“Doesn't your family have a home there?” She asked, recalling many of the titled gentry held residences within the grand city.
“We did, but it was destroyed during the air raids of the last war. The home wasn't rebuilt, as most were. We prefer the tranquility of the countryside.”
She smiled, puzzled. Dante Burroughs didn't strike her as the country boy sort, owning BAI. Mistakenly, she imagined he was a jet-setting playboy.
“Phoenix must seem a quiet town compared to London.” Kate continued. “By the time I left Heathrow, I was claustrophobic. The tour books never mentioned the crowds or the tiny streets. On top of that, my God, I've never seen so many people!”
“You forgot the high-rises, Miss Bennett.” He paused and formed a mental image of the two cities. “Phoenix is a low lying metropolis; the skyscrapers centralized downtown. London, on the other hand, is centuries older. The population is denser and over-crowding is a familiar problem.” She nodded in agreement. Phoenix seemed more relaxed and more spread out when compared to the metropolis. “Were you disappointed?”
“No, I wasn't. The history is amazing.” She admitted swiftly. “I've a chance to live a dream, even if it is at my brother's insistence.”
He nodded in understanding, and a long and comfortable silence stretched between them. Kate relaxed, glancing around the pub with a half-smile on her face.
“Jamison may have overstepped his boundaries.” He cleared his throat and a dark frown drew his brows together. He swirled the amber liquid about in the glass, his attention focused on the glistening whiskey.
“He didn't cause any harm. I suppose he reacted normally.” Kate hastened to explain her thoughts, shrugging. “You're still the earl.”
Dante set the delicate glass aside. “I'm relieved you see it that way.”
“Anyways, Adam was excited about my working here.” She continued, changing the subject. “He piled so much potential research on me that I'm glad it all fit on a stick drive! High Chilternden was the first town on his list of available historic sites.”
“As Jamison said, I'm the town historian.” Clearing his throat, Dante continued. “If you could find it in your heart to be my house guest, I would be delighted to assist you.”
“You want me to stay at your home?”
“Colinwood Manor, to be precise.” He contributed, staring upwards at the exposed beams of the ceiling. “It’s my estate and, although it's not Buckingham Palace, it's spacious.”
“I couldn't care less if it were spacious or a palace.” She muttered, flushing colorfully, her chin set at a mutinous angle. “You're my employer. I'm in a strange country and, if I have to remind you, I hardly know you.”
“I'm the signature on your paycheck.” He growled ominously and looked at her, his eyes narrowing to slits.
“I'm not the sort of woman who would just move into your home!” She sputtered indignantly.
The vibrant color of his eyes, barely discernible through his thick lashes, shot ice. His shoulders stiffened and the obstinate set of his jaw matched hers. He spat his next words. “I didn't intend to offend you, Madam. I made a simple offer, nothing more.”
“It's not as simple at you thought.” She glared back at him.
“I considered the benefits for you, Miss Bennett. I need to inform you that any lodging, whether a hostelry, or bed and breakfast, is expensive.” He supplied caustically. “I offered my home as an alternative, until your evaluation is over. I can assure you, I don't intend to seduce you.”
Kate winced at the statement, her face flaming.
“As for your honor, I do have a daughter and numerous household staff in attendance. You're perfectly chaperoned.”
“I apologize.” Kate murmured, unable to meet his steely gaze as she sank into her seat. Dante sighed and his dark frown lifted. He extended his hand across the table, palm upwards, toward her.
“No, the apology is mine. I accept I'm a mite tyrannical. I didn't realize my offer could be misconstrued.” The confession was muttered, but distinct. “My invitation stands, if you're interested.”
Kate lifted her eyes from the palm of his work-roughened hand. She felt uncertain, hypnotized by his gaze.
“Fine,” she murmured and afforded him a slight nod. “I accept your offer, for the time being.”
“Excellent.” He flashed a bewitching smile, dazzling her, before shaking his head. “Perhaps we should begin, again?”
“I’m Kathleen Bennett, American, and future executive secretary to BAI, Ltd.” She smiled shyly and placed her fingers into the palm of his hand. “Please call me Kate. The madam bit is making me feel like an old woman.”
A short bark of laughter burst from him, the warm sound filling the pub. Several curious patrons turned and smiled at their table.
“Point taken, Kate, I’ll refrain from the title.”
“Thank you, your Lordship.” Kate countered.
“Lordship?” He repeated caustically, his arched brows rising.
“You know, I don't have any idea what to call you.” She admitted honestly, biting her lower lip. “Titles don't exist in the States, but here, things are different. Are you called the Earl of Ravensmoor, Ravensmoor, or sir?”
“Formalities are scarcely used anymore, Kate.” Her name fell from his lips like and endearment, pronounced with the oddest sort of breathlessness that sent unexplained chills down her spine.
“Familiarity in your country is viewed far differently in the States.” She stressed, oddly short of breath.
“Titles have lost the prestige they once held.” Almost reluctantly, he removed his hand and formed a clenched fist on the scarred tabletop. “I thought we agreed on the name you wished to call me.”
“Mr. Burroughs, sir.” She hedged uncomfortably.
Dante groaned harshly before taking a deep swallow of his whiskey. His nostrils flared as the liquid burnt a fiery path and his features darkened. “Leslie Dante Jonathan Burroughs, Earl of Ravensmoor, at your service”
Kate swiftly gathered a napkin to her mouth to hide the betraying quirk of her lips. A very unladylike snort nearly burst forth at his overly dignified announcement. One of his dark brows shot up in inquiry as laughter filled her eyes.
“Are we amused?”
A small giggle, a hint of stifled sound, escaped her. To Kate's absolute mortification, her shoulders shook.
“No.” She managed with a strangled gasp.
His eyes narrowed suspiciously at the admission, stifled behind the flimsy fold of the napkin. “Kate?”
“It's nothing.” She evaded, her voice quivering. She attempted to force an equally stern expression to her face and lowered the napkin to the table. Unable to look at him, Kate focused on her empty teacup.
“Miss Bennett?” He persisted in his smooth voice. “You don't lie very well.”
“What a horrible thing to say!” She protested with wide eyes.
“It may be, but it's the truth.” He countered glibly, his long fingers drumming the tabletop with marked frustration. Shamefaced, she returned her attention to her cup.
“You admitted you can, at times, be overbearing.” She paused, attempting to phrase the thoughts darting through her head.
“A fact my daughter can vouch.”
“Well, I feel I might wind up insulting you and giving you a horrible impression of Americans, all because I open my darn mouth.” Her voice wavered, her attention drawn to the persistently drumming fingers on the tabletop, the sound becoming louder with each passing moment.
“Isn't that what makes an American absolutely refreshing?” He questioned and, to Kate's immense relief, he stopped drumming his fingers. “Put your mind at ease, Kate.”
“That's a comfort.” Kate grumbled. All it took to ruin the reputation of an entire nation was the behavior of one. She didn't wish to be that person.
“Although,” he did muse aloud, captivating her with his sapphire-colored eyes. “I would like to know why you bit your tongue.”
“Noble?” He asked suspiciously.
“Oh, I'm sorry.” She gasped, the apology ruined by the issuance of a throaty laugh.
“Kate?”
“I apologize! Truly, I do!” The smothered laughter was difficult to suppress. “I can't help it, though. You look as much as a Leslie as I do an Archibald.”
“Madam,” he responded huskily, his jaw tightening. “Leslie is a prestigious name. It isn't one to be ridiculed.”
“I'm sorry. Where I was raised, Leslie's a woman's name. You know, the petite, cheerleader type, blonde.” She couldn't continue. Her laughter filled the pub and tears of mirth ran down her pinked cheeks, great wet splashes falling on her shirt.
“I do wish you would have been present when my father hung the name on me.” He growled the disgruntled words as he choked on his own wry laughter.
“What should I call you?” Kate asked, her laughter stilling as she wiped her eyes.
“You've three christened names to choose from, Kate, as well as my title. The choice is entirely yours.”
“Including Leslie?” She questioned mischievously.
He scowled with mock ferocity. “Please forget that name.”
“Yes, sir.” She replied obediently, her lips twitching and spoiling the severity of her tone.
Kate folded her arms across her chest and stared at him. The overhead lights illuminated the silvery threads at his temples and the blue-black quality of his hair. The richness of the color reminded her of the great winged birds she had seen rising from the fields, just outside town. A name leapt into her mind, but she didn't speak it aloud. That name was her secret, her escape during the late hours of the night.
“If I may ask, why Dante?”
“I had an ancestor enamored with Dante Alighieri. Hence, another family name.” He was silent, his expression unreadable as he scanned her flushed face.
“Could I call you Dante?”
“It would be my honor.”
***
“Kate?”
She moaned sleepily at the husky pronunciation. Kate attempted to shake off the pressing weight of the hand on her shoulder.
“Kate, you must wake.” The deep voice rumbled. “I'm far too old to be carrying you into the manor.”
“Old?” She stirred slightly. Jet lag induced slumber made it difficult for her to open her eyes.
“Wench!” There wasn't any mistaking the mock reprimand.
“Tell me,” she persisted, burrowing deeper into the cocoon of warmth surrounding her in the car. “Does a stable boy have to fall on his hands and knees to help you onto a horse?”
He choked on muffled laughter at her drowsy rejoinder. The smoky rumbling of his amusement teased a dazed smile to her mouth.
“I can mount my own steed. Shall I remind you, I'm a Ravensmoor?” The comment was haughtily issued. “As a Ravensmoor, I can accomplish whatever I have a mind to do.”
To emphasize his point, Dante flung the car door open and stepped onto the graveled drive, the stones crunching beneath his booted feet. A gust of chill autumn wind whipped about his muscular form, molding his shirt to his brawny torso and accentuating every well-toned inch of his mighty physique. The air was brisk, invigorating, and Dante inhaled deeply. He filled his lungs before he slammed the car door shut behind him.
Kate shivered beneath the warmth of her jacket. She snuggled into the leather upholstery of the car as the passenger door opened. She had never felt as tired as she did, tonight. In the clouded depths of her mind, she felt she had traveled the equivalent of a lifetime.
The drive to Colinwood Manor was long, meandering through numerous night-darkened vales. Dante told her humorous tales about the history of his family estate, and she enjoyed his company. All factors combined, including the chill lingering in the air and the gentle lull of the well-tuned automobile, made her drift off.
“Come, my sleeping beauty.”
The demand was obvious. Kate's startled gasp was muffled as she was swept into his arms, the door of the automobile kicked shut. Weakly, she struggled against him, experiencing a tingling gracelessness at such a great height.
“Put me down!” She pleaded throatily, ineffectively pressing her hand against his shoulder. Kate stifled a gasp and stared up into his shadowed features with sleep-dimmed eyes. His skin was undeniably warm, nearly feverish.
“Do you wish me to do so?”
The deep timbre of his voice startled her, the words echoing against her body. An undertone of amusement was evident in his question at the abject frivolity of the situation. The Earl of Ravensmoor stood in his private road, in his riding clothes, with a beautiful woman in his arms.
Dante smiled as his gaze caressed the pale features illuminated in the faint glow of the moonlight. Kate's head rested on his shoulder, her steady and warm breath fanning his neck, the dark fringe of her lashes forming small crescents on her cheeks.
In the moment it took him to ponder the situation, she dozed off and he stifled an agonized groan. His jaw tightened as he moved toward the shadowed entryway of the manor house, shifting his cherished bundle to cradle her nearer to his heart. He would have never imagined this day would become a reality.
“Kate.” He huskily mouthed her name, nearing the façade of the old manor house. The gravel crunched under his unrelenting tread, echoing loudly in the silence.
“Hmm?”
“Place your arms about my neck, my love.” He ordered, hardly worrying whether she heard the endearment. His body pulsated with a long ignored need, his desire brought to the forefront by her warmth.
“Old?” She repeated with a sleepy chuckle, interrupting and scattering his thoughts to the wind. Her sleep drugged arms moved across his shoulders and twined about his neck.
“Never too old for you, my darling Kate.” He asserted fervently, brushing his lips across her smooth brow. She snuggled deeper into his hold and he pressed the rough stubble of his cheek against the softness of her hair.
He continued his purposeful strides towards the house. Kate's breath fanned his neck and conveyed a particularly titillating frisson through him. There was the hint of murmured words across his heated flesh and he hesitated, marveling at the phrase she uttered. In her sleep, she mouthed the three words that compelled him to smile into the night.
Roses and heliotrope…
Dante inhaled the crispness of the frigid air and, despite the stark lateness of the year, the scent of the two blossoms hung heavily in the breeze. He paused, clutching Kate's form more tightly, wanting to meld with her slightness and cloak her in his warmth. If he any doubts to her presence, or how she was inexplicably linked to his tortured soul, the perfume of the blooms confirming the truth.
“Welcome home.” He murmured into her hair. “Welcome home to Colinwood.”
“Papa?”
The questioning voice from the extensively wide doors of the country estate attracted his attention. Lifting his head, his hair whipping about his face, Dante issued a muffled profanity. He proceeded up the four sweeping granite stairs leading into the manse and slipped to his daughter.
“Moppet.” He bowed his head at Anne, halting a few feet from her in almost stark rebelliousness.
Anne dimpled wickedly. She faced her father, observing the slight flush staining his tanned cheeks in the soft glow of the wall sconces. A complicated individual, her father wasn't pleased at being caught in a compromising situation.
“Well?” She inquired, her curiosity prodding her. Her father was seldom in female company and never welcomed any woman to Colinwood.
“Anne.” The sound of her name held a warning note.
“We've resorted to marauding the adjoining shires and abducting their young women, dear father?” She indicated the figure in his arms, receptive enough to note the forbidding glower on his face. Rather than displaying fe
ar, she grinned. “Didn't Ravensmoor men abducting demoiselle's decline after the debacle of the seventeenth century?”
“I haven't kidnapped the lady.” He stated in his defense, mindful of the extensive list of disreputable roués skulking in his history. An agitated muscle worked in his cheek and Anne detected his deliberate evasiveness.
All matters aside, curiosity had the best of her. Her father was dependable, consistent, and appalling boring. Tonight was a change.
“So, what do we have here?” Anne inquired carefully. Her curiosity, at seventeen, was insatiable and she wouldn't sleep a wink if her questions remained unanswered. “It's against your nature to steal into your own estate. I do hope she knows you.”
A sound resembling a deep-throated and weary sigh echoed throughout the marbled foyer. “This is my secretary if, after tonight, I can convince her to stay at Burton.”
“Marvelous.” Anne reacted with noticeable exuberance.
Finally, her father had chosen a new secretary to replace Barbara! Apparently, from the length of slender leg revealed, a shapely one at that. The affectionate note in her father's voice delighted her. She knew he had been solitary for too long, fervently engrossed with the operations of the automotive corporation and the other Ravensmoor owned estates. There had been one other moment when she had seen the selfsame tenderheartedness he revealed at this moment. Only before the image of the Raven's Lady, would his stern façade slip and his gentler side come to the forefront, haunted and tormented by images she could not imagine.
“Marvelous or not, moppet, the young lady is proving burdensome.” He commented enigmatically and Anne made a face, shaking her head.
“Your reputation may be damaged by bringing the lady home. If you drop her, you'll be eternally discredited.”
He muttered an unintelligible curse at her drolly-enunciated sarcasm, shaking his dark head. Dante's steps were mute on the marble floor as he climbed the ample staircase leading to the second level of the house. Disregarding the numerous sets of silent eyes staring at him from age-old portraits, he swept into an unlit bedchamber.
My Lord Raven (The Ravensmoor Saga) Page 7
