Kate was baffled. “Dante said the title doesn't have the same prestige as before.”
“Perhaps not, but respect is allotted where deserved.” Anne interjected with a bawdy wink and Lily afforded Kate a slow nod of acquiescence. “There must be nigh on one hundred people below stairs.”
“So many?”
“The fear of suffering the wrath of the Raven would be a good incentive to attend.”
“Both of you are ridiculous.” Kate snorted in disbelief.
“True.” Lily mused aloud and afforded Anne a silent look that spoke volumes.
“Although, there are a few I wish Papa would toss out on their ear.”
“Anne!”
“Well, there are!” Anne sputtered, granting Kate a sheepish look before issuing a deep and mournful sigh. “Great-Aunt Cynthia has a rather distressing habit of misplacing her dentures whenever she's in attendance.”
Kate choked on her stifled laughter. “Is Great-Aunt Cynthia here, tonight?”
“Well, I would advise you to watch where you sit.” Anne remarked cryptically. She cleared her throat and extended a hand toward her, revealing a long and thin velvet case. Dumbly, Kate stared at the object, uncertain. “Papa asked for you to wear this tonight.”
To Anne's obvious chagrin, the woman didn't spare the box a moment's glance. Instead, her curious gaze rested on the girl's flushed features.
“Did your father give you what you wanted for your birthday?”
Anne lowered her head with an answering nod, the box extended expectantly.
“It was more difficult for him than I thought.” She lifted her chin in a stubborn reflection of her father. Lily, taking her cue, eased from the room. “He explained the mysterious situation behind my birth.”
“I don't suppose it was easy.” Kate supplied beneath her breath.
The girl shrugged her shoulders.
“Well, if I should choose to locate my mother, I suspect I'd have a difficult time at it.”
“So I gather.” Kate murmured. “Do you intend to seek her?”
“At this moment, I don't know.” She admitted honestly. Anne didn't say what she had ascertained from the slip of paper her father handed her, in the morning. She had determined the vast age difference between her father and her birth mother, despite the false name.
“Enough of me,” Anne voiced brightly, again extending the box she held to Kate. “My father has asked you to wear this, tonight.”
Impatiently, she placed the box in Kate's open palm. When she attempted to refuse the case, Anne forced her fingers to close tightly around the thin jeweler's case.
“Please open it.” Anne urged, aware of Kate's stillness. “You'll love what's inside.”
“I haven't time for jewels.”
“Just this one night,” Anne pleaded. “Humor my father and wear this, for him.”
Tentatively, Kate opened the box, the tips of her fingers mysteriously numb. A strangled gasp escaped her at the delicate necklace revealed within, glittering with a blinding force in the bedroom lights.
“Anne?”
“Please, Kate.” Anne whispered reverently. “Please wear it.”
Kate lifted the simple gold chain from the bed of white velvet. She gaped at the tear shaped sapphire whose many facets twinkled in the lights. The blueness of the gem was brilliant, the lustrous spark reminding her of Dante's amazing eyes.
“I can't wear this, Anne.” Kate choked. “It must be a family heirloom.”
“It is, Kate,” Anne provided, a touch of unnamed desperation evident in her tone. “The Ravensmoor's have had this jewel since the late seventeen hundreds. It was intended as a betrothal gift for a young woman but, unfortunately, the engagement never occurred. The jewel has been locked away in the family vaults for more than a century.”
“It's far too priceless.” Kate protested.
“It is, in history and in worth.” Anne admitted. “It would be an honor to have you wear the Raven's jewel.”
Kate glanced up from the pendant to the young girl's face, not missing the unspoken plea. She frowned, shaking her head, wondering why Dante would give this priceless gem to her to wear. She couldn't pose the question to his daughter and she sighed deeply in resignation.
“Are you going to help me put this on?”
Chapter Sixteen
“I'm the last to arrive and I live here.”
Kate's whisper was despairing as she went down the staircase, her fingers caressing the familiar curves of the ornate banister. She wished she were capable of drawing the reported magical essence from the carved luster of the wood.
“Merely fashionably late,” Anne rejoined easily. She was out of breath and spared Kate a warm and sidelong glance, her eyes alighting on the jewel about the woman's throat. Kate's appearance struck her speechless, long before she had adorned the slender column of her throat with the Ravensmoor prized sapphire. Now, in the twinkling lights of the foyer, the similarity of the woman in the painting and the American was more evident. Anne's stomach fluttered nervously, but for a far different reason than those plaguing her father's love.
A few short steps away, beyond the wide width of the double doors that had remained bolted since August, were numerous guests. A handful of Anne's friends wandered aimlessly about the foyer, their heads close, and their words fragmented whispers.
Anne wondered what the reaction would be for the many introduced to the woman beside her. It was one thing to believe in a tale of love long lost, to observe a portrait set in the same room of the birthday bash, but to imagine the woman's soul had returned would be another matter.
Whom was she attempting to fool? Anne thought, feeling granted the honorary role of fairy godmother. She had endured hours of platitudes from her friends and father's associates. She was more than willing to present Kate the honor of the remainder of the evening. Although the fete was planned for her, the impending engagement announcement would more than please her. She bit back a secretive smile as Kate faltered on the landing.
Anne wanted this to be the night the Ravensmoor curse would finally near an end. Kate was a wondrous woman, her father's dream, his perfect foil for the rest of his life. The American would be unable to resist the temptation provided by the Ravensmoor's charm, if her father chose to employ the full use of its power.
For his sake and the benefit of her matchmaking heart, she fervently hoped he would.
Kate, unaware of the thoughts racing through Anne's agile mind, paused at the top of the staircase. Her gaze slid from the girl and rose to the wall beyond her. Oddly, she felt drawn to the image of the first earl of the vast estate, his portrait appearing to waver and shimmer.
Somehow, the arrogance reflected in the stance was more self-assured, the lift of his jaw more arrogant and pronounced. The Ravensmoor that lorded over the Colinwood of today and the one of the past bore a striking resemblance to each other, one that never failed to astound her. Their differences were subtle and Kate recognized Leslie Burroughs was more likely to smile, whereas his ancestor had a distinguishable sorrowfulness lingering in the painted depths of his gaze.
Kate turned, her uneasiness rising as she heard the ballroom doors open permitting guests into the foyer, the noise within nearly deafening. The very thought of the large crowd, possibly pressed body to body in the room below, setting her on a jittery edge. A familiar queasiness, one not experienced since her senior prom, struck her.
She braced herself, striving to gain some semblance of self-confidence. Kate sighed with frustration, her palms slick. She wasn't an elite guest invited to the fete. She was one of the working class, not titled hierarchy.
Do or die, she resolved and approached Williams' familiar form at the foot of the stairs. Kate rewarded him with a warm and engaging smile. The dour features wavered with an answering smile that tugged at the corners of his thin lips, causing a series of thin lines to crease about the corners of his eyes. Appreciatively, his gaze slid over her smiling face before lingering on
the heavy sapphire pendant gracing her neck.
“May I say you look absolutely enchanting, Madam?”
Kate blushed at the compliment, knowing it hadn't been delivered lightly. In the months she had spent at Colinwood, she had never known Williams to ease from his strict deportment. Compliments didn't flow easily from his thin lips, or smiles.
“Thank you.” She murmured appreciatively.
Respectfully, Williams' nodded his balding head to the giggling Anne, dealing her a narrowed glance before approaching the closed doors of the ballroom with military precision. Apparently savoring the moment and, with an age-old flourish, he pulled the doors wide. Kate felt the pressure of Anne's hand on the base of her spine, propelling her forward.
The ballroom was an immensely proportioned chamber, filling nearly the full extent of the back of the manor. There was an entire wall with ten matching wall to ceiling windows, framed by heavy velvet drapes. A few windows remained ajar to permit a breath of refreshing air to permeate the crush of human forms filling the room. The constant hum of voices was deafening, almost an overpowering wave deluging her senses as Kate paused.
The voices dimmed to a confused, shocked silence and what felt to be a hundred pairs of eyes turned in her direction. Blindly, Kate reached behind her for Anne's reassuring presence, only to realize she had been traitorously abandoned. Williams stood posted unemotionally near the opened doorway, his face adapting the impassive and more accustomed visage.
Nervously, Kate scrutinized the myriad of stunned faces, various levels of shock, disbelief, and tightly masked displeasure evident. Immediately, she longed to run and hide, to pretend the evening never occurred.
Magically, the sea of figures parted as Dante's statuesque form meandered from the opposite end of the room. He towered above the guests by more than an apparent head and shoulder and she watched his approach with a baited breath, as did many others. Kate felt her heart leap, marveling at the handsome figure he cut, realizing he became more handsome with each passing moment.
A pair of form fitting black denims hugged the length of his legs and thighs, accentuating his slender hips. He wore an equally dark shirt, his massive build appearing far more imposing. His hair was brushed until the sheen from the overhead lights brought to mind the wing of the family namesake, the riotous curls pushed with the usual impatience from his angular face.
“Kate.” Dante began, only to halt, incapable of arranging his thoughts into intelligible words. Valiantly, striving to gather wits, he took a retreating step. He was silent, digesting her entire image and committing it to memory before his familiar smile grew. “You can't escape, Kate.”
He inclined his head as he spoke, the words uttered in a tone loud enough for only her. Her face flamed before her chin shot up and she automatically recognized the deep dimple marring his cheek.
“I hadn't considered running.”
“Sweetheart, you're an unrepentant liar.” He whispered though tip of his forefinger intimately traced the soft curve of her jaw. “The thought was clearly written on your face scarcely a moment ago.”
Kate had the grace to look shamefaced at his observation and damned her telltale face for the umpteenth time. Her embarrassment multiplied as Dante winked raucously. He took another careful step back and executed a courtly bow, bending deep at the waist.
Her hands fluttered uselessly at her sides as he straightened and dealt her a devastating grin, warmth evident his crystalline eyes. The action stole the breath from her as he brought her cold hand to his lips.
“My lady,” he began in the gentlest of tones, the words audible to every individual. “Would you grant me the pleasure of the next dance?”
Kate quivered at his touch and she was grateful he was unaware of the dull and all-consuming ache replacing her queasiness.
“I can't dance, Dante.” She stumbled over her response, her cheeks bright in the radiant glow of the chandeliers' overhead. Kate forgot the eyes on them and focused on the subtle caressing motion of his thumb on her palm.
“Kate?”
“I can't.” She repeated. “The last time we danced….”
“Was in the wee hours of this very morning,” he finished, his tone whiskey soft and suggestive, the double entendre meant for her alone. He afforded her a sly wink as her color rose painfully. “I believe there were quite a few steps practiced at dawn.”
“Dante!” She hissed and lowered her eyes rapidly to a mid-point in his chest. Her face flamed with the sultry images his words conjured and the ache within her increase.
“Afford me a simple dance, my love, and I'll refrain from teasing you.” He smiled at the slight start she gave at his intentionally murmured endearment. “Would my darling colonist dare shame her earl before a group of his peers?”
“I don't think that's possible.” She murmured.
“It's a matter of serious consideration, sweet Kate.” He chuckled. “I would be wounded, should you refuse me the liberty of a dance.”
Their fingers intertwined, and she lifted her gaze upwards, a mischievous glimmer lighting her eyes. She couldn't prevent her smile and was blissfully unaware of the murmur of voices rippling through the gathering. Dante's known similarity to his ancestor and the American's stunning appearance made the crowd feel time had come to a complete standstill within the walls of the centuries old manor house.
“You’re Lordship,” Kate responded with feigned demureness, inclining her head. The swarm of faces vanished as she stared up at him, the reflection of the lights shining in her eyes. “I'm honored.”
The dulcet sweet tones of a ballad filtered among the pressing crowd as Dante led her across the floor. Uncaring about the amount of attention they drew, Dante took her unresisting form into his arms. A hand rested lightly on her waist as he pressed her close, maneuvering her across the room with precisely executed grace.
“If you fail to look at me, my sweet, the gossips will rip my reputation to shreds.”
She looked up at his handsome visage, drawn by the rasping velvet softness of his voice. Immediately, she was lost in his cobalt gaze, drowning in the sparkling depths.
“They wouldn't dare.” Kate managed on a sigh.
“Oh, they would and with vicious glee.” Dante admitted with a rueful chuckle.
“Why are they staring?” She questioned nervously, aware of the eyes on them. Dante threw his head back and issued a great bark of laughter, the sound echoing above the deafening strains of the music. She smiled, pleased to see him relaxed, and oblivious to the speculative whispers surrounding them.
“They're appreciating the beauty of the most stunning woman to grace the halls of Colinwood.” He responded with an unexplainable twinkle in his eyes, his tone deceptively soft.
“I believe insanity, as well as blindness, runs in your family.” She grimaced, turning her face away at his steady rumble of laughter.
“My dear woman, I'm neither blind nor insane.” He lowered his head, his lips grazing her neck and igniting a trail of liquid fire in their wake. He pulled her close to him, his thighs intimately brushing her, leaving her little doubt of the reaction her nearness caused. Kate lowered her lashes at the contact and a sigh escaped her, one that encouraged him to press his forehead to hers.
“Dante,” She whispered his name raggedly, absently licking at her lips, not realizing the provocative image she presented to his bedazzled senses. Her heady gaze rested on the sensuous fullness of his lower lip and she echoed his response. Kate swallowed, unable to tear her attention from his mouth as a quiver of desire shot through her. The vividness of last night came rushing forward and she felt weak, recalling the warmth of his lips and hands.
“Don't look at me that way, Kate.” He pleaded huskily.
“How?” Kate inquired with mock innocence, the image of his bare flesh remaining in the forefront of her mind.
“Sweet Kate,” he ground out in a strangled undertone, his body heating uncomfortably. “The expression on your face says it all.”
His sudden declaration brought another vibrant rush of color to her face. Her dance steps faltered and she stumbled against him. In abject defeat, she placed her head on the warmth of his chest, sinking into his embrace.
“I apologize.”
“Never apologize, Kate. Don't apologize for the effect you have on me.” He breathed, the pressure of the heavy hand on her waist tightening. “Would you entertain the thought of joining me, upstairs?” He suggested roughly, his eyes darkening with unspoken need. Her head rose from the familiar comfort of his chest and her eyes glittered. “We could entertain those deliciously wicked thoughts running through your mind, posthaste.”
“Anne would kill us.” Kate responded, a seductive hint of a smile gracing her lips. “I hope there is a later?”
Dante heaved a long-suffering sigh as the final melancholy strains of the music drifted to his sharp ears. The pulsating blood roared and his hands trembled, his breathing sharp exhalations of strangled air. The crush of bodies pressed relentlessly closer, the guests returning to their own diversions, their fascination waning.
“Later will have to do,” he conceded, his sultry words whispered into her ear as he released her.
Chapter Seventeen
“Miss Bennett.” An elderly male voice mused aloud and Kate turned about in her seat, instantly recognizing the wizened features of the town librarian. As he eased into the vacant chair near her, Kate awarded him a warm smile. He stretched his legs, judiciously eying the swirling mass of people and shaking his grizzled head. With grandfatherly affection, he patted the hands she held clasped tightly on her lap and granted her a warm smile that deepened every line on his ancient face.
“You remember me?”
“You aren't the sort of woman one is likely to forget.” Elliot Jamison admitted with a toothsome grin, his faded eyes dancing.
Kate covertly watched Dante from the corner of her eye as he led his daughter into another dance. She shook her head, unable to draw her eyes away and she sighed, the action not lost to the elderly gent.
My Lord Raven (The Ravensmoor Saga) Page 19
