Chasing Raven Read online

  Yet here they were.

  Usually his thoughts came in a sensible, reasoned flow, but tonight the cogwheels of his mind were frustratingly stuck upon the image of this woman in riding breeches.

  "This is most kind, your lordship," said her mother, leaning forward as the amber tongue of a passing street lamp licked her face. "I'm sure it was a misunderstanding with the gentlemen from whom I borrowed the landau." Her gaze slid sideways to her daughter, who stared out of the carriage window as if the rain was the most enthralling sight she'd ever seen. "We must thank you for saving us so gallantly and going out of your way."

  He bowed his head. "It is no trouble, madam."

  Her smile widened, and she raised a white-gloved hand to her hair, patting the neat arrangement of auburn waves. "We must repay the favor."

  Lady Charlotte was still a handsome woman. In the season of her 'coming out' she had been the most sought after debutante in Town. And then, when she could have had anyone, she eloped with the notorious True Deverell, turning society inside out. The marriage did not last long, and the couple lived separately for years before the costly and scandalous divorce was finally acquired. How must that have affected her daughter?

  With a reputation in ruins, the divorcee might have slunk away into oblivion, but her former husband apparently kept her nest feathered and she still had a handful of acquaintances willing to help her. It seemed she also had little sense of shame and a powerful instinct for survival.

  Her daughter was equally self-assured and unapologetic, he noted coolly.

  In the darkness of the carriage interior, Miss Raven Deverell filled his senses, a pulsing, vibrant creature, a mischief maker who had broken a rule to interfere in his serious sport. Well, since she had laughed at the idea of an apology, he would show her how it felt to have one's day spoiled.

  "Your daughter and I met earlier today, madam. At Bourne Lodge in Richmond."

  Now the young woman tore her attention from the window and glowered at him. In the darkness of the carriage interior, her face was in shadow, but he saw the gleam of anger in her eyes. Eyes that he knew now were the richest shade of green one might find in the depths of a primeval forest.

  "Oh?" said her mother. "I did not know this. Raven?"

  "You knew I was with Matty Bourne today, mama," she replied, her gaze lowered as she smoothed her hands over her lap and studied her silk gloves.

  "But I thought you were spending the day at a picnic in Hyde Park with a small group of friends. That's what you told me. You said your brother would be there."

  "We changed our mind. The picnic was called off, because it looked like rain. So Matty took me to his father's house to show me a new horse. I knew we'd be back in time for the Winstanleys' ball, and I really didn't think it would signify where we spent the day."

  There was a thick pause and then Hale muttered, "I must say, madam, I was rather surprised to see your daughter unchaperoned at Bourne Lodge." He was thinking again of a certain pair of riding breeches. Who had got her in and out of them?

  That was more bothersome now, he realized, than the trick played against him.

  Her mother chided the girl. "Really you should have told me, Raven. What must Bourne's father think of you running about, unchaperoned, with his son? Going to his house alone with him." But Hale saw at once that she only made this protest for his benefit. She looked across the carriage for his reaction rather than her daughter's.

  He wondered if Lady Charlotte knew where her daughter was most of the time, let alone what she was getting up to. On the other hand, she could be complicit in her daughter's games. Hale had met many an ambitious mother and witnessed a variety of tricks used in hopes of an entrapment.

  Hale cleared his throat and looked out at the rain. "I believe Lord Bourne is soon to be engaged, is he not?"

  "I wouldn't care if he was," Miss Deverell replied. "He and I are merely friends." The next words burst out of her on an angry breath. "I do have some friends, surprising as it may seem to you, sir."

  He frowned. What the devil was that supposed to mean? "I just wanted to be sure you knew. To save you any...distress. Should you have any expectations—"

  "I never do. It is the safest way to protect against disappointment."

  After a slight pause, he said, "They have yet to make an official announcement, but it is a settled matter, I understand. By this winter he will be married to Miss Louisa Winstanley."

  "What business can it be of yours?"

  "Raven! Moderate your voice, young lady!" her mother cried. "I'm sure I did not know that Lord Bourne is soon to be engaged! Now I do, you shall see no more of him." The lady squared her shoulders and exhaled an angry huff. "We've been wasting our time in that quarter, evidently."

  "Matty Bourne is merely a very good friend, and I shall see him if I choose."

  "Indeed you shall not! There are other men more worthy."

  Fuming silence descended over the carriage interior, the two women making their chilly stance on opposite ends of the seat.

  Hale, meanwhile, silently congratulated himself. Mere friends, indeed! Whatever had been between them, at least he had put a stop to that now.

  He did it for her own good. Not that she would understand or be thankful.

  Too soon they arrived at the door of Mivart's Hotel, and he stepped out to help both ladies alight from his carriage. A lamp outside the building cast a wide pool of shimmering, molten gold across the pavement and as Raven passed under it, she turned her head to look over her shoulder, those lively eyes defiant.

  "Perhaps you would take tea with us here, your lordship?" her mother inquired as he opened his umbrella for shelter. "Sometime next week." The wide smile once again stretched across Lady Charlotte's face. It was a rather chilling expression, actually, now he saw it clearer. Her eyes were very dark and cold, not like her daughter's warmly inquisitive, teasing regard. Even when Raven's eyes were angry he would rather have their heat making him sweat, than suffer the frosty bite of her mother's hard gaze.

  "Regretfully, madam, I am not staying in town."

  "I thought, since you were at the ball tonight, you might stay for the rest of the Season."

  "No, madam. I had some business to tend at the Winstanleys', but I go into the country again tomorrow. Back to my estate." Back to the familiar, he thought with relief, and away from quarrelsome young women with pert tongues and firm bottoms.

  "What a pity," Lady Charlotte exclaimed. "But when you are next in town then."

  Making no commitment, he looked beyond her to where Raven stood by the street lamp, that dark hair a gleaming, lush mane over one shoulder, her chin proudly raised. She chose to get wet in the rain, instead of stand under the protection of his umbrella. The dampness did nothing to dispel her terrible allure. Some men, he was quite sure, would be utterly undone by the sight. Weaker men than he, of course.

  "Miss Deverell, you dropped this." One arm slowly outstretched, he offered her the small beaded reticule that had fallen from her wrist while she fidgeted irritably in his carriage.

  Her lips parted, shining damp in the lamplight. "Oh." Finally she took it from his hand. "Thank you."

  Hale almost smiled, but restrained himself from giving her any encouragement. Wouldn't want her to think he had any interest of that nature. She was a wicked brat looking for trouble, but at least he had served her a warning not to meddle in dangerous wagers ever again.

  Hopefully, he had served her a warning. At least, he thought that was what he'd been doing with her.

  * * * *

  Alone in her bed chamber, Raven sat at her dresser, opened her reticule and found a bank cheque written for one thousand pounds. His handwriting was very neat, very orderly, and there was his signature.

  Sebastian Rockingham Hale.

  The tall, sloping pillars of the "H" were grandly struck against the paper by a determined, confidently wielded pen.

  So he had paid the wager, but left it in her hands. Why give it to her, inste
ad of Matthew? She looked at her reflection in the mirror and shook her head. There was nothing to be gained by trying to understand that man's motives. She would likely never see him again.

  Slowly she ran a fingertip over his signature.

  What did Matty call him? A self-righteous prig. Exactly right!

  Perhaps the Bourne family had asked Hale to intervene and separate her from their son?

  Her shoulders slumped. She rested her elbows on the dresser, her head in her hands.

  She was not in love with Matty, so she could not be genuinely angry about his potential engagement. But she could be exceedingly cross about an officious man she'd only just met trying to manage her life, spoil her fun, and tell her what to do. As if she was a child. Nobody else had ever got away with that, so why should he?

  "It's a very good thing that you don't own me, your lordship, and I don't have to listen to you."

  "Would you listen to me if I did own you?"

  He was possibly the oddest, most vexing and interfering man she'd ever met in the entire course of her life.

  When she buried her face in one puffed silk sleeve, she was surrounded by the richly spiced scent of a very distinctive cologne water.

  He had marked her, she realized, appalled. He had marked her all over as if he did, in fact, own her. Or he planned to.

  Chapter Seven

  Her mother claimed a sore head the next morning and refused to get fully dressed. Instead she reclined like an elegantly wounded, exotic bird that, once abandoned by its flock, had fallen to the chaise by the fire in one dramatic flourish. With a deeply troubled sigh to ruffle the lush, ostrich-feather collar of her bed robe, she surveyed her daughter with heavy eyes and reviewed the many disappointments of her life. The latest of which, happened to be Raven's fault, and not due to an excess of champagne punch drunk the night before.

  "Thanks to you, child, I suffered a most unsatisfactory night's repose. I hope you are content. At my age one cannot afford many sleepless, agitated evenings. It takes a wretched toll upon one's skin."

  "How did I disturb you, mama?"

  "Had you bothered to smile at Hale last night and troubled yourself to be pleasant for a quarter of an hour, I daresay he would have put off going back to his estate and come to tea with us. Then certain people in this town would be sorry they ever gave me the cut. With Hale by our side we could do no wrong. We would be invited to more events than we could possibly attend. But no, you could not do that small thing for me."

  "We were invited to the Winstanleys'."

  "And what a waste that was, since you let the one worthwhile fish in your net slip away." She screwed up her nose. "Besides, the Winstanleys only invited us out of respect for my father's memory. That connection is slight and grows thinner every year. Now dear papa is gone..." Raising a lace-trimmed handkerchief to her face, she dabbed away a non-existent tear. "They have no care for me or the trials I suffer. Why should they? They need nothing from me and I can do naught for them. This world is all about what people can get from each other, as I've told you before."

  "Yes, mama." Like her mother, Raven had woken that morning very out of sorts, but she couldn't put her finger on any particular ailment, so she blamed it on the weather. This half-hearted drizzle shivering against the window was enough to make a saint put his fist through the glass, she thought dourly.

  "To get a man like Hale within your grasp and then to idly push him aside...ugh, I despair of you, Raven! You do not appreciate the advantages you've been given, or the many things I do for you."

  As was typical of her mother, she took the credit for Hale noticing her daughter, even though she had no idea of the mischief that led to it.

  "Mama, he's too old for me and far too grim."

  "Nonsense. Hale is not long turned thirty. He is, in fact, an ideal age for you. And vastly more use than that dreadful boy, Matthew Bourne! I should have known the Bournes had some other girl in mind, but I let you go about with him for weeks at the exclusion of all other prospects. Now here we are. That sapling is about to be engaged elsewhere and we have lost more time. You are cast aside like an old stocking, and I am rendered so grievously ill that I can barely lift a cup. It is humiliating! I've a mind to sue the Bournes for breach of promise."

  When Lady Charlotte was upset and thought herself ill-used, she did not rest until she had her vengeance. Some years ago she had whispered so many awful things about her former husband into her eldest son Ransom's ear, that the boy had gone out and shot at his father with a dueling pistol.

  Nobody was killed, much to Lady Charlotte's disappointment. But it served as a warning of how far she would go to get her revenge.

  Raven warmed her hands on the cup of hot chocolate as she stood by a window, staring out at Brook Street and a very dreary day. It did not feel much like May today— more like February. An eternally damp February from which there could be no escape.

  "Your anger is misplaced, mama. There was never any promise between Matty and I. We are friends, as we always have been, and that is all. It is harmless."

  "A young, unwed woman and an eligible bachelor cannot be friends, Raven. No. He let us believe he had serious intentions, and I allowed him to escort you about the place in full expectation of an engagement. He has betrayed my trust, and he shall not see you unaccompanied again."

  This made her want to laugh. Her mother's interest in the men she went about with had never extended far beyond the state of their finances. Now, quite suddenly, she became the concerned "Duenna". All because the interfering Earl of Southerton brought it to her attention.

  "It is despicable that Bourne should run about with you while sneakily becoming engaged to another. He took advantage of my kind nature and generosity."

  Now that was truly fudging the facts.

  But her mother rambled onward, "You, young lady, have terrible taste in men."

  And where did I get it from, she mused darkly, watching lines of rain wriggle down the window, racing each other. One of the larger drops swallowed up another and then went merrily on its way.

  Behind her on the chaise, her mother sought for a thread of something to preserve from the wreckage of their evening. "At least Guy Hammond seemed very keen last night, despite your offhand treatment of his attention."

  Guy Hammond. Raven sighed, her breath misting the glass. Hammond was another boy who could not stand up to her, let alone stand beside her. Another leaf in the wind, she thought listlessly.

  "I shouldn't be surprised if he calls upon you today. He may have been put off by Bourne's attentions before— they have, after all, been very marked all these weeks. But now he will see the field is clear. And despite Viscount Faulkner's title, Hammond is worth far more."

  Both Hammond and Felix Faulkner had sent Raven flowers that morning— gaudy, beribboned bundles that clogged the room with a pungent, sickly cloud. She had never been fond of cut flowers and thought them much prettier when left to grow in a garden. It seemed cruel to her that they be chopped down and brought inside, just to shrivel and die for the selfish pleasure of a few people, for a sad day or two.

  Matthew Bourne had also sent her a note, although she kept that from her mother. He wanted to see her today, but in this rain she would be hard pressed to find a believable reason to go out. In truth, she didn't want to see him. What would he say to her today? Make silly promises he could not keep? And which she would not want him to keep?

  Hale had sent nothing.

  But he would not leave her mind. Although she blamed her mother for continually bringing his name up, Hale had been just as constant in her thoughts all night long as he was in their conversation this morning.

  With those strong, firm hands and a low, steady voice that suggested he never encountered an argument, he had lurked in the shadows of her dream. He'd woken her a few times, too, in a manner she didn't care to think about.

  So he was a widower. Since she had never heard that fact before last night, how could she have known to hold her
tongue? But when she thought of the things she'd said to him about putting women in their graves to keep them safe...no wonder he had looked at her the way he did.

  Her stomach hurt.

  "Everyone at the ball was talking about Hale," her mother continued.

  "What about him? That he was so inappropriately attired for a ball?"

  "A man like Hale can dress however he chooses. There isn't a soul alive who would question it, when merely to have him attend an event is a social coup. No, they were talking because it's ten years since Hale danced with anybody, and it created quite a maelstrom that he danced with you."

  "How wearisome their lives must be then," she snapped, "if that's all they have to talk about."

  Her mother let out another sigh, deflating further against the chaise. "Such a pity Hale has returned to the country, just when we made the acquaintance! And you did nothing to encourage the man to stay."

  "Good God, mama, if his name is mentioned once more, I swear I'll shave off my eyebrows. I, for one, am exceedingly glad he's gone."

  She absolutely refused to invest him with the power to upset her day.

  As Raven stared at the rain, she eventually became aware of a dark shape moving along the street below and her eyes changed their focus to take in the sight of a familiar carriage and two roan horses. The consequent exclamation of surprise finally got her mother off the chaise, luring her to the window in a cloud of rose perfume and drifting feathers.

  "My landau!" Lady Charlotte looked puzzled and then slowly her expression changed. She turned to Raven. "You know who did this."

  "Do I?" She felt her heart sink as a familiar, calculating light came into her mother's eyes. "Of course! Hale."

  "You're leaping to conclusions, mama. Why would he pay off your debt? What could he want in return?"

  "Nothing. Because he's a gentleman. A real gentleman, not merely a wolf like most men. You have a lot to learn, Raven. Real gentlemen are a rarity and you have never met one before. Alas, now you do not recognize one when you do meet him."