by Gayle Wilson
“Are you suggesting that myfather tried to kill you? In order to take over the railway? My God, you must be insane.”
“Complications from a head injury?” he mocked. “No, Catherine. It all fits.”
“It’s ridiculous! And you must know that. My father would never do something like that.”
“Pardon me if I doubt the duke’s goodwill. But I have no reason to believe that, as he openly told me, he wouldn’t like to see me in hell. He made his feelings about both my stench and my unsuitability to be his daughter’s husband very clear that day.”
“He was angry. Enraged. But for you to suggest…How can you possibly believe that? He’s myfather,” she argued, desperate to make him realize how ridiculous that suggestion was.
“And he again has you eating out of his hand. Welltamed to that bit, Lady Montfort. As you always were.”
“I don’t intend to listen to you blacken my father’s character any further. You should be very grateful to him for saving your project, and instead—”
“Pardon me for not kissing his feet. Perhaps when I’ve recovered from what his hirelings did I’ll be able to react more calmly, but for now, my dear, if you’ll forgive me—”
“No, I certainly won’t forgive you. This entire conversation is unforgivable. But I’ll be glad to leave you alone so you can think about how stupid this is. My father hasn’t tried to hurt you, Raven. I’ll see you again when you come to apologize for that suggestion, and not before.”
She had risen sometime in the midst of their argument and it didn’t take her long to cross the expanse between the bed and the open door to her room, which she slammed angrily behind her.
By the time she had changed into her nightgown, she knew she had reacted childishly. With anger instead of logic and calmness. He had no reason to trust her father’s goodwill. She herself had told Raven that the duke had tried to arrange for their divorce while he was missing, suffering deprivations and injuries, the extent of which he had not yet shared with her. And it would be natural for Raven to doubt the duke’s motives, given the events of their one meeting. Instead of trying to convince her husband rationally that what he had suggested could not possibly be true, she’d railed at him and demanded apologies. She had acted like a shrew and not at all like a loving wife.
“You’re right,” Raven said softly.
She looked up in surprise, as if her regret had somehow conjured him up. He was standing in the connecting doorway between their rooms, wearing only a pair of cotton drawers, which made his masculinity far more obvious than even the tight pantaloons had done. The bandaged hands hung loosely, slightly curved, at his sides. He was clearly waiting for her response, but instead of managing to formulate any answer, she found her eyes irresistibly drawn to the front of his body.
“I couldn’t manage my trousers,” he said, his tone revealing a trace of amusement at her fascination with his near nudity. “I promise you I tried. And I’m sorry.”
She glanced up to find his eyes no longer rimmed with ice. “Sorry for not putting on your trousers?” she asked, the teasing light in her eyes matching the returning warmth in his.
“And for accusing your father of trying to murder me.”
Raven was sorry he had told her that. Whatever he knew about the duke’s plotting, it wasn’t fair to expect Catherine to accept those ideas about her own father. And Raven had no proof to offer her. Nothing tangible.
“He didn’t. He wouldn’t do that. And I think he has even begun to accept the idea of having you as a son-in-law. He told Dr. Stevenson we’d made a love match.”
“Do you think he could possibly be right?” Raven asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“We didn’t act very much like it tonight.”
“I know. I was just about to come and tell you I’m sorry.”
“Were you, Catherine? I’m glad.”
“And I’m glad you’re home. And safe. But you haven’t told me what happened,” she said. “While you were gone.”
Raven shifted his weight to lean against the frame of the door. He glanced down at his hands, unconsciously lifting them, holding them up as if examining damage he could no longer see.
“I told you I was used to taking care of myself. Apparently I wasn’t as apt at that as I believed.”
“Not indestructible,” she suggested.
He looked up, letting his hands drop. “Not entirely.”
“I’d really like to hear the story, if it’s not too painful.”
“It’s not the story that’s painful,” he confessed, smiling.
“What did they do to your hands?” she asked, although she found she preferred not to know. Eventually she would have to be told what had happened during those weeks he was missing, and the injuries to his hands were sure to be a major part of the story.
“To my hands?” he said, sounding surprised.“They did nothing. Beyond tying them.”
“But… then why… I don’t understand.”
Raven looked down again, his hands making that almost involuntary turn, palms up, as he remembered what he himself had done to them. The only way to get home. And now, instead of what he’d envisioned… He took a breath, but still he didn’t explain.
“Raven?” she said.
He didn’t respond in any way.
“Are you all right?” she asked, worrying again.
“Of course,” he said, his head still lowered.
She waited, as unmoving as he was.
“Except…” She watched him take another deep inhalation. “Except tired. And still a little…”
“A little?” she prodded carefully, watching him.
“Could we continue this conversation next door, Catherine?”
“In your room?”
“You’re perfectly safe,” Raven said, looking up suddenly, the laughter back in the blue eyes, despite their tiredness. Despite the dark shadows and sunken cheeks she’d almost forgotten when faced with the obvious strength of his body.
“I doubt it,” she said, but she rose and walked past him toward the bed he’d left to make the apology she’d demanded.
Moving with more assurance than she felt, Catherine threw back the counterpane and straightened the bed until it lay smooth and inviting. She plumped the pillows hard, a very small cloud of feathers flying out to surround her. When she had completed the task she had never before performed in her life, she turned back to find him standing in the open doorway watching her.
Neither of them moved for what seemed an eternity as the feathers drifted slowly back down to settle on the bed. She blew one away from her nose, and the corners of Raven’s mouth began to tilt. She knew he was trying to control his amusement at her attempted housekeeping, and that be was about to lose the battle. She sent him a rueful smile.
“Come on, Mr. Raven,” she invited, patting the mattress. She lifted the edge of her gown and climbed up onto the high bed. She sat on one side, her legs crossed like a red Indian at his campfire, leaving more than half of the wide expanse for Raven to stretch out on. “Come to bed.”
“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that,” he said softly. He began to walk, more slowly than she had ever seen him move. A trifle unsteadily, he maneuvered his body onto the edge. Using his elbows, he levered his big frame entirely onto the bed and lay back, his wide shoulders propped against the pillows she’d stacked against the headboard.
For some reason she was very disconcerted by the look those sapphire eyes were now directing at her, their color darkened and intensified by the dimness.
“Come here,” he suggested.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not going to hurt me, Catherine. Come here.”
Raven stretched his right arm along the top of the pillows, creating a space for her body to fit next to the powerful solidness of his. It took her less than a second to respond to that repeated invitation. She doubted the scramble with which she transversed the smal
l distance between them was graceful, but she really didn’t care. And from the strength with which Raven’s arm enclosed her, neither did he.
He pulled her to him, the muscles of his chest hard against the unconfined softness of her breasts. His mouth roamed over the loosened auburn tendrils at her temple and then across her forehead. Her fingers pressed into his warm, golden skin, moving languidly across the breadth of his shoulder and upper arm. Finally she was again where she wanted to be.
“I missed you,” he whispered softly, lips against her brow.
“I missed you, too. And Raven?”
“Hmm?”
“I worried about you.”
“Did you?”
“I know you think that’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe not. There were a few hours I spent worrying, too. I’d thought I wasn’t ever going to be allowed to do this.”
“This?” she asked, brushing a light kiss over his lips.
“Hold you. Make love to you. Make love to my wife.”
“Don’t think about that. You don’t have to tell me what happened. Not if you don’t want to.”
“Nothing happened that’s to my credit. I allowed myself to be taken captive, tied up and left to die. Not a very attractive list of accomplishments.”
She heard the derision in his voice. “And you don’t know who did it?”
“They tried to stop the coach, but I had ordered the coachman not to slow down for anything.” Raven didn’t tell her about the attempt on his life in the park, which had prompted that precaution. “I used the pistol I always carry, but there were too many of them. They shot Tom, and then the carriage went over the edge of the road and onto the rocks below.”
The quiet voice paused, and his lips again touched her hair. She lifted her hand to his cheek, but she didn’t try to look up to read whatever was in his face. To see if it matched what she could hear in the deep voice. Her face rested still against the bare skin of his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. She knew he’d finish the story in his own time. He would face the memories, the bitterness of being taken. The humiliation of whatever they’d done to him. Raven wasn’t a coward, and so she knew he’d tell her. Eventually.
“I didn’t think then to wonder why they didn’t shoot me, too.” Again he paused. Her fingers, finding the fall of dark hair, were gently combing through its silken softness. It was dry now and curling against his shoulders. “I suppose I was too disoriented by the accident. They had tied me up before I regained consciousness, and then they took me to the shaft.” He drew in a breath, but his quiet voice continued, his calm tone never varying. “They seemed to think it was poetic justice.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“Someone had led them to believe I was putting miners out of their jobs by employing machinery in my mines. The same logic the Luddites used to stir up their riots.”
“You take care of your workers. That’s so unfair.”
“I don’t think they were concerned about fairness.”
“Maybe they really believed that. At least it offers an alternative…” She couldn’t bring herself to repeat the accusation he’d made against her father.
Raven didn’t have the heart to deny her that possibility, especially not with the warmth of her small body pressed closely along the length of his for the first time. They would deal with all the painful realities later. Not tonight. He didn’t want to think of anything tonight but holding Catherine.
“How did you get away?”
“They’d left me tied, hand and foot, at the bottom of that hole. I realized I had to first get my hands untied.”
She waited again, her fingers caressing, as he paused, letting him tell it without prodding him with questions.
“There didn’t seem to be anything to use against the ropes. There was nothing down there except the walls and floor—no discarded tools. Nothing. I’d probably inched my way around the shaft a dozen times before I found it—a narrow little outcropping, a couple of feet off the floor, the stone rough edged. I began to rub the rope against it, trying to abrade it enough that I could break it.”
“And you did.”
“Eventually,” he agreed. There was another long silence before he added softly, “They make damn fine rope in this country, Catherine.”
“That’s how you hurt your hands?”
“I thought the bonds were shrinking because they were so wet with blood, but my hands were swelling and finally I lost feeling in them. I suppose that was good. At that point. But it made the climbing a nightmare.”
“You climbed out of the mine?”
“It was only a shaft. A test hole. It was like climbing up a chimney—feet and elbows, like the sweeps. It was wider, of course, and if I weren’t as tall as I am, I’d never have done it. And they’d left me my boots. I guess they thought it wouldn’t matter. They never expected me to walk anywhere.”
“Theyknew you were alive? When they left you there?” she asked, horror coloring her voice.
“I’m sorry. I should never have told you this. We should concentrate on the here and now. A very pleasant here and now that I was afraid might never happen.”
“I want to know. Ineed to know. And Raven, I’m not a child. Did they leave you there, knowing you were alive?”
“They tied me up, Catherine. You don’t worry about dead men walking out of the grave you’ve dug for them.”
She shivered suddenly at the fate they’d intended for him. She found it hard to believe that anyone could treat another person with such inhumanity. But then, as Raven had told her, she had been very protected from the realities of human misery the world contained.
His arm tightened comfortingly around her shoulders.
“It’s all right,” he said softly. “It’s over.”
“Once you were out, how did you get home?”
She felt his laugh lift the solid muscles of his chest.
“I’d thought that would be the easy part. After I’d finished the climb. After I reached the outside. But I had no idea where I was. The hole they’d lowered me into was part of a site that had long been abandoned. There were no cottages nearby. I hadn’t eaten in days. At that point, I had no way of knowing how many days. My only thought was to get back here as quickly as I could. But even when I eventually stumbled on a village that offered some semblance of civilization, no one wanted to help. And considering the way I looked, I guess I understand their reluctance. I tried to convince them that if they’d arrange for my transportation to London, they’d be amply rewarded. You can imagine their reaction.
“So I ran. And then walked. As long as I could. I stole food and someone’s shirt. Eventually a carter took me up. By then I was afraid all the effort was going to be wasted because I was going to die by the road. I still don’t know why he stopped. But he saved my life. He gave me water and something to eat, and then he brought me to the outskirts of the city.”
“We’ll have to find him,” she said, thinking how grateful she was. Human kindness given without hope of reward. It had returned Raven to her, and despite the horror of what his attackers had planned for him, he was safe and holding her.
“I don’t know his name or anything about him. But you’re right. We’ll find him.”
They said nothing for a long time. By now the great house was totally silent, even the excitement over the master’s return and the doctor’s visit fading as the tired servants sought their own beds and well-deserved rest. Catherine could hear the tall hall clock and Raven’s heartbeat and nothing else in the peaceful stillness of the London night.
Eventually she felt her husband’s breathing even into a regular rhythm and she knew he was asleep. She thought briefly about returning to her own room in order to allow him to rest undisturbed, but the arm that enclosed her was strangely compelling, even loosened and relaxed in sleep. She closed her eyes and lay in the darkness, and before she slept, she thankfully acknowledged the divine intervention she’d so fervently prayed
for in the days he’d been gone for sending Raven back to her.
Chapter Sixteen
When Catherine awoke the next day, she was alone. She closed her eyes again, savoring the fragrance of Raven’s body, his scent caught in the sheets of the bed they had shared, surrounding her as his arms had enclosed her last night. She wondered briefly where he was, and then acknowledged with amused resignation that he was probably in that small office downstairs, again overseeing the business empire she had guarded until his return. She and her father. Remembering the duke’s kindness, she wondered how her husband could possibly believe—
“Mr. Raven thought you might like breakfast in bed, madam.”
Catherine opened her eyes to find Edwards holding a tray on which a teapot and cup reposed along with a covered silver dish. Raven was again issuing orders to the staff.
“Thank you, Edwards, but just the tea, I think. I’ll have luncheon downstairs with Mr. Raven.”
“I believe Mr. Raven’s in his office. And he’s eaten. Shall I tell him you wish to see him?”
“No,” Catherine said, still smiling. “Don’t bother him.”
She needed to let her father know about Raven’s return. She remembered again Raven’s bitterness last night and his accusation. The duke needed some warning that the emotion John Raven entertained about his investment wasn’t gratitude.
“Thank you, Edwards,” she said aloud. “If you would, return in half an hour, please. I’ll have a letter to be delivered to my father.”
“I’d be delighted, Mrs. Raven.”
When the door closed behind the butler, Catherine rose and, putting on her wrapper, sat down at her secretary to compose the difficult letter she knew she must write.
The afternoon seemed endless to Catherine as she waited for Raven to rejoin her. The door to his office remained securely closed. She knew that because she made several otherwise unnecessary trips downstairs to check. She’d see him at dinner, she assured herself more than once when he didn’t reappear. Raven would surely join her at dinner. Her thoughts went back to the early months of her marriage, those private moments at the huge table and the daylong anticipation of being with Raven the only comforts that had sustained her then—as they must now.
