had the opportunity to ask Mary how they first became friends.

  "I have often pondered that myself, your lordship," she replied with a modest smile. "I have concluded that we became comrades because we are so dissimilar in many ways. Raven is everything I am not. She is bold and brave, and a little bit wicked when she wants to be. She is my eyes, ears, tongue and feet in places where I would never dare venture." Her smile widened shyly. "I suppose you might say I have the chance to live vicariously through her exploits."

  He sipped his coffee and muttered disapprovingly, "I see."

  "But I must also say, sir, that she has remained my friend through some very difficult times." Now her eyes became wide, her expression earnest as she lost her smile. "The same cannot be said of many folk. Raven is steadfast, fiercely loyal and has never asked for anything in return. She is not swayed by the opinion and influence of others who look down upon my family. For that I shall always love and protect her. I will not stand for anyone to misuse her."

  Was the young lady warning him?

  And then she added, "You may not know it, your lordship, indeed she does her best to hide it, but Raven has a generous spirit and a good heart. It has led her to form other friendships that did not serve her well. She has sometimes admired and trusted where it was not deserved."

  He frowned. "I did not take her to be naive, Miss Ashford. Surely she knows what she does. She appears most self-assured."

  "Yes, and she is. Sometimes too much so in that she does not see
the danger ahead of her."

  Slowly Hale nodded. "Indeed. She is fortunate to have you as a good friend."

  "I am most thankful that you invited me here, sir."

  "Miss Deverell was eager to have you with her, and I am glad you came."

  "I think she will be very good for you." The young lady looked down at her breakfast and he suspected she hid another smile.

  "Good for me?" he sputtered.

  She looked up. "Certainly. Oh, I know you will be a most beneficial influence in her life, and I suppose that's why you brought her here. But I'm sure she'll be equally valuable for you. It's time you had someone lively in this house again. You must have been lonely."

  The young lady said nothing more, and he drank his coffee in silent, deep thought.

  Hale had never recognized that he was in want of anything until that moment. But he had been alone too long. Now the fact was pointed out to him so calmly, and he must be man enough to admit it.

  Suddenly hearing the strident voice of Lady Charlotte fast approaching the breakfast room, he stood swiftly and bowed. "Excuse me, Miss. Ashford. I...have some business to tend."

  It was his most expedient excuse when he needed to get away from company, merely to think. Some people considered it rude and his aunts always admonished him for so abruptly leaving the side of young ladies they'd chosen for him. But Miss Ashford seemed to understand, for she gave a little smile and, glancing at the French doors toward the lawn, whispered, "If I were you I'd go that way and avoid Lady Charlotte completely."

  He was extremely grateful to her, and rather sorry he had to leave her to it, but, as he'd already seen, she was remarkably adept at ignoring that lady's comments. Indeed, she was already opening a book beside her coffee cup and humming a soft tune as if she anticipated the exercise of irritating her friend's mama with some jollity of spirit.

  * * * *

  Expecting to find only a few grooms in the stables at that hour of the morning, Hale was startled by the sight of his guest, dressed in a riding habit, petting one of his horses.

  "Miss Deverell! You have not eaten breakfast."

  She peered at him through the gloomy light of that overcast morning, and he thought she looked sad. Sleepy. Frayed.

  In the next moment she confirmed it. "I did not sleep well last night, so I rose early and came down here to see the horses. I hope you don't mind, sir."

  Mind? Why the devil would he mind? At last he had her to himself. He smiled. "It seems we had the same idea, Miss Deverell. I too had little appetite this morning, but a fancy for fresh air."

  With one gloved hand she petted the muzzle of Bowsprit. "This is the horse I raced against, is it not? He is a beauty." Hale felt his heart quake when she planted a soft kiss on the horse's nose. He was jealous, he realized. Of a damnable horse.

  "Yes. That is Bowsprit. My newest acquisition. Unbeaten. Until you. Kindly don't spoil him, he can be headstrong enough."

  "Like me?" She gave an arch grin that made the quake much worse. It traveled all the way down his body.

  "Yes," he muttered crossly.

  Raven looked up. "Perhaps now would be a good time for that race you promised me."

  Oh yes, he was ready.

  "Although it might rain," she added, looking beyond him through the open stable door at the grey sky.

  He smirked. "I'm surprised you would let that stop you."

  At once she lifted her proud chin. "I wouldn't. I thought it would stop you, Hale."

  "Then you do not know me at all."

  She rubbed his horse's muzzle again, and Bowsprit whinnied in appreciation. "What shall we race for then?"

  "We'll see. Whomever wins may choose the prize."

  Her eyes glittered with excitement, but then her lips fell into a doubtful moue as she considered the possibilities.

  "Not afraid of losing are you, Miss Deverell?"

  "Never. I was just wondering how I would choose for my prize when I win, because there are so many things I want."

  "No doubt."

  She beamed. "I'm very demanding."

  "As am I."

  Once again he thought how different she was to his wife, who would never dare express herself so boldly. Emily had been very delicate, almost a shadow. Their marriage was arranged from youth, as were many. Yet he had grown fond of her during their few years together. Hers was a quiet, soothing presence in his life, and he missed it when she was gone.

  But her appearance had not left so great an impression on his memory and if not for the portrait in the gallery he would not be able to conjure her face in his mind. Sometimes he made himself go and look at the picture, just to jolt his sluggish memory. Yes, there she was: Emily, so quiet, pale and timid. She who had served him and his estate with patience and devotion, always very proper and obedient. She had never questioned, nor argued with him. At times he had wished she would speak up a little, for Emily had been in danger of him treating her like another member of his household staff. Whenever he looked at that portrait he felt the guilt of having taken her for granted.

  He would not make the same mistake again.

  "I suppose you'll make me ride sidesaddle," his noisy, impertinent and colorful houseguest exclaimed.

  "I'm afraid I must insist."

  He wanted to touch her just then, but had no pardonable excuse. There was no waltz, no stairs down which she might trip, no reason to take her hand and kiss it.

  But he need not have worried.

  Raven Deverell did not concern herself with proprieties. "As you wish, Wolf." She walked up to him and boldly tweaked his chin. "I'll still win."

  "Madam, you haven't a chance, I'm afraid." He gripped her wrist and felt her strong pulse, even through her glove.

  "Don't be afraid, sir. I'm not. I never am."

  "So I see. You are full of yourself. And you know what they say about pride."

  "It comes before a fall. Do you intend to make me tumble?" Her lips were teasing, her eyes amused under those half-lowered thick lashes.

  "Don't tempt me, madam," he managed, his voice breaking huskily.

  She merely laughed and left him with no idea whether she knew what she said. Or what he was thinking.

  He realized he had never in his life been so besotted with a woman. When it happened and how he had no idea. But she excited him with a passion he had not known he possessed.

  * * * *

  He let her ride Bowsprit and he took out a sleek black stallion.

  "We'll race to the grand oak on the hill. You remember the one I showed you from the lake?"

  "I remember." It was a huge tree with a trunk too wide for her and Mary to get their arms around. Apparently it was as old as the house itself and the two friends had decided there was something marvelously eerie about its knotted limbs.

  And so they were off, Raven mounted on a sidesaddle at her host's insistence.

  The air was much cooler that morning and rain already speckled the air, but it was most refreshing to tear along at speed, wind whipping by her face. All her confusion of the past few days was now swept away, like cobwebs. On horseback the world was much simpler.

  Bowsprit stretched his legs and the grass pounded away beneath them.

  She was already in the lead, Hale's horse having fallen back out of her side view.

  Good. She would win. The only problem was, she didn't know what to ask for as her prize.

  Oh, wait. Yes, she did. Yes, she bloody-well did.

  * * * *

  Hale took a short cut through the forest. It was devious and most unlike him, but he wasn't about to let her win.

  He never liked to lose, of course, but the stakes had never before been so high. For once there was more than his pride at risk.

  As his horse emerged from the trees he took a sharp bend to the right and uphill.

  A moment later he saw her on the other side of the hill, only just beginning her ascent.

  He smiled into the wind and felt gentle drops of rain on his lips. Already
he could hear the rich curses slipping off her tongue when she saw him so far ahead of her. She liked to win as much as he did, and he'd known that from their first encounter.

  Head down he urged his horse faster and the animal gladly obeyed, sensing his excitement.

  * * * *

  "You cheated!" she cried, as he helped her down from her saddle, both hands on her waist.

  "I took a short cut, madam."

  "Precisely! A short cut I knew nothing about."

  "And how is that my fault? You've had ample time to learn your way around my estate."

  "If I rode astride, you—" she paused to spit out the veil, which had become caught on her damp lips, "you would not have won!"

  "If you rode astride me?" His eyes twinkled down at her.

  "That's not what I said!" She was breathing hard, still trying to catch her breath. "It is not very gentlemanly of you, Hale. I thought you were a man above reproach, a man for whom the rules are paramount and yet here you are, a rotten cheat. You really are a wolf!"

  When he laughed it made him even more handsome. "Now you know how it feels to be the target of a prank."

  "You are the most infuriating and vexing person I ever had the misfortune to meet."

  "The feeling is mutual. I fight fire, Miss Deverell, with fire. And now I collect my trophy."

  It was raining harder now, but they and the horses were sheltered somewhat by the sprawling, gnarled branches of the ancient oak. Wind rustled through the leaves and whispered around the rough bark. It tugged on the few twisting locks that had escaped her silk hairnet during the race.

  "Very well. What do you want then?" she demanded, pert and still smarting from her loss.

  "This." Before she could stop him he had plucked the veil and hat from her head, dropping it arrogantly to the grass at their feet. With one hand her pulled her hair free of the hairnet until one thick, long pony's tail tumbled down over her bosom, all the way to her waist.

  "Now you've made a mess!" She backed away until she felt the tree bark against her shoulder. "That poor girl, Rose, will have to fix it."