"We are all guilty of that, Miss Deverell, from time to time."
"Even so," she whispered again. "In a church and all."
Since she still stared at the gate, chewing her lip worriedly, he took her hand and gave it a little squeeze. She looked down in surprise at his touch.
He took a deep breath and began, "I have survived the death of every other member of my family, except for two aunts. In the past, when I stood here, I did not feel sorry for those inside the crypt. I felt far sorrier for myself. That I was still here." He could not remember whether he had ever spoken aloud of his feelings before. It seemed very strange to do so now, but this woman at his side tugged it out of him. He wanted to explain everything about his life to her. "I felt anger because they had left me and I must manage alone."
She turned her eyes to his, her lashes damp. "That is dreadful."
"Yes. Dreadful to be so selfish, so self-absorbed." He smiled. "You see now that I have many twisted faults, Miss Deverell. I am far from perfect. But today I am not sorry to be living. Not at all. The many dead Hales can finally stop worrying about me and rest in peace."
Her fingers wound tightly around his, her small hand swamped by his glove.
"You don't have to tell me about your wife," she whispered. "If you cannot. I know you loved her deeply. Still do."
Ah, is that what made the color drain from her face? He'd witnessed the same expression in the portrait gallery.
Better tell her the facts at once, he decided. It was many years since he'd talked of Emily, but it was time.
"When my wife died, I felt responsible. I had allowed the old village physician to tend her and he was set in his ways, knew and cared nothing for advancements in medicine. I did not like change myself and feared trying new ideas. My father, who had passed on a few months before, raised me to believe that tradition was all important, that one stuck with the tried and true. Then, alone with a desperately sick wife, I tried to act as he would. I hesitated too long to make my own decision and, alas, by the time I realized my error and sought to fetch another doctor, it was too late to help her. By then my son too had contracted the same fever."
"I am sorry."
Hale led her back down the aisle toward the church door, eager to get out in the warm sun again, away from all this cold stone. But now that he had begun to talk, it flowed easier. "The sickness had taken hold in the village some days before and Lady Southerton must have caught it while visiting a poor family in one of the tithe cottages. She had gone there to help, but her act of generosity and kindness led to her own demise and then to our son's."
She shook her head, looking down at the step as they came out into fresh air. A little breeze toyed with her hair and a long curling black frond crossed her face when she squinted up at him. "It is very tragic, sir. To have lost so much, so quickly."
The sun's gentle warmth kissed his brow and a sparrow flew by, startled out of the rustling ivy that hugged the arch over the church door.
Emboldened further by the sun's heat, he continued with his explanation, "My son, Thomas, did not live to celebrate the first anniversary of his birth. When he died, people who dared speak of him to me would say that at least I never had the chance to grow attached. As if the poor child had never fully existed and therefore could be put aside with ease, and my feelings could be repressed with the knowledge that death had come so swiftly."
"Perhaps they did not know what else to say, when they sought to bring you comfort."
"Then they should have said nothing." He thought of his Aunt Serena attempting to chide him out of his grief, accusing him of "wicked, wasteful, self-indulgent misery." Even at his son's funeral she had whispered in his ear, reminding him of his many duties to the estate and how he could not afford to waste time mourning for what he'd lost. In his family, of course, people picked themselves up and got on with life. They did not show emotions in public.
Standing beside his son's tiny coffin, he had never felt so alone in his life and from that moment he threw himself into the responsibilities of his title, turning his back on anything that took him from it. He'd found a sort of comfort in keeping his life stark and colorless. And he'd decided never to attach himself to another human being, because it made life untidy and it brought pain.
But now he had let Raven Deverell— the untidiest and most colorful of prospects— under his skin. An impetuous woman who flaunted the rules and constantly made him worry about her safety. At least, while she was at his side, her hand in his, he knew she was safe.
He never wanted to let go of her fingers. Never again.
No sooner had he thought this, than she tugged her hand from his so she could smooth a loose lock of hair back behind her ear. It was a reminder of her very determined sense of independence.
But he could not force her. He must let her come to him on her own terms, in her own time. She had already told him that she had no intention of being caught.
Now left without the warmth and comfort of her touch, his own hands resumed their usual practice of fidgeting, turning the hat brim restlessly.
"I did care for my wife," he said softly. "Ours was a match arranged from childhood, but we grew fond of each other."
"Yes."
"Our marriage was not, however, a grand passion. I do not believe she would mind me saying that. Emily was a good woman, dutiful and always anxious to do what was right. But she told me once that she had hoped I would defy my father and fall in love with someone else, because she wanted to live a chaste life and devote herself to the church as a nun or a missionary abroad. That was her ambition and her hope. She had no desire for convivial society between a husband and wife. I suppose being mistress of Greyledge was dull for her, when she might have done so much more with her life. I always felt very sorry about that."
Raven looked dubious. "And when you say convivial society you refer to the marriage bed?"
He cleared his throat and looked away down the winding path. "Yes."
"I just wanted to be sure, because you people do say the strangest things instead of what you mean."
"We people?"
"The hidebound upper classes." She squinted against the sun and smiled up at him. "You'll forgive me if I do not quite believe that your wife disdained that pleasure with you."
"It is quite true," he assured her. "She gave me a son, of course, because that was one of her duties as my wife. Her most important duty. After that I obliged her by keeping to my own bed."
"Good lord," she muttered. "I had heard of such marriages— in fact, married men frequently attempt to win my sympathy with similar stories of a disinterested wife— but I did not think it could be so in your case."
"Why not, Miss Deverell? Why should I be any different?"
The woman merely pursed her lips.
"You are being unusually coy, madam! It is not like you to hold back your opinion."
She cast him a quick, up and down look, but apparently decided to say nothing.
He put his hat back on and offered his arm. "Shall we return to Greyledge?" The tenor of this conversation was certainly not proper for a churchyard— or anywhere—and he had become exceedingly hot under his clothing.
After a moment, she took his arm and they walked on, passing under the lych gate and into the lane where their horses waited.
* * * *
Raven puzzled over his story, not certain she could believe him. How could any wife of his prefer a chaste marriage? His slightest touch was enough to make her skin hum, but then she was a wicked young woman and not likely to devote her life to a nunnery. They probably would never let her in.
But Lady Southerton, apparently, was just as angelic in real life as she looked in her portrait.
"So if you had won our race this morning, Miss Deverell," Hale said suddenly, "what would you have wanted for your prize? I am curious to know."
"Do you not think you should call me Raven by now?" He had opened up so much to her that day that she felt the occasion ought to
be marked.
"Should I? Then you should call me Sebastian."
"Oh, no! I could not do that."
"My friends call me Hale."
"But I should call you something different."
He winced. "I dread to think what—"
"To me you will be Wolf." Her heart was beating too fast, lifting her up on her toes. "There, it is decided."
Slowly he scratched his cheek with one hand, considering her choice, clearly uncertain as to its suitability.
"Do you really want to know what I would have asked ask for, if I won?" she demanded. "If you had not cheated, of course."
Now his face was somber again, his eyes guarded. "Tell me."
Raven licked her lips and smoothed a hair back from her cheek. "I want a partner."
That surprised him, clearly. His lips parted a few moments before words emerged. "A partner?"
"A business partner."
There was a pause. "A business partner." Now it was his turn to look skeptical.
"Oh, for goodness sake! If you merely repeat everything I—"
"And what might be this business proposition you have for me?"
She stroked Bowsprit's muzzle. "I would like to open my own branch of Deverell's."
"To compete with your father?" He sounded incredulous.
"Not at all. Mine would be a club for women only."
He studied her face very carefully. "A gaming club for women?"
"We both know that gaming is not the only thing that goes on behind those doors. This will be a place for women to escape their troubles for an hour or two. Why should they not have the same benefit as the gentlemen who go to my father's club?"
"What troubles could women have from which they need escape?"
She sighed and shook her head. "Much the same as men, believe it or not. Relief from the opposite gender."
"And why choose me for this business partnership? What about your father?"
"I don't wish to bother him. He has many children he must afford. Besides, he would never let me pay him back. Then it would be a gift, not a loan, and he would have to interfere in the running of it. He simply wouldn't be able to keep himself from meddling."
"I thought you wanted a partner, not merely a loan."
"Oh, do pay attention, Wolf! Because of the antiquated way your sort run this world, I— a pitiful, unwed woman— will have many legal fences in my way. Sadly, a man is required to put his blessed signature on the documents."
"Aha!" He sniffed. "You mean to use me for my name, as well as my money. I'm sure you know many other wealthy gentlemen who would be willing—"
"But you are honest. I'm sure you are fair in all your business dealings. I can trust you. And you did say you wanted to be my friend."
Again he considered her face while she petted his horse. "You trust me?"
"Of course. You're quite probably the most honorable man I know," she said simply.
His eyes took on a brighter sheen now and although he held his lips tightly together the line wobbled and wavered. Whether this was good or bad, Raven could not tell.
"I'll pay you back every penny," she assured him. "With interest."
In the process of helping her up into the side-saddle, he managed to smooth a hand over her skirt and touch her ankle in a manner that anyone passing might think accidental. But she knew differently. Raven had certainly ridden enough horses to be familiar with the location of a stirrup, even on a side-saddle, and didn't require his assistance to find it. Which he well knew.
"So, Wolf," she demanded, looking down at him. "Would you assist me in this endeavor?"
"You didn't win the race," he reminded her.
"But if I had...would you?"
"That is all you would want from me? From this friendship? A business loan?"
She gripped her reins. "All you wanted was a silly kiss."
"Yes," he muttered, walking around to mount his own horse. "I see now I should have been more ruthless when I chose my prize. I temporarily forgot who I was dealing with."
"Let's race back to the house then." Reaching over she swiped the hat from his head. "First one to the door."
Not waiting for his agreement, Raven turned her horse and took off with his hat, laughing, the wind tugging her loose hair in a long pennant behind her.
* * * *
She might very well be the death of him, he thought, setting his horse after her with his head down. He didn't know what she would do next, and that was quite terrifying.
More so even than her proposition of a business partnership.
The horse sped along the lane, merrily chasing Bowsprit again, enjoying the fast pace and another unexpected chance to really stretch his legs.
The earlier storm clouds were now long past and the sky was clear, gathering heat, sunlight streaming across the sky like spun gold. It was turning into a beautiful day. And Hale was ravenous.
Hmm. Was it any coincidence that her name was hidden in that word?
A surprisingly whimsical thought from a man who was anything but whimsical.
And now another thought: he should have asked for more than a kiss. Under his breath he swore softly and then took another of his "short cuts".
* * * *
He was nowhere in sight! Had she outstripped him so easily this time? No, it was not possible, which meant he knew a quicker way again. He would never let her win.
She laughed into the wind, for Mary Ashford was quite right when she said Raven had met her match in stubborn.
Thank goodness. She was so tired of men who could not stand up to her.
Not that she would lay down and let him win! No, indeed.
Bowsprit's powerful muscles carried her through the air and they were flying. She'd take every hedge, meadow and fallow field back to the house. If he thought she would stick to the quiet country lanes, he was mistaken.
But ten minutes later, when she rounded the driveway and galloped up to the front steps of the house, there he was, already dismounting, having won yet again.
Damn the man!
Before she could shout at him, however, she realized there was a carriage and four pulling up before the house, having circled into view from the other direction.
Greyledge had some new guests.
Chapter Eighteen
"We decided to join you in the country, Sebastian dear. It's been so long since we saw the estate," said Aunt Evelyn, looking in some alarm at the looseness of his cravat, his disheveled, hatless head and the mud on his breeches. "Serena thought it would be a lovely idea, although I have not traveled so far in many years."
Clearly his aunts were so anxious about his current houseguests that they decided to abandon their tea urn and their comfortable parlor, just to rescue him. And they did not come alone.
"Here is Lady Jane Newcombe," Aunt Serena announced proudly, prodding the lady forward with the tip of a closed parasol. "I knew you would not mind the extra company. You certainly have the room, and she is so eager to see you."
Lady Newcombe curtseyed and had the grace to look apologetic about her sudden, unexpected arrival. He knew his aunts must have forced her into it. They could be extremely determined when they had bees in their bonnets— particularly Serena, who thought nobody could look after his life quite so well as she.
Raven had just arrived in a clatter of hooves on gravel. All the women turned to observe her as a groom helped the young lady down from her sidesaddle. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair in charming disarray, and the top buttons of her riding habit gaped open. Under one arm she carried Sebastian's hat.
It was quite obvious to anyone with eyes that not only had they been out riding together, but that some game had taken place.
"This is Miss Raven Deverell," he said hurriedly, attempting to straighten his cravat with one fumbling hand, and scraping the fingers of the other through his hair. "I do not believe you have met."
But as he began the introductions, yet another figure descended from the carriage that
bore his aunts to Greyledge.
"Your lordship, it is with such pleasure that I am 'ere. These dear ladies met me on the road and insisted I came along with them to visit, when they 'eard that friends of mine are staying 'ere." The frilly French buffoon swung around to look at Raven, whose face went from startled to disgusted in the space of a few seconds. "Is it not fortunate that I met these grand ladies on my journey, Mademoiselle Deverell? Now I am 'ere to see your dear mama. She will be so 'appy."
* * * *
Horror was an insufficient word. Mortification did not even cover what she felt. Devastation perhaps was closest.
After getting her mother away from London, she thought she had prevented the worst of the damage. But now the Frenchman — proving himself more tenacious than expected—had followed them into the country, intent on furthering his connection with her mother. Or rather, it seemed, with Hale.
Yes, it must be Hale that he sought, Raven quickly realized. After all, he had many other women in London with whom to fill his days and nights, so the idea of Lady Charlotte being enough inducement to bring him to Greyledge was far-fetched to say the least.
Her mother, delighted by his arrival, refused to give Raven's fears any credence.
"Monsieur Reynaux is perfectly charming and cannot possibly cause any offence to our host. After all, Hale's own aunts brought him on to Greyledge, so how can there be any complaint? Certainly his company will be a vast improvement upon that of Mary Ashford's dreary, know-it-all face."
"But he was not expected or invited, mama." None of them were, actually, but she knew why they'd come. She also felt certain she knew why the aunts had agreed to bring Reynaux. "I have no doubt he will embarrass us and the earl will pack us off back to London with your gentleman friend at the first opportunity. The aunts brought him here to ensure our welcome was outstayed." And after her wonderful day with Hale she wanted to weep that it had ended so abruptly. That she might never have another like it.
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