Always Mine

by Cheryl Holt

  She squirmed away and lurched over to the end of the bed. She stared at him like an irritated nanny.

  “What do you want, Mr. Shawcross?”

  “Call me Raven.”

  “No. You show up at Carter Crossing with your brother. You pretend to be horse traders, and you begin a flirtation with me.”

  He raised a brow. “It’s been very fun too.”

  “You depart the property—without a goodbye to me.”

  “Did I break your heart?”

  She didn’t answer his question. “Then you strut in to attend Clayton’s birthday party. You proclaim yourself to be Raven Shawcross, famed African explorer. What am I to make of such an odd sequence of events?”

  “I have some business dealings with Clayton,” he said, which was putting it mildly. “I decided to conduct an investigation first, so I could learn more about the sort of man he is.”

  “You spied on us.”

  “Yes,” he bluntly confessed.

  “You lied—about your identity, about your purpose.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Is your name really Shawcross? Are you really an African explorer? For all I know, you might be a confidence artist who’s merely declared himself to be Mr. Shawcross.”

  “Sir Sidney’s son is Sebastian Sinclair, and he’s my friend. So is Nathan Blake. He’s Lord Selby. Should I have them send you a letter to verify who I am?”

  He was watching her closely, and at his mentioning Sebastian and Nathan, she blanched with surprise—or it might have been dismay. He wondered why. She was an orphan, living on an isolated, rural estate. Why would they mean anything to her?

  “You deceived me,” she said, and her cheeks flamed bright red, as if she was embarrassed.

  Yes, he had, but she was in the dark as to which facts. She’d be apprised very soon though. “How have I deceived you? I told you who I am. I told you I’m a horse trader, and it’s one of my many commercial ventures. I delivered the animals to Clayton as I promised I would. What part of that is a deception?”

  “Don’t twist my words,” she scolded, looking very forlorn. “I thought you liked me. I thought you enjoyed my company, but your interest was fake. Every minute I spent with you—it was fake.”

  “It wasn’t fake.”

  “What was it then? At the very least, I believed we were cordial, but this morning, I had to hear from a footman that you’d left. You couldn’t even be bothered to inform me.”

  “I wasn’t actually leaving,” he said.

  “How was I supposed to know that? You completely ignored me at Clayton’s party. Why? Are you too marvelous to socialize with lowly old me? Are you so impressive that you couldn’t have your snooty chums realize we were connected?”

  “It wasn’t that at all. I was busy with Clayton and his mother.”

  “And let’s not forget Millicent. You were certainly busy with her.”

  He grinned. “Are you jealous?”

  “I’d have to like you to be jealous, and I don’t like you. I hate you.”

  “You do not.”

  “Have you even the slightest clue what my life is like?”

  “I have a fairly good idea.”

  “No, you don’t. You couldn’t possibly imagine it.”

  She was wrong, but he wouldn’t try to convince her.

  After his father had been arrested, Raven’s world had collapsed in an instant. The scandal had been splashed across the newspapers, with spurious charges leveled by Charles Carter. His father had been too stunned to figure out how to save himself. He’d killed himself in prison, and it had ignited a downhill spiral of tragedy.

  His mother had died of shame, then he and his siblings had been separated. The sole ally who’d stood by his father through the debacle had found schools to admit them, but they’d been charity students, dressed in worn clothes from the church basket and no pennies to ease their way.

  Raven had quickly learned how poverty and disgrace were like a stench a boy couldn’t wash off.

  The early period had been incredibly difficult. He’d felt such a burden to support himself so he could afford a home and bring his brother and sister to live with him, but he’d only been ten when it had started. It had taken him years of dubious scheming and rigged gambling to accumulate sufficient funds to purchase a spot with Sir Sidney when he was eighteen.

  By the time he’d grown rich from his travels and could have rescued his siblings, Lydia had been seduced by a scoundrel and had passed away in childbirth, and Lucas had become a delinquent with a criminal history.

  Raven had discovered what it meant to be scorned, to not belong anywhere. The difference between him and Rebecca Carter was that he’d had a grand life, a wealthy father, a doting mother, and a beautiful property in the country.

  In the blink of an eye, it had all been yanked away. What was worse? To once have had so much and to lose it? Or to never have had anything in the first place?

  “Let’s not quarrel, Rebecca,” he said. “I’m not about to fight with you.”

  “We’re not fighting. I’m simply telling you that you’re an ass, and I’m delighted that you’ve listened to my complaints. I’m finished voicing them though. And don’t call me Rebecca. You don’t have my permission.”

  “I don’t care if you like it or not. I always behave precisely as I please, so I’ll do it anyway.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. You are a bully and a fiend. Feel free to leave whenever you’re ready.”

  He smiled at her as if she was being ridiculous. She stomped to the door and grabbed the knob, having forgotten it was locked and the key was in his pocket.

  “Give me the key,” she fumed.

  “No.”

  “Are you intending to keep me as your prisoner?”

  “Maybe.”

  “For how long? I insist you apprise me, so I have some idea of how long I’ll be forced to tolerate your odious company.”

  “You think I’m odious?”

  “It’s the nicest term I can use to describe you. I’m much too polite to tell you my true opinion, for I would never utter the hideous words it would require.”

  She was bristling with indignation, and he was so intrigued to witness her fit of pique. Her hands were on her hips, her shoulders squared, and she was balanced on the balls of her feet, as if she were a pugilist in the boxing ring.

  Her phantom twin, the loathsome Miss Robertson whom she denied knowing, stood the same way when she was angry. Her eyes flashed with the same heat.

  When he’d initially met Rebecca, he’d thought she resembled Miss Robertson exactly, but now, he deemed them to be even more similar. The odd parallels made him want to throw her in a coach and convey her to London where he would push the two of them together. What reaction might it produce? If they were in such close proximity, might the whole world explode?

  He reached out and clasped hold of her arm, and even though he barely touched her, she winced and jerked away.

  “Ow!” she protested.

  “What? I couldn’t have hurt you.”

  “No, I just…ah…have a bad bruise.”

  He seized her arm and stretched it out, examining it to find several very clear bruises that definitely looked as if they’d been left by fingerprints. No doubt about it, someone had marked her in a livid, violent manner.

  “Who was it?” he demanded.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  She stared mulishly, and he said, “You might as well confide in me. I won’t stop pestering you until you do.”

  She wrenched away, showing him her back.

  “If you must know,” she said, “it was Clayton. But it was…nothing. He was drunk, and it was late.”

  Raven’s blood ran cold. No, not cold. It ran red hot, pouring like lava through every limb and vein.

  “You excuse him because he was inebriated?” he asked.

  “Well, he was drunk. It was late.�
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  “How did you get away?”

  “My young cousin, Alex? He interrupted us, and Clayton is a coward. Alex and I walked off, and the incident was over.”

  “Are you scared of him?”

  She pondered, then shook her head. “No. I’m sure it won’t happen again. In fact, I bet if I scolded him about it, he wouldn’t even remember what occurred.”

  Raven recalled how—when she’d entered the room—she’d suffered a terrible fright. Had she assumed he was Clayton? Had she any notion what a rogue like Clayton could do to a woman?

  Since she was a spinster, probably not.

  He snuggled himself to her, his front pressed to her back, and he bent down and kissed her on the shoulder.

  “He’ll never touch you again,” he said. “I swear it.”

  “How could you prevent it? Besides, I don’t need to worry. I’ll simply stay out of the halls at night until he’s departed for London.”

  Raven thought of her, afraid in her own home, afraid in her own bedchamber, and his rage spiraled to an alarming height. He had quite a bit of revenge to extract from Clayton Carter, and she’d just given him a reason to remove yet another pound of flesh.

  Clayton was the type who would feel strong when he was inflicting himself on a defenseless female. As with his mother, Beatrice, Raven couldn’t wait to see how brave he was when he was facing a really irate, really powerful man.

  He’d spent enough time chatting with her, and he was weary from the lengthy day of plotting and socializing. He wrapped an arm around her waist, spun her, and tumbled them onto the bed. It was scant more than a cot, and he was surprised it could support their combined weight, that it hadn’t crashed to the floor.

  They were lying on their sides, nose to nose, and she glared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Perhaps he had.

  “Mr. Shawcross! Let me up.”

  “No.”

  “I can’t be on a bed with you!”

  “You already are.”

  She attempted to scoot away, but he wasn’t about to allow her to escape. He pinned her to the mattress, a hand on her tummy, a leg over her thigh, then he dipped in and kissed her.

  “I’m exhausted tonight,” he said. “Don’t be angry with me.”

  “I am so far beyond angry that it’s not possible to clarify what I’m feeling.”

  “I think you like me a little. Can’t you try to recollect that you do?”

  “First, you’d have to explain the scheme you’re hatching.”

  “I can’t. You have to find out with everyone else.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re a Carter, and I can’t abide any of you.”

  “If you can’t abide me, why—pray tell—are you in my room?”

  “I have no earthly idea.”

  “Ooh, I’ll likely get in so much trouble because of you.”

  “I’m tired of our bickering,” he said, “and I’d like you to supply me with some hint of why I’ve bothered with you a single second.”

  “I can’t guess why you’ve bothered with me.”

  “I’m going to kiss you, and you’re going to kiss me back.”

  “You are so arrogant,” she said, “and you were horrid to me all night! Why would I have any fond sentiment remaining?”

  “Maybe you don’t, but kissing is fun anyway.”

  He gazed at her, and suddenly, he was considering things he’d never considered with a female before. What would it be like to keep her by his side forever? With a girl like her, that sort of arrangement only transpired through matrimony, and he would never marry a Carter. So what was he planning?

  He couldn’t imagine. She just made him feel better, so he kissed her again, and for once, she ceased her complaints and simply participated.

  He wasn’t much of a talker. He didn’t dither and debate. He let his actions speak for him. He let his vicious tendencies speak for him. He let his courage and daring-do speak for him. His life had been filled with vigorous, manly men, and he’d liked it very much, but it was refreshing to snuggle with her. It wasn’t an activity he’d engaged in very often, and he was thrilled to have the opportunity.

  As she relaxed into the embrace, he pulled her nearer so their bodies were forged fast all the way down. Her pert breasts were pressed to his chest, her tummy and thighs crushed to his own. Her secret womanly places were riveting him, his cock hard as stone.

  He rolled her onto her back, and he shifted so he was on top of her, and he was quickly growing overwhelmed, which was incredibly peculiar.

  With his looks, money, and status as a member of the Sir Sidney expedition team, women threw themselves at him, hoping for a connection. He was never interested though, so it had been ages since he’d waded into such deep waters. He was definitely in over his head.

  He yanked his lips from hers and buried his face at her nape. He hovered there, being swamped by various qualms: that he shouldn’t dally with her, that he shouldn’t flirt with her, that he shouldn’t notice her at all. But he thought she was extraordinary. When she was amazingly beautiful, when she was kind and amusing and loyal, how could he fail to be charmed?

  He drew away so he could study her, and she appeared irked, but worried about him too. Had anyone ever worried about him? He supposed his mother must have when he was a boy, but he couldn’t recall what it had been like.

  “Why have we stopped?” she asked.

  “You drive me wild,” he told her.

  “That can’t be true.”

  “It is, so I should probably get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.”

  “What might you regret?”

  “Your question reminds me of how innocent you are.”

  “Of course I’m an innocent. I’m a maiden and a spinster. How am I to know what you might accomplish if I let you proceed?”

  “You’d like it. I can promise you that.”

  “Vain beast.”

  He sat up, and she popped up on an elbow and caressed a palm over his chest, directly over his heart where it always ached with remorse.

  “You look positively morose,” she said. “Have I upset you?”

  “You could never upset me, and I’m not morose.”

  “I can see in your eyes that you are.”

  Usually, he was adept at hiding his emotions, and he couldn’t believe she’d sensed his melancholy mood. He was elated that she’d noted such a personal detail, and it left him terribly afraid he might start to babble about issues that were none of her business, so he changed the subject.

  “You might observe me trifling with your cousin, Millicent, but I’m not serious.”

  “Then why do it?”

  He shrugged. “Because I can.”

  “You’re a scoundrel—I agree—but why make me witness your bad behavior?”

  “It won’t continue for long.”

  “I’ll have to warn her about you.”

  He chuckled. “What will you say?”

  “I’ll say you’re a cad, and she should avoid you like the plague.”

  He nodded. “You can tell her all of that—just so you don’t avoid me later on. And don’t be jealous.”

  He leaned down and kissed her a final time, wondering if he’d have many more chances. On how many more occasions would he be with her like this?

  Fleetingly, he fretted about what would become of her after her relatives were evicted. Where would she end up?

  You could support her…

  The prospect slithered by, shocking him with how much he liked the sound of it. He’d never previously considered having a mistress. Might she be amenable?

  If she wound up with nowhere to live, she might be. Poverty had a swift way of focusing a woman’s attention, of forcing her to settle for options she wouldn’t normally have pondered.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

  “Does your comment indicate you’ll grace us with your ma
gnificent presence for at least one more day?”

  “Yes, for at least another day.” He clasped her hand and linked their fingers. “Tell me you’re glad about it.”

  “I’m not telling you that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because your ego is so massive, if I stroke it any further, you won’t be able to walk out of here.”

  He laughed. “You know me so well.”

  He stood, straightened his clothes, then went to the door. He unlocked it, then tossed her the key.

  “Lock up after me,” he said.

  “I will.”

  “I’m not joking. I don’t want you to have any unexpected visitors.”

  “Clayton won’t stumble in. I’m sure of it.”

  “Lock up for me anyway,” he said more sternly, “and when I come down to breakfast, you better be in the dining room and eager to serve me.”

  “I never serve anyone. Go away, you insolent oaf.”

  He missed her already, and he nearly declared the ridiculous sentiment, but he managed to bite down the words.

  As he would have exited into the hall, she asked, “Would you talk to your brother for me?”

  “About what?”

  “I last saw him down on the verandah, and he claimed to have an assignation out on the beach. He wouldn’t admit who it was with, but I really wish he wouldn’t ruin any of our housemaids.”

  Raven sighed, suspecting he could guess precisely who Lucas’s target had been. “I’ll speak to him, but it’s probably pointless.”

  He stepped out and pulled the door closed. He waited to hear her jump up after him, but she didn’t, and he murmured, “Rebecca! Lock the door.”

  “Oh!”

  The bed creaked, then she scurried over, and the key was spun.

  “Goodnight, Raven,” she whispered.

  “Goodnight, Rebecca. Sleep tight.”

  He laid his palm on the wood, and he held it there. He shut his eyes and imagined her doing the same.

  Then he realized he was behaving like a smitten fool, and he whipped away and tiptoed off. He considered heading to his own bed, but first, he had to track down Lucas and order him to leave Millicent Carter alone.

  When the swaggering boy turned on his charm, no girl was safe.