by Gayle Wilson
The lids lifted again, and this time there was something behind the dazed irises that he eventually succeeded in focusing on her features. Something that she recognized, with shocked relief, as amusement. He met her eyes. His lips began to move upward into the curve that passed for Raven’s version of a smile.
“Not dying,” he said, his voice slightly stronger than before. “I didn’t come all this way to die. I promise you that, Catherine.” His voice faded again, and the heavy lids dropped to cover the blue. But she believed him. Her shoulders heaved once, and then she gathered her courage, wiping at her tears with fingers that still trembled slightly.
“Get a doctor,” she ordered.
“I’ve already taken the liberty of dispatching one of the footmen for him, Mrs. Raven,” Edwards assured her.
She looked up to find a circle of faces surrounding them, the servants in various stages of dress and undress.
“We have to get him upstairs,” she said, trying to think.
“May I suggest, madam, it might not be wise to move Mr. Raven until we know the extent of his injuries,” the butler said.
“Of course,” Catherine agreed, realizing the logic of that. “Thank you, Edwards.”
“You are very welcome, madam,” the butler said. “And if I might also suggest…”
“What is it?” Catherine asked, glancing up.
“With your permission, I should like to send the staff about their business. It really would be best, Mrs. Raven.”
“Yes, of course,” Catherine agreed, knowing that there would already be a wealth of gossip from tonight.
She turned her attention again to Raven’s crumpled body, barely hearing Edwards’s efficient marshaling of his staff back to their quarters or on various duties to prepare for the master’s care. For the first time she began to take in the details of Raven’s appearance. He was wearing trousers and boots. His own, she decided, although considering the gathering darkness and their begrimed and tattered condition, she couldn’t be completely sure. But at least they fit. As the filthy garment that partially covered his broad chest and massive shoulders did not. It gaped in several places, revealing many shadowed bruises and abrasions on his upper body.
Again fighting tears, Catherine looked up into the eyes of Jem, who had come to kneel on the opposite side of her husband’s sprawled body.
“It’s his hands that’s hurt the most. I tried to take his hand to help him up, but he cried out.” Dark with concern, the groom’s eyes looked into hers. “What do you suppose he’s done to them?” he asked, trying to imagine, as was Catherine, what sort of injury could make a man like John Raven cry out.
“I don’t know. But the doctor will be here soon. He’ll see to everything. Raven promised me he wouldn’t die,” Catherine whispered, her voice breaking slightly. And then, forced by an incredible act of will, she finished the thought she’d been holding on to. “And he always keeps his promises.”
It seemed that the doctor’s examination took an eternity. He had finally given permission for Raven to be carried upstairs, and then he disappeared into the master bedroom for another eternity.
Catherine paced the hall outside the closed door, fighting for control. Finally the door opened and Dr. Stevenson emerged.
“A dreadful business,” he said, shaking his head. “Dreadful to think something like this could happen in England. I don’t know what this country is coming to. Damned ruffians. I swear it’s not safe to go out of doors anymore without an armed escort. And that’s exactly what I told Mr. Raven.”
“How is he?” Catherine asked, less concerned about what had happened than about the consequences for Raven’s well-being.
“Nothing that a few days of rest and good nursing won’t cure,” he said.
Catherine closed her eyes in a brief prayer of thanksgiving.
“I’ve left laudanum. He’ll not sleep with those hands. They’re by far the worst. But even so, I believe there’ll be no permanent impairment. Damned lucky at that. I beg your pardon, my dear, but it’s the most bizarre tale I’ve ever heard. And Catherine…” He paused as he began to make his way down the curving grand staircase.
“Yes?” she said, turning back from the door it seemed she had finally been given permission to open.
“See that he takes the laudanum. Despite his denials, he’s in a great deal of pain. Never seen anything like it. Selfinflicted. Says something about the determination of the man, although I’m not sure exactly what.”
The doctor’s voice faded with his descent. Catherine took a deep breath and, without knocking, opened the door to the bedroom.
Chapter Fifteen
The light was very low, and it took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust. Gradually she was able to make out Raven’s form. His face was turned toward the door, the long lashes fanned over the shadows that surrounded his eyes like bruises. She could smell the pleasant aroma of the soap he always used. Someone—Edwards or his valet—had used that same soap tonight to bathe and shave him. She stood a moment looking at him, savoring the fact that she was finally able to do so, despite his obviously battered condition. At last, unable to resist the urge to reassure herself that he was truly all right, she brushed her fingers against the midnight blackness that swept back from his forehead.
“John,” she whispered, willing him to respond to that entreaty. She needed to hear him speak to her, and then she’d be able to believe Stevenson’s assurances.
His lashes rested against his cheeks, unmoving, but his mouth began to curve. “If you’ve taken to calling me John, I must be in worse shape than your sawbones admitted,” he said.
She felt her own lips tremble upward in relief. If her husband could tease her, he must, as the doctor had tried to assure her, not be seriously injured.
“Raven,” she amended, and was rewarded by the slow opening of his eyes. The starred sapphire gleam seemed unchanged.
“That’s better,” Raven said. “But you’re crying. I thought you despised women who weep.”
“And I thought you liked to comfort them.”
“You have me at a disadvantage. I can’t even hold you.”
“It’s all right,” she whispered, stroking the dark hair.
“Give me a few days.”
“As many as you like.”
“What I’d like…” he began, and then he deliberately banished that thought, realizing the impossibility of doing what he’dlike, what he’d dreamed about for months, given the state of his hands. “Damn,” he said softly, closing his eyes again.
“Shall I get the laudanum? Dr. Stevenson said that you’d-”
“I don’t need Stevenson’s drugs. I need you. I’ve needed you so long.”
“And I’m here,” she said. “So there’s nothing—”
His eyes opened again, the self-mockery clearly revealed in their depths. “I want you here, Catherine. Make no mistake. But that’s notexactly what I meant.”
“Oh,” she said, suddenly understanding. Color flamed into her cheeks, but she leaned down to put her lips against his forehead. “Do you want to…” She hesitated, having no idea what to suggest in response to that unexpected confession. Her thinking had not yet made the adjustment from fear that Raven was dying to a remembrance of the passion that had flared between them. As his obviously had.
“Bloody bastards,” he said softly. He shifted his body carefully, easing toward the center of the bed. She heard the small intake of breath occasioned by that movement. “Sit down,” he ordered. “If I can’t hold you, at least I can look at you.”
She sat on the very edge of the bed, moving as carefully as he had, unwilling to add to his discomfort. He raised his hand to touch her neck, the thick bandaging making the usually graceful strength misshapen, alien. In unthinking response, she touched the thick linen strips that had been wound professionally around his palm and over the back of his hand. Only the tips of his fingers emerged from their cocooning protection. Putting her fingers carefully under the
bare tips of his, she brought them gently to her mouth, placing a small kiss on each. Still supporting his hand, with pressure only against the fingertips, she glanced up to smile at him.
“As long as you’re safe,” she said, “the rest can wait.”
“Ihave waited. Too bloody long,” he said. “Thinking. Imagining. The whole time I was in that hole, I was thinking about you. And about how long I’d waited, wanting you. About what a fool I’d been to walk out that morning. I should have stayed here to look after you until you were well. And then I should have made love to you. Really, finally, made you mine. Instead—” He stopped abruptly and removed his hand.
“And instead you went to build a railroad,” she accused, but she let him see her smile. “Business,” she finished, shaking her head, “always business.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“And while you were away, you realized that business wasn’t as important to you as I was?”
“You’ve always been more important—”
She laughed suddenly, too glad to have him back to even pretend to be angry. “I never believed I’d play second fiddle to a coal mine. Or to a locomotive. I really don’t know why I’m willing to put up with it.”
“Because you know how much I love you. Or at least I hope you do,” he suggested softly.
“And how should I know that? Because you’ve kissed me? Twice in the six months we’ve been married?”
“But you have to admit, they both were very satisfactory kisses. Confess, Catherine.”
“Very satisfactory. When do you suppose we might try for a third?” she whispered. Her hand had again found the sweep of dark hair, damp from the ablutions his servants had arranged, in order to return their master to a state more in keeping with his wealth.
“There’s nothing wrong with my mouth,” Raven said, his eyes locked with hers. “It’s only my hands. I can’t hold you, my darling, but if you want a kiss…” he suggested, his lips curving upward again.
As she had downstairs, she allowed her palms to frame his face. Too thin, she thought again, wondering what had happened to return Raven to her in this condition. She was too glad he was here to bother him with questions. They could come later. Now was the time to simply relish that he was once more with her, teasing her. Demanding, both emotionally and physically.
She lowered her head until her mouth met his. As if the intervening days had never interrupted what had happened between them, when her tongue met the hot caress of his the reaction was as strong as it had been before. Her lips cherished his, trying to tell him all the fears of the last weeks, the joy at having him here again. She deepened the kiss, hungry for whatever fulfillment they could find in clinging mouths and melding tongues. She wanted so much more now, as she knew he did. She wanted his lips on her body, commanding, teaching, urging her response. His hands caressing, the sensations building inside her. And instead, she remembered the bandages. Raven, she thought bitterly, what have they done to you?
“Bloody bastards,” she said, softly echoing his invective when the kiss ended. She raised her head to find the blue gaze shimmering with emotion. She knew his frustration was as great as her own. And there was no need to tempt him with what couldn’t be accomplished tonight. She had seen the marks on his ribs and stomach—livid bruises and scrapes. She didn’t want to cause him any more pain. And she wasn’t a child. She could wait.
“Not very ladylike, my lady,” he said.
“Jem called me that tonight.”
“My lady,” Raven whispered. “And you always will be.”
“Very confident, Mr. Raven. I’ll have you know my father offered to arrange a divorce should I desire a husband less prone to extended journeys. He seemed to feel I’d been deserted.”
Raven had pushed the thought of her father to the back of his mind. He hadn’t wanted to deal with that. He didn’t want to imagine what the knowledge that it had been Catherine’s father who had arranged for his “journey” would do to their relationship.
“And what did you tell him?” he asked finally.
“That we had a contract. And you never break a contract.”
He laughed softly, the sound tinged with bitterness. “You must be the only person in London who believes that.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I missed the meeting. With the partners. They’re not likely to forgive me.”
“It’s all right. My father took care of it.”
The laughter faded from the blue eyes, and he was very still. Suddenly the inclusion of her father into Raven’s project didn’t seem the painless solution she’d thought. Catherine had believed that appealing to her father, groveling before him to beg his help, had been the most difficult thing she’d ever done. But faced now with the question in her husband’s eyes, she wasn’t sure that was true. Including her father into Raven’s investment no longer seemed so minor nor so wise, now that her husband was back.
Her gaze moved to the small white scar that marred his cheekbone and rested there uncomfortably while she tried to think. She didn’t know why this had become so difficult. She had done what she had to do to prevent Raven’s losing an incredible amount of money, losing everything. And after all, her father was simply another investor. Why should Raven care whose money saved his railway? Again the image of the crop descending on his dark face intruded.
“Why?” Raven asked, almost to himself, remembering the fate the old man had arranged. Why had the duke gone in on the investment? Because Catherine had asked him? Raven knew Montfort would have had less altruistic reasons for that action.
“The other investors were reassured by my father coming in,” Catherine said. “That’s the only way…” She paused, hating to tell him that they had lost faith in Raven himself. She glanced up to find the blue eyes resting on her face, their color shading to ice. He didn’t attempt to touch her now. His bandaged hands rested quietly against the sheet that concealed the bruised ribs. A coldness was beginning to grow in her stomach to match the coldness in his face. So she forced herself to finish it. “They would stay, hold to their financial commitments in the project, only if he agreed to join the partnership.”
“And he guaranteed the investment? Out of the goodness of his heart, I suppose?”
She flinched mentally from the ice in his tone. “Of course. Heis my father, your father-in-law. And it was the only way. They were demanding to be repaid, and Reynolds said there weren’t enough assets to manage that. The project would have collapsed.”
“And so your father intervened?”
“Yes,” she said. Why did she suddenly feel guilty? Raven should be thanking them. They had between them saved the rail system, and he should be grateful. But she knew he wasn’t.
“Because he believed so strongly in the railway?”
“Because he’s my father. And I asked him.”
“I see,” Raven said softly.
“There was no other way,” she argued.
“How do you know that?”
“They were demanding their money.”
“They know my reputation. They were involved in the first place because they want to make money. And they believed that I would. That the railway would.”
“You weren’t here,” she said, suddenly angry at his continued condemnation. She had thought that what she had done had been clever. Mr. Reynolds had been pleased at the duke’s intervention. Grateful. Catherine had thought that Raven would be proud of her, and instead he seemed bitter that her father had agreed to help.
“Not because I chosenot to be here. And in light of what’s taken place in my absence, I’m beginning to understand…” Raven paused, thinking that now it all made sense. The old man had arranged not only his death, but to take over a venture that anyone as astute as the duke would surely realize would eventually be highly profitable. That sly old bastard.Catherine’s father, Raven reminded himself, wondering if the old man’s scheming had left any hope for this marriage.
“Wha
t?” she asked, when he didn’t finish the thought.
His eyes held hers for a long moment, wondering if he should tell her what he suspected about Montfort’s motives and his role in his disappearance. But finally Raven simply shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, his expression closed.
Catherine recognized that something was very wrong, but she didn’t understand why he was so furious. All she knew was that the closeness that had been growing between them was broken. Raven had become again the controlled stranger she had married.
“It matters to me,” she said angrily. There should be nothing between them but joy that he’d returned from whatever ordeal he’d undergone, and instead there was this cold bitterness. “You promised that I might ask you anything and you’d tell me the truth. We have acontract to that effect. So I want to know, Raven. What do you think you understand? Just what are you suggesting has taken place in your absence?”
Raven said nothing for so long she began to believe he intended to break that particular vow, but finally the blue eyes met hers. “I’m wondering exactly what role your father played in my abduction,” he said quietly.
The shock of what he’d said held her speechless a moment. “My father?” she repeated finally, incredulous at what he seemed to be suggesting. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that he would have gotten his way.”
“His way about what? What are you talking about? Damn you, John Raven, you tell me just what you’re accusing my father of.”
“Of attempting to rid himself of a highly inconvenient son-in-law, whom he believed was a stain on his family’s honor. Of getting back into his daughter’s good graces. And even of taking control of a venture that’s bound to make him a great deal of money. All in one fell swoop. Very neatly done, Catherine. You have to admire his boldness. Only I’m afraid I put a spoke in the cogs of that particular machination. I wasn’t supposed to return. I was supposed to die in that bloody shaft, a singularly unpleasant death. Starvation or drowning, depending on the duration of the next rain. I promise you he’ll be extremely annoyed that I’ve shown up here tonight.”
