by Gayle Wilson
She waited a moment before she answered, at last raising her gaze to feast again on the darkly beautiful, almost forbidding features of the man she had first married and then fallen in love with. As she looked at his face, she felt tears prick hotly behind her eyes, although she didn’t understand why she wanted to cry. He was just so…
“Catherine?” Raven said questioningly. “What’s wrong?”
She tried to gather control, to think of anything that might explain this ridiculous lapse in her ability to think.
“My stirrup,” she offered, her voice thready, the emotion too powerful to deny.
Raven swung down with the fluid grace that marked his every movement. She watched the muscles of his thighs bunch and shift under the tight, revealing knit of his fawn pantaloons. She found herself wondering what those hard muscles would feel like next to the softness of her thighs. Found herself wanting them there.
Raven’s strong hands lifted her booted foot out of the stirrup and then he bent to check the buckles. “There doesn’t seem to be—”
He was interrupted when the mare leapt straight upward, her body twisting in midair. By the time her hooves touched the ground, she was away, tearing across the park like a beast gone mad. Raven saw Catherine’s automatic reaction—her body stretching low against the reaching neck of the racing animal. But he also saw in his mind’s eye, his heart suddenly in his throat, the small booted foot he’d removed from the single stirrup.
Raven had been aware of the crack of sound that coincided with Storm’s leap. But even as he had identified that unmistakable noise, he had pushed it to the back of his consciousness, throwing himself into the saddle to send the black on the most desperate race of his life, a race Raven knew he had already lost.
Chapter Eleven
As the mare flew from the clearing, Catherine fought to remain in the saddle and regain command. Storm, however, was totally panicked, and nothing Catherine did could abate her mount’s terror. Hang on and let her run it out, she commanded her body, her years of experience fighting her own panic.
When she realized they were approaching the stream, she knew this would be the greatest danger to both horse and rider. The mare was exhausted, already winded from the race with the black, but in her blind frenzy, she was still uncontrollable. The stream loomed before them almost before Catherine had time to be afraid. She began desperately gathering the mare for the jump, trying to instill a confidence that, horsewoman that she was, she knew was beyond the trembling beast. Then they were in the air, soaring. The reaching forelegs came down short, slipping on the slime of the opposite bank.
With time suspended, Catherine was aware of every quivering stumble in Storm’s desperate attempts to recover. But despite their combined best efforts to right the situation, she felt herself flying over the mare’s neck. She turned, trying to roll into the fall, but it all happened too quickly to do much to prepare her body for its descent. Her shoulder took the brunt as she had intended, but her knee hit sharply against one of the rocks that lined the streambed and then she struck her head, and she didn’t know anything else.
When she came to, it was to find Raven stooping beside her. His hands were moving over her rib cage with the same deliberate care he took in handling the crystal goblets at dinner. She couldn’t prevent the image, nor her lips from lifting as she thought it. She tried to raise her head enough to see what he was doing, but her senses swam as soon as she moved.
“Lie still,” Raven commanded softly, and because she really had no choice, she laid her head back against the bracken crushed by her fall and waited for her vision to clear. When she opened her eyes again, he was tracing down her right arm with the same gentleness he had used on her ribs and hips, but he was watching her face while his hands made their examination.
“I’m all right,” she said. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been thrown. The most embarrassing, perhaps, but not the first.”
“Why the most embarrassing?” he asked, his voice relaxed.
“Because you were watching,” she admitted. She closed her eyes and rested her head again on the damp ground. There was something very soothing about what he was doing. About the expertise of his hands. And the calmness of his voice.
“Everyone falls,” he said. “If you ride long enough, you’ll take your share of spills. Do you have any idea what set her off?” he questioned casually, forcing his tone to remain steady.
“I don’t… She just…” Her voice faded because she had no answer for the horse’s reaction, and it hurt to think.
His hands had deserted her, and she was aware that he’d shifted position, no longer beside her. He began rearranging the skirt of her habit, and she felt the cool air touch her bared legs. Despite the fact that he was her husband, she reacted to that invasion with a very conditioned response. Absurdly, she tried to sit up, but she never completed the attempt. Raven was again beside her, holding her securely against the hard warmth of his body, when the mists cleared yet again.
“You seem determined to lose consciousness. I promise to be gentle, but I need to see if anything’s broken.”
“Nothing’s broken,” she said, leaning into his strength.
“There’s blood on your skirt.”
“My knee,” she whispered. Her cheek was resting against the muscles of his chest. Like the child he’d called her, she felt most secure enclosed in his embrace.
“I need to see to it,” he said. “I’m going to help you lie down again, and this time, Catherine, you damn well stay there. There is a place for modesty, and there is also a place for common sense. You’re too intelligent to fight my taking care of you because of what would be false modesty in this situation.”
“Because you’re myhusband?” she suggested, reminding him how far from reality that was.
“Because you’re hurt,” Raven said simply, and he gently lowered her back to the loam to continue his examination.
Incredibly, despite the throbbing in her head and her aching shoulder, she began to enjoy his touch. Raven’s hands moved impersonally, but she couldn’t help reacting to the warmth of his palms firmly tracing the line of bone upward from her ankles to her thighs. She gasped when he manipulated her right knee, and at her response the blue eyes lifted to meet hers. He smiled at her, and although the tears had gathered, unwanted, in her own eyes, she managed a rather tremulous smile in return.
“I think this needs a more professional inspection than I’m qualified to give,” he said, finally rearranging her skirt to cover her legs. He allowed his hand to rest lightly on her thigh, its contact intended to be reassuring.
“Storm?” she asked, remembering her mare’s stumbling landing.
“She’s fine. She didn’t go down.”
“Thank God,” Catherine said. She held out her gloved hand to him, but instead of taking it to help her sit up, he stooped beside her, placing his arm beneath her shoulders and lifting. She was allowed to lean against him again until the world stopped spinning. Finally, with fingers that still shook, she began to unfasten her veil, removing the small, jaunty hat she’d donned with such high spirits that morning. The autumn air felt refreshing against her brow, and she even thought about how unbecomingly disarrayed her hair would be, and then disregarded that concern as foolish, given the situation.
Raven’s left hand lifted to touch her temple. His fingertips brushed over the thin skin, and she knew by the resulting pain that there was a bruise there. When his fingertips came away covered in blood, she felt her stomach clench despite her determination not to behave any more childishly than she had already. She knew she’d be very sorry tomorrow for. this day’s misadventure.
“You’d better help me mount,” she said, gathering her resolve for the effort it would take to stand.
“Surely you don’t think—” he began.
“You’re horseman enough to know that’s the best way. The sooner the better. There’s nothing serious among my injuries. My pride’s far more damaged than my b
ody, I promise you.”
“That may be true, but it doesn’t mean you’re riding home.”
“And what do you suggest?” she asked, smiling. They were still alone in the park and probably would be for another hour or more. “It’s by far the easiest way.”
“Easiest for whom?” Raven asked, answering her smile. “Cast steel you may be, Mrs. Raven, but you’re not indestructible.”
“I suppose you’re the only one who may lay claim to that.”
He said nothing for a moment, and she turned her head so that she could see his face. He was looking down at her as she rested very comfortably against his massive chest. There was something in his expression she couldn’t read. “What’s wrong?” she asked, touching his lean cheek with her gloved hand.
“I think I’m beginning to understand what you went through when you believed…” She could feel the deep breath he took.
“That you were ill?” she suggested, at his continued silence.
“Come on,” he said, refusing to answer her. He was still fighting the terror he’d experienced watching that terrible fall, helpless, pushing the black to his limits, and all the while knowing he would be too late. “However pleasant this may be, I think I should get you home.”
“Pleasant?” she repeated, wondering, but her question was forgotten as he lifted her easily in his arms. She quickly stifled her small cry as he slipped his arm under her knees.
“Sorry, my darling,” he said softly. “I won’t hurt you again, I promise.”
Shocked into silence by the unexpected endearment, she found herself relaxing. Raven carried her along the streambed despite the terrain and then across the footbridge that spanned it.
“Raven?” she said as he strode through the deserted park.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, glancing down to smile at her.
“No, of course not. It’s not so bad. A little sore.”
“I can imagine it is,” he said.
“I wondered if you intend to carry me all the way home.”
“If necessary. But I believe we’ll meet someone who’ll be willing to take us up once we reach the street.”
“And the horses?”
“Eating their heads off at the king’s expense. They’ll probably get colic and have to be put down. I may do it myself.”
“Why?” she asked, smiling, knowing it was an idle threat.
“You need a steadier mount,” he said simply. He knew it hadn’t been the mare’s fault she’d been hurt, but if he forgave the roan’s panic, then that left only himself to blame. To blame for it all. He had been unable to push the black fast enough to reach Catherine in time. Raven couldn’t bear the thought that he was responsible for hurting her.
“I don’t know what happened to Storm. She’s usually the most dependable of mounts. I promise to maintain a firmer control the next time.”
“Can I trust you to keep that promise?” he asked.
“Have I ever broken a promise to you?”
“Have you ever made one?” Raven asked lightly, looking down again into her face. His mouth was arranged in its customary forbidding line, but there was something very tender in his eyes.
“Only one,” she whispered, remembering their simple vows.
He was still looking down at her with that enigmatic tenderness when a familiar voice hailed them from the street.
“Mr. Raven!” Lord Avondale’s greeting was rich with genuine concern. “I say, is there something wrong?”
“My wife’s been thrown. I wonder if I might impose upon you to take us up and drive us home.”
“Of course. Only too glad. Shall I help you to…”
The offer was made ridiculous by Raven’s ease in mounting the steps of the high phaeton, despite his burden.
“Mrs. Raven,” said Avondale, nodding at her. Catherine knew she was blushing at having to face anyone in this embarrassing situation. Raven seemed immune to discomfiture. He acted as if he daily carried his wife through the streets of London.
When they reached the town house, Raven carried her upstairs, carefully placing her on the chaise longue in her bedroom. He left her to the care of her abigail and one of the maids, who removed her boots and, the operation painful in the extreme, her coat and stock and then finally the skirt of her habit. It seemed that Dr. Stevenson arrived in only a matter of minutes.
He confirmed her own claim that nothing was broken, but he was of the opinion that she’d severely bruised her knee as well as gashed it against the stone. Her shoulder was aching abominably by this time, but she didn’t mention that to the doctor. The headache she’d been vaguely aware of in the park was beginning to throb with increasing violence.
“Laudanum to help you rest,” the doctor said after he’d bathed her forehead and dressed her knee. He measured the dose in a glass of water, ignoring her protest that she really didn’t need the drug. Despite its popularity as a nerve soother, Catherine had never liked its effects. But because she had grown up doing everything this prominent London practitioner instructed her to do, she drank the medicine under his demanding eye.
“And now I suppose I should let your husband know that you’re really all right. A love match, I believe your father told me. And I should judge by Mr. Raven’s concern that the duke’s assessment was correct.”
He pinched her cheek as if she were five years old, but since she had endured that exact treatment since shewas five, she smiled at him and watched him walk out her bedroom door.
A love match, she thought in amusement, already beginning to feel the effects of the drug he’d given her drifting over her senses. She wondered what Raven had said to him to make him believe that. And then she remembered that it had been her father, surprisingly, who had originally offered that opinion. A rather astonishing revelation, she thought, closing her eyes.
She heard the door later, but it was almost too much trouble to respond. Her head had stopped pounding, and if she didn’t move, she could forget the stiff knee and bruised shoulder.
“Catherine?” Raven said softly.
She opened her eyes, turning her head carefully to find that he was again stooping beside her so that his eyes were on a level with hers.
“Hello,” she whispered, and she lifted her left hand to touch his cheek as she had in the park.
He caught her fingers in his and, bringing them to his lips, pressed the smallest kiss against them. “How are you feeling?”
“I told you nothing was broken,” she said, closing her eyes against the disturbing sunlight that was pouring into the tall windows of her room.
“And I was delighted to have that information confirmed by a disinterested observer.”
“How are the horses?”
“I sent Jem for them. I hope they’ve been abducted by highwaymen, but he’ll probably find them just where we left them, waiting patiently for someone to come for them.”
“Horses are really not very intelligent,” she agreed.
“Then neither are we who trust ourselves to them.”
She opened her eyes again to see his expression. Smiling at what she found in his face, she tried to shake her head. She gasped at the sudden stab of pain that resulted.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll come back tomorrow—”
“Don’t go.” Against her will, in response to the drug’s pull, she felt her eyes fill with tears. “Please don’t go.”
“Catherine,” Raven said, brushing his thumb lightly across her wet lashes. He wondered if, despite the doctor’s assurances, she might be more seriously injured than they thought. He had never seen Catherine cry. Except over the pitiful, shivering donkey he’d helped her rescue the day he’d met her.
“Don’t go,” she whispered again. She was shamelessly begging her husband not to leave, but she really didn’t seem to be able to stop the words. “Stay with me, Raven, at least for a while,” she added with a small catch in her voice. A watering pot, she thought in disgust, but she couldn’t prevent the
hot tears that continued to seep from under her lashes.
“Catherine,” he said again. “Don’t cry. I think you’ll be more comfortable completely undressed and in bed. I’ll get your maid, and then I’ll come back and sit with you until you fall asleep.” He stood up in preparation to carry out those actions.
“No,” she protested, her fingers tightening their hold on his. He had called her a child, and she was certainly acting like one. With the greatest effort of will, she forced her hand to relax its desperate grip, but she couldn’t seem to release him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you have things to do. Business to see to that is far more important—”
His soft laughter interrupted. “Guilt, Catherine? If I let you rest, then I’m once more the villainous husband who spends more time with his businesses than with his very beautiful wife?”
“Do you think I’m beautiful?” She forced her heavy lids open again to assess the truth of his answer.
“You surely don’t need my affirmation of your beauty added to that of every eligible—and ineligible—man in London. Fishing for compliments?”
“Of course. Or I shan’t have any. Not from my husband, at any rate.” By the strongest effort of will, she took her hand completely away from his, curling her fingers under her chin. But her wide eyes didn’t leave his face.
Smiling again, Raven shook his head. “Shameless,” he said. “There’s no weapon you won’t use to get your own way. Let me get you into something you’ll be able to rest in more comfortably.”
“All right,” she whispered. Still caught in the unthinking lethargy of the drug, she didn’t realize that Raven had only intended, of course, to. call her maid. Catherine began to unfasten the buttons of the soft lawn shirt she’d worn under her habit. Her hand didn’t obey the intention of her brain very well, however, and in frustration, she felt the hated tears begin. She looked up to find Raven’s gaze fastened on her trembling fingers, which had managed the top buttons, but were struggling with the one that lay just over the valley between her breasts.
