Raven's Bride (4 page)

It had been too long since he had last visited Polly, the innkeeper’s pretty daughter from the next village. He would ride over and visit her tonight. He liked her well enough. She was plump and cheerful, and knew how to please a man.

He would visit her more often, indeed, except he disliked the thought of having to share her favors with every passing fop. Still, unless he would sow bastards around the countryside, which he was loath to do, he would have to make do with professionals such as Polly until he took a wife.

His mind was favorably engaged in imagining what services he would require of Polly that evening when a horrified gasp startled him out of his reverie. He opened his eyes and beheld in front of him a sight that made even the delicious thought of Polly fade into nothingness.

Anna stood in front of him. She had just risen from the tub and stepped around the screen, and her glistening dark hair hung over her shoulders in wet curls. Her breasts were larger than he would have imagined them. They were truly a woman’s breasts, beautifully proportioned, pear-shaped, with puckered rose-pink tips. His fingers ached to take them into his hands, to feel the delicious weight of them, to draw them towards him, into his mouth, to touch and taste them with his tongue.

Hurriedly he moved his eyes from her breasts before he gave into the temptation to reach out and take them in his hands as he longed to do. His eyes moved lower, drinking in the sight of her as though she were his only hope of salvation. The rest of her body was as beautiful as her breasts. Her hips were rounded and lush. Despite his good intentions, his gaze focused on the triangular patch of curls between her legs...

Her hair was as black as sin—and just as enticing. He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat and reached out for her.

His movement broke the spell Anna was under. She whirled around with a gasp, tottered three steps, and fell to the ground.

“Tom,” came Charlotte’s scandalized shriek, “whatever are you doing here?”

Ravensbourne picked the insensible Anna up again and laid her on the bed. With trembling hands, he drew a coverlet over her naked form, as much to remove temptation from his view as to keep the girl warm. “I was waiting to lift our guest out of her bath again,” he said, his voice harsh with guilt and self-condemnation. “Unfortunately the two of you decided you could do without me, and look what your foolishness has lead to. The poor child was startled when she saw me, and she has fainted again.”

“I thought you had left,” Charlotte said miserably. “And Anna wouldn’t hear of me calling you back again. She insisted that the bath had completely revived her and she could manage by herself.” She sat down on the bed beside Anna and started to chafe one of the girl’s hands between her own. “She looks familiar somehow, doesn’t she?”

Ravensbourne shrugged his shoulders. “I know I have never seen her before in my life. I would not quickly forget such a face as hers.”

Charlotte clicked her tongue in exasperation. “I didn’t mean that
I
had ever seen her before either,” she said. “It is just that she looks so familiar.” She cocked her head on one side and considered Anna thoughtfully. “Grandfather’s second wife was supposed to have been a beauty. There is a portrait of her in the gallery, painted when she first married Grandfather, that looks decidedly like Anna. They have the same black hair, and those unusually colored eyes, rather like amethysts. I have never seen anyone else with eyes of that color. Do you think Anna might be our cousin?”

Lord Ravensbourne considered his sister’s suggestion in silence for a moment. He had never heard that he had a cousin, but Charlotte’s idea did have some merit. Those violet eyes were most uncommon, as well as most uncommonly beautiful. Besides, if she were related to him, it made sense that she would come to him for help.

The sky was lightening into the silvery gray of early dawn when Anna awoke. It was still very early, but she could not wait until the house was stirring before she knew how her mother was faring. Hurriedly she rose from the bed. Her long sleep and the food that kind Charlotte had pressed on her had revived her. She felt strong enough to scale a mountain this morning.

The black dress she had worn the previous day was nowhere to be seen. Hanging over the clothes horse in its place was a pretty confection of yellow silk, along with a fine linen shift and a pair of silk stockings.

Anna did not like to put the dress on, as she was still in mourning for her father, but she had no choice. She stuck her nose into the small wardrobe in the corner of the chamber, but it was empty. Unless she wanted to prowl the corridors of the house stark naked, she would have to wear the yellow.

It was a little long for her, and too tight in the bodice, but it would do. Crossing the room on her stocking feet, she opened the door of her chamber and peered out.

The corridor was deserted. She slipped along, opened the door adjacent to hers a crack and peered in.

She closed it again just as fast. That was not a spare chamber for guests. The bottles of perfumes and lotions on the dressing table, the lace cap discarded carelessly on the floor, the pretty plum- colored bonnet with pink ribbons tossed on the chair, all told their own story.

The chamber on the other side of the young lady’s boudoir was empty. The curtains around the bed were drawn back, and the bed unoccupied. With a sigh, Anna crossed to the other side of the corridor. If her mother had indeed been found, she must be in one of these chambers. There were not many more to search.

She pushed open the door of the chamber closest to the great staircase. The first sight that met her eyes was a large pair of black boots lying on the rug. Gentlemen’s boots. She gave a slight gasp. Her mother would not be in there.

She was pulling the door closed behind her again when a voice interrupted her. “Who is there?” it demanded. She recognized that deep voice, husky now with sleep. “Come in here so I can see who you are.”

Anna fought the urge to flee into the safety of her own chamber. She would find her mother with far greater speed if she could conquer her panic for long enough to find out where she was. She pushed the door ajar and stood in the doorway, from where she could escape into the corridor if she had to. “I apologize for disturbing you, my lord,” she said, in her bravest voice. “I did not mean to wake you.” Despite her efforts to keep her voice calm, it broke as she explained. “I was looking for my mother. Did your men find her? Is she well?”

There was a sigh from the man in the bed. “I should have guessed it was you. Yes, we have found your mother. Wait outside just a moment.”

Almost fainting with relief, Anna pulled the door closed and leaned against the far wall, her whole body shaking with the after-effects of her fear.

It seemed but a minute before he opened the door to his chamber again. He had taken that minute to dress himself in a pair of breeches, the pair of boots that Anna had seen on the rug, and a white linen shirt. His jacket was slung over his shoulder. He hadn’t taken the time to button his shirt all the way, but had merely tucked it into his breeches.

Anna felt her throat constrict at the sight of his bare chest. He was not at all like the squire, who reminded her of a sly fox. No, this man was not a fox. He was a tawny lion from the wilds of Africa, or a fierce, striped tiger from the Indies. She gazed in wonderment at the sight of his golden-brown curls peeking over the top of his white linen shirt. He didn’t disgust her, as the squire had. In fact, it seemed as though suddenly there was no air in the corridor. She could not breathe.

He grinned when he saw her gaze focused on his torso. “I hope,” he said, “that you are admiring my chest one half as much as I am admiring yours.”

Anna crossed her arms hurriedly over her breasts and dropped her eyes. Lord Ravensbourne’s smile made her feel as though she were standing naked before him. Again. “I wasn’t admiring your chest at all,” she muttered under her breath.

“What a pity. But, please, do not stop looking at me,” he said, “or I shall feel honor-bound to stop staring at you.”

Anna didn’t know what to say. She hung her head in mute embarrassment.

“And that would surely be a shame, as you have the most beautiful chest a man could wish to be staring at. But come,” he added. “I should not be keeping you waiting in this drafty hallway. I will take you to your mother.”

Her head lowered to hide her blushes, Anna followed him along the corridor to the last door on the left.

“Your mother’s in here,” he said, as he pushed the door ajar. “The housekeeper has been sitting up with her.”

Anna peeked in. An elderly woman was sitting in a rocking chair by the bed, her head nodding in sleep. The sound of a faint cough came from the person in the bed. Anna tiptoed into the room. “Mother?” she whispered, as she drew back the bed curtains. Her mother was lying in the bed, her eyes open.

“Anna, my love,” her mother said. Her voice was weak and tired, but it was lucid and gentle. “I am glad to see you.”

Anna felt tears prick the back of her eyelids. She knelt on the floor by the bed and took her mother in her arms. “Mother,” she cried in relief, “you’re better.”

“Indeed,” her mother answered. “The hot posset that the kind cook brewed up for me last night did wonders for my cough. That, and knowing you were safe.”

Ravensbourne came to stand beside them. Anna could feel his presence as he towered above her. “Safe? What trouble were you in?” His voice was rough and husky, but not harsh or demanding.

The housekeeper in the rocking chair woke at the sound of his voice. She got stiffly to her feet and withdrew into the corner, looking a little shamefaced at being caught asleep, when she should have been watching by the bedside of an invalid.

Anna’s mother looked up at the newcomer. “Ah, you must be little Tom,” she said after a moment. “Though to be sure, you were in short coats when I last saw you. You were a child of six or seven when I left home to be married. But you are unmistakably your father’s son. And Edward, your father, how is he?”

“He died these two years ago,” Lord Ravensbourne replied. “Why do you ask?”

Mrs. Woodleigh wiped a tear away from her eye. “So Edward is dead. I am sorry for it. He was always good to me. If only my pride had not kept me away these many years…”

Over the last several minutes, Anna had watched a puzzled look grow on Lord Ravensbourne’s face. He seemed to be grasping at something just out of reach.

Suddenly his face cleared. “Aunt Lydia?” he ventured. “My father’s younger step-sister?” His voice grew in confidence and conviction with each word he spoke. “You are Aunt Lydia, aren’t you? You used to sit me on your lap and sing to me, and bring me sweetmeats back from the town.”

Mrs. Woodleigh nodded. “Yes, I am your Aunt Lydia, though I am not the giddy girl I was when I ran away. I have come back to beg you for aid. My husband is dead, and Anna and I have no one else to turn to.”

“But why did you not write when you found yourself in such a position?” Lord Ravensbourne said. “I would have sent the carriage and an escort for you, even if you had been as far away as Cornwall, or over the sea in the wilds of Ireland. It is not fitting that you and my young cousin should be forced to sleep in hayricks like beggars.”

“We could not wait to write,” Mrs. Woodleigh replied. “It was not safe for us to stay.”

“Not safe?”

“My husband died five days ago. Anna needs a father to protect her.”

Lord Ravensbourne raised his eyebrows in a silent query, but Mrs. Woodleigh refused to explain further. “We will not trespass on your patience for any longer than we have to,” she said. “All I ask is the use of an empty cottage on your estate for Anna and me. I have a small pension, and we could have a garden and keep chickens. If you would be so kind as to take us in, God would bless you for it, and we would not cost you much.”

Anna nodded. “And if you could help me find a post as a governess or a nursery maid in a respectable house with no gentlemen in it, I would be most grateful, and the drain on your purse would be the less.”

Lord Ravensbourne looked at her and then burst out laughing. “Come now, a governess? At your age? You would be younger than your charges.”

Anna drew herself up to her full height. “I am nineteen, my lord,” she said. “I am quite old enough to be a governess, and my father has taught me well.”

Lord Ravensbourne raised his brows briefly before turning towards Anna’s mother. “Aunt Lydia, I bid you welcome to my house. From now on, it is your house, too. I will not hear of you moving out to a cottage.” He turned back to Anna. “And, my pretty little cousin, there will be no more talk of governessing. No cousin of mine need earn her bread while I have a crust to share with her.”

Squire Grantley stared out at the light drizzle misting his fields and swore viciously under his breath. He had not found a trace of that damned slut Anna Woodleigh yet, and he had been searching for her for a fortnight and more. By Christ’s bones, when he found her, she would rue the day she had crossed him.

He slapped his switch against the side of his high-top leather boot. He would take pleasure in taking his whip to the bitch’s sides. Each ache and pain she had caused him he would repay her tenfold. He fingered his groin, still bruised and tender from the blow she had dealt him. He still did not know whether his shaft would ever rise again. It would be no more than she deserved were he to strip her naked and beat the faithless tart until she begged for mercy.