Chasing Raven

by Jayne Fresina

  There was little conversation. It was too late to admonish the woman for the excess of wine she'd drunk, and Lady Charlotte merely groaned, holding her head as she sank to the bed.

  Raven had mixed the usual powders in lemonade, but her mother refused to drink it. She complained of a grinding pain in her stomach and then lay down atop the bed cover, still in her petticoat and with her corset cast aside.

  "Leave me be," she gasped out, her eyes very dark. "I do not need you here. Leave me alone, ungrateful child."

  So Raven left the glass of medicine by the bed, blew out the candles and left her mother to recover alone. She knew that there was nothing more she could do to help her at that moment. The lady was better off left in the cool dark and they would deal with the morning when it came.

  As she stood at the door, Raven looked back at the dark shape on the bed and said, "I'm sorry for what I said earlier, mama. I did not mean to hurt your feelings. I only wish you had told me before that you were in love with my father. You may not wish to remember it, but I am glad you were. Even if it was brief." Tears threatened, so she blinked them back.

  There was no reply. Quietly she closed the door.

  * * * *

  Raven returned to her own chamber, where young Rose was waiting to help her undress, and then, alone again, she stood at the dresser in her nightgown and turned down her oil lamp. As the light faded she noticed, reflected in the mirror, a movement among the painted peacocks on the wallpaper behind her. Part of the wall shifted. There was a click and then a crack of light appeared.

  She spun around, a long hat pin in one hand, ready to defend herself from the intruder.

  Until she saw it was Hale, barefoot, in nothing but a bathrobe.

  He quietly closed the hidden door behind him. "It took you long enough," he muttered, his breath fluttering through the tall yellow flame of the candle he held. "It's damn cold in that passage. And I've never heard that little maid chatter so much."

  Excitement raced through her body. "Are you here to discuss my business proposition?"

  "Certainly. Amongst other matters."

  Oh lord. Her heart was racing. She wanted him so very much. All of him.

  "How is your mother?" he asked, setting his candle on the table beside her bed.

  "Much the same as she often is. I'm sure she'll feel better once she's slept."

  "Good. She seemed very unsteady on her feet."

  "Is it any surprise, considering the wine she drank tonight?"

  He looked around her room, which was now mostly in shadow. "I do not know if I've ever been in here."

  Of course, Greyledge had so many rooms there were probably many he had never ventured into. "But you knew there was a secret passage."

  He smiled slowly. "Oh, yes. Why else would I put you in here?"

  Raven took a deep breath, fingers gripping her nightgown. "Are you staying here tonight? The whole night?"

  "That depends upon you." Hale sat on her bed and his dressing robe gaped open in a very enticing manner. He was completely naked beneath it. And rigid already. Stiff and tall as a pikestaff, which ne made no move to hide from her.

  "Well then," she said grandly, rather enjoying the mischief and the drama, "I insist you stay and deflower me." A throbbing, heated pulse resumed within her body, picking up where it had earlier left off. Her nipples tightened and pricked against the front of her thin nightgown. Although her first instinct was to fold her arms and cover them, she did not. Instead she chose to be bold and let him look.

  Which he did with very evident approval.

  It was as if their bodies— ignoring the stupid, skittish, cautious human brains that tried to rule them — now communicated in a language of their own, having lost all patience. Abruptly she laughed, for she could only imagine Mary's look of scorn if she ever shared with her friend the idea of whispering nipples and prattling cocks having a rich conversation without their owners.

  "I hope that is a nervous, maidenly giggle," he said. "And not amusement at anything else you see before you. Otherwise we might not get very far in this endeavor."

  Dashing across the room she bolted her door, as if he might try to escape. "Now you're here you cannot change your mind. You're not leaving here until the job is done!"

  "So you can win your wager?" he said.

  Frustrated, she took a running leap into his lap, knocking an "omph" out of his lungs. With impatient hands she grabbed the belt of his dressing robe. "For the last time, Wolf, what is that wager you keep warbling on about?"

  He paused, watching as she unknotted his belt and then slipped the gown off his shoulders, pushing him back down onto the bed. "The wager with your brother. That you could not seduce me by the grouse season."

  Raven stopped. "That?" She laughed, shook her head. "For your information I did not accept that wager."

  "Oh?"

  She sat astride his supine form and ran her hands through the soft dark hair on his chest. "And it was not about seducing you, for pity's sake."

  "Then what was it?"

  "To make you fall in love with me before the grouse season began. And that was a challenge far too daunting for me."

  * * * *

  She wore only a gossamer thin nightgown. The moment he entered the room he saw through it. A teasing transparency before her oil lamp was completely extinguished. After waiting all evening to be alone with her, Hale was like a man starved.

  But he knew he had to take his time. Rushing would hurt her, and he wanted this experience to be nothing but pleasure.

  "Raven. Is this the truth? Tell me what the wager was about."

  "It was love, not seduction. Love was the wager. My brother Damon is a hopeless romantic." Still astride his chest, she tugged her nightgown off over her head. "And I refused it. I knew such a thing would be impossible to achieve."

  Her breasts were voluptuous, every bit as plentiful as he'd imagined. Her figure undressed was curvaceous, full-bodied as a fine wine. Something to be savored. He put his hands on his waist. "Why would it be so impossible?"

  "Because the Almighty Hale is too staid and stony-faced to fall in love." Her voice had turned to melted butter as his hands lid upwards to stroke her breasts.

  "And Raven Deverell has a merciless, icy little heart. It was one of the first things I heard about you."

  She leaned forward, that long, luscious hair falling over her shoulders and down his arms. "Do I feel icy, Wolf?" Her eyes were open, bright with passion and desire, searching his face in the light of that one candle. "Do I feel cold to you?"

  "No," he managed finally, sliding his arms around her. "And quite soon you'll be bursting into flame, my darling." With one swift move he had her on her back, taking over before she thought this was another race she could win.

  * * * *

  He lavished attention upon every part of her body, until she smoldered, and the friction of his tongue across her nipple, just once more, was likely to set her alight. Just as he promised.

  Naturally, her wolf would never make a promise he couldn't keep.

  She writhed with need, her hot hands running over that splendid physique with possessive greed. Every muscle was well defined, well used, beautifully coordinated. The power of his body hummed beneath her palms and fingertips, and the more she stroked him— the more daring she became— the harder and faster he breathed, the more lusty his own caresses. She quickly discovered an appetite for the taste of him, and for the sense of power it gave her to feel him grow harder still when she touched and teased.

  He was a beautiful man under those old, tired clothes he wore. And tonight he was all hers.

  Such a waste, she mused, that he had been without a mate for so long.

  But lucky for her.

  When he kissed her again, their tongues tangled, their bodies melting together, limbs entwined. And he seemed to know the exact moment of readiness, for as he entered her, claiming that prize at last, she was already lost in the throes of an incredible climax.
<
br />   Raven could not compare the sensation with anything else she'd ever experienced. Her legs wrapped around him, squeezing his flanks, holding him fast, as if she rode him to victory. This race they would win together, in harmony.

  His shoulders flexed under her palms and then he surged forward once more, his head flung back, eyes closed.

  The savage groan he exhaled in the exquisite moment of completion, blew out the candle beside her bed and then they had only the moonlight, feathered across his fine back and caught on the tips of his sweat-dampened hair.

  He collapsed over her, his breath rasping against the side of her neck.

  "Dear god," he muttered.

  She wondered whether that was good or bad, but decided not to spoil the moment by asking. Instead she slid her arms around his back and let his solid weight pin her to that bed, while another glorious, pulsing rhythm swept through her again, only moments after the last blissful vibration.

  * * * *

  "I used to think nothing would compare to racing on a horse against the wind," she whispered into his ear. "But I was wrong."

  A low chuckle slipped lazily out of his mouth. He was too pleasantly sated to move and yet he knew he must be heavy for her, so after a moment, he rolled to the mattress beside her.

  She protested immediately "Don't go."

  "I'm not," he assured her, bringing her fingers to his lips. "But I do need a moment to recover, madam."

  "Oh."

  Moonlight trickled over her profile— the little upturned nose, full lips and dented chin. Hale could no longer remember what his life had been like before he had sight of her all grown up. What had he done with his days and nights, before he had this woman to dominate his thoughts?

  There was always something new to discover when he looked at her. It seemed doubtful a painter could ever accurately capture her image in a portrait. She would never stand still long enough, he mused.

  "Did I hurt you?" He placed a tender hand on her stomach.

  She turned her head on the pillow, her eyes shyly catching the moonlight beneath lush, quivering lashes. "Of course. It was awful. I don't think I will ever walk again. You can forget about me riding a horse tomorrow."

  He groaned. "I am sorry. I tried to—"

  A soft chuckle interrupted him. "It only hurt a little, at first. I'm far sturdier than I look."

  "Menace!" He leaned over and kissed her on the lips.

  "In fact, it's probably not polite to ask, but when can we do it again? I hope you don't think you're done."

  She was insatiable. But then he'd known she would be.

  * * * *

  Eventually, of course, they had to pause for some conversation.

  "About this business you want to open with a loan from me," he said, sitting up against the brass curlicues of the headboard. "What do I get out of it?"

  She rolled onto her belly beside him, feet in the air, her head resting in one upturned palm. "What would you like to get out of it?"

  He looked at her, his eyes quickly narrowed. To Raven's amusement, he still tried to pretend he had not just glanced at, and lustily admired, her naked bottom. He was the sort of man, she supposed, who could not, suddenly, put his stern upbringing aside and relax with her completely. She found it rather endearing, really, that he would always be a gentleman, even when she lay naked beside him, both of them warm from their love-making.

  "Well,” she urged. "What would you like, Wolf?"

  "You."

  Her heart quickened. "That doesn't seem like much. You've already had me."

  With a nod of his head toward the foot of the bed where his robe lay crumpled, he said, "Look in the pocket."

  Oh, she didn't want to. Or did she?

  Raven had never felt such indecision. This was a night for many firsts.

  "I thought you were the bold one, Raven." He laughed softly. "What are you afraid of?"

  She would simply have to be brave, so she took a deep breath and looked in the pocket of his bed robe.

  It was a small folded scrap of paper, a little yellowed around the edges.

  "Open it," he prompted, arms and ankles folded, sitting proudly there on her bed like some sort of Emperor on a royal litter. Yes, he did look rather exotic with his hair all ruffled and the carved planes of his naked torso gleaming in the moonlight.

  Slowly she unfolded the note and saw what it was.

  "You kept it?" she exclaimed in amazement. "After all this time?"

  "Why wouldn't I? It is the first and only time I received a proposal of marriage."

  The ink on the little message she had once scribbled to him was now somewhat faded, as if it was often traced over by a loving fingertip.

  And at the bottom, where she had written, Will yew marry me? Yea or nay?, he had circled his answer with fresh ink.

  * * * *

  "As you see," he grinned slowly, "I have it in writing. So you must marry me, or I'll sue for breach of promise."

  She knelt on the bed, looking agitated. "You would not do that. I wrote this when I was nine. It doesn't count."

  "Oh, yes it does." Hale snatched the note back from her before she could rip it up. "If you want a business partner— and a wolf— you can have one, but only if you marry me."

  The expression of bewilderment on her pretty face was extremely amusing. "Why would you want to marry me? I'm hardly countess material. I'm a wicked Deverell."

  He leaned forward to kiss her. "And I wouldn't want you otherwise."

  "But we might become bored with one another. The adventure— the race— ends at the victory line. You won't want me beyond that."

  Since she clearly needed persuading, he recaptured her in his arms, turned her over, and spent the next hour devoting himself to the task. In every way imaginable.

  * * * *

  They would both be tired tomorrow, but what did it matter? Caught up in the adventure of discovery, Raven did not want to sleep. There was so much of him to explore and her own capabilities to uncover.

  He relit the candle and the oil lamp to aid in their study, and even tended to her very gently with water and a soft cloth from the washstand.

  "You are a very obliging lover," she whispered. "When I saw you at Bourne Lodge I would never have imagined this side of you."

  Hale lay down with her again, scooping her into his powerful arms. "Looks can deceive."

  "But I knew you were sad." She nuzzled his shoulder, inhaling that unique scent of his. The same scent with which he had once marked her emerald silk ball gown. "You tugged on my heart strings before I knew I had any."

  He laughed at that, but she put a finger to his lips.

  "Somebody might hear us, Wolf. We have not been very quiet."

  "What does it matter," he replied with that familiar calm arrogance. "I'll marry you at the first opportunity. And I doubt your mother will give any resistance."

  She lifted her head. "You have to ask my father. He will not be easy. Besides, I have not agreed yet to this arrangement."

  "Miss Deverell, you proposed to me, remember?"

  Before she could remind him again that she was only nine when she wrote that note, a sudden, anxious tap at the door, broke into their idyllic night.

  "Raven?" Mary Ashford's voice called out. "Come quickly, it's your mama. She is very ill."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lady Charlotte could not be roused. She lay murmuring and groaning, but would not open her eyes. A thin layer of perspiration shimmered over her white skin, making her lace petticoat and chemise stick to the flesh as Mary and Raven struggled to roll her over and get her under the bed covers.

  "I heard her groaning a little while ago," Mary explained hastily. "Then the sound of her retching."

  But a quick examination of her chamber pot and the washstand revealed that this retching had not produced anything. Raven wiped her mother's face with a cool, damp cloth and opened the window for some air.

  "She looks so grey," Mary muttered. "I cannot think this is
merely the result of too much wine."

  A few moments later Hale came to her mother's chamber. Fully dressed, he stood just inside the door and inquired into the lady's state. When he heard Raven's report he suggested sending for the village doctor at once, not wanting to waste any time. She gratefully accepted the idea and returned to her mother's bed, while he raced off to summon a groom.

  Guilt ripped cruel talons through her. For the past few hours she had been enjoying herself while her mother lay so ill. She could not have known— when she put her mother to bed it had seemed no different to many other occasions when the lady overindulged— but she still reproached herself for being careless and not checking on her mother.

  Mary gave her a sympathetic look as they straightened the bed cover. "I'm sorry I had to disturb you," she whispered. "I did not know what else to do, but knock at your door."

  "It is good that you did. Thank you."

  "But I spoiled your evening."

  She felt her cheeks warm. "Of course you could do nothing else, Mary. It is not your fault. I'm so glad you were here."

  They plumped her mother's pillows and plaited her hair so that she was respectable for the doctor, then Mary suggested that Raven go back to her own room and dress before he arrived.

  "I'll stay and watch your mother," she said, "but the future Countess of Southerton cannot greet the local doctor in a nightgown."

  Raven shot her a look, but Mary's lips remained prim, her face somber.

  "Mary, you are always so calm and thoughtful." She squeezed her friend's hand. "I am fortunate to have you. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. One problem at a time is sufficient."

  * * * *

  Little did she know her problems were about to increase.

  When she returned to her chamber, she found a sealed letter waiting for her by the bed, propped up against the base of the oil lamp. In alarm, she recognized Matthew Bourne's handwriting at once. With a heavy heart she ripped open the seal and read the hastily penned missive, begging her to meet him at the local inn. Apparently he waited there and would not leave until he had seen her.