Chapter Eight

Raven sensed her vulnerability. “Samantha, why not share your troubles with me? Did you wish to say something further?” She was indeed a mystery to be solved. There was more to her than her bold manner. He thought it best to pursue another subject, but she accomplished the task in such a clever manner.

“Your Grace, do you allow women to invest in your cartel?”

He laughed, sought her eyes, and decided it would be best, to tell the truth—part of his truth, honor, and valor pledge. “No. You do realize investments can be risky business, don’t you? The mission of the cartel is fraught with implications. Each cartel member will have to deal with the possibility of death. There are no guarantees of profits. To repeat your prior words, you inferred I was a profiteer. It appeared to fill you with disdain. Profits are important to any new venture, and the lives of colleagues could be at risk. All of this is to secure the financial success of our nation. That’s why I involve myself in these ventures, because of the love of my country.”

“I appreciate your candor. Does that mean you will consider it?”

He chuckled. “No, I didn’t say that. I indicated there could be no place for a woman because I would never forgive myself if anything ever happened to you.” He bestowed a knowledgeable smile. “By the way, dear lady, when we are alone, will you forsake the use of my formal title? It makes me feel ancient. I still smart from that remark.” He intended to remind her of her faux pas. These forms of address used to be what he expected from others, in which he took great pride until he met her. Now it sounded pompous and antique.

“Then how should I address you?” she asked, her expression inquisitive.

“I’ve already informed you that my Christian name is Raven.”

“Well, then, I’ll call you Raven if you so choose. Thank you for your forgiveness. You have forgiven me?”

“I have until the next time.”

“So you are prepared for the next time?”

He envisioned the picture she presented. Her eyes were the color of a mermaid in which a dangerous temptress dwelled. “Indeed, I am, but don’t mistake my candor. I don’t always forgive no matter how beautiful and accomplished the offender. I warn you in advance.”

If eyes could dance, hers was an exotic invitation to tango.

“I have duly noted your caution, Raven. I wish I could read what hides behind those magic eyes of yours. I would wager there is quite a story.” She laughed. “But then I don’t like to lose money.”

“You tell me your secrets, and perhaps I shall tell you some of mine,” he whispered in her ear, brushed by the touch of his lips.

She shivered.

Raven noticed her reaction and smiled. Now he knew how he would obtain retribution. It would be slow sensual seduction at its best—or worst, but significant to both of them.

It turned out to be an evening to remember and exceeded his expectations if one considered it started with a bruise on his shin, and a kiss that triggered a different type of danger to his love life. If given a choice, he preferred the latter.

Raven rose from the settee and reached his hand to her, which she accepted. He guided Samantha back to her aunt, all the while seeking her brother. He excused himself when he did locate him, and in a quick stride walked to Winston and asked if they might speak a moment.

Samantha assumed the appointment was now etched in stone for the morrow when her brother nodded and smiled.

Lady Minerva looked at her niece and remarked, “You do make a delightful couple, my dear.”

“Oh, Aunt Min, I don’t know. I do believe I got off on the wrong foot with him. I think he exudes politeness, and never in his life has he said anything rude to a lady. He told me about his late wife, the duchess. I wanted to cry and hold him in my arms to comfort him. I ached from it. He is a stoic and resolute man. He called her the love of his life. Papa used to say those words to my mother every day. Raven said that their marriage became flavored with love, passion, and fidelity, Aunt Min.” Samantha grew pensive as she mused, “I can’t picture him as passionate, can you?”

“You expect me to answer you, Samantha? Since when has passion been the province of the young? Passion, love, and sensuality are interwoven threads in the same tapestry, my dear. Your marriage didn’t last long enough so you couldn’t know this…” Her voice trailed off.

Samantha agreed she knew nothing about passion. Was this the sensation she experienced when she kissed the unknown man in the carriage? Or the hot pulsation when he touched her hand? She had loved Percival with an idealistic youthfulness and expectation of perfection. The perfect marriage, the perfect couple, and it turned out to be the perfect Greek tragedy.

Her impotent Percival neglected to mention the condition until after they married. She felt betrayed and desolate. How could he have done this to her?

Samantha could’ve had the marriage annulled, but the smirks and gossips of the society ladies of the ton would manufacture other reasons for the non-consummation. Not to mention the ruinous scandal sure to follow. She hoped in secret Percival would one day recover, and all would be well again, and her dreams would come true. She clung to fairy tales—until Samantha soon realized, she was no longer a young woman in love, but a woman with wretched shattered ideals. She cried herself to sleep many a night while Percival frequented the clubs and didn’t have too much time to ponder his activities. He was killed in a robbery by a footpad as he walked away from one of his clubs, and her grief became unspeakable. A widow virgin—how could anyone explain the circumstance except that she was a frigid wife and refused him conjugal rights?

What would the proper Raven, Duke of Ravensmere, think of this peculiarity?

Raven retrieved his hat, coat, and walking stick. He paid his respects to his hosts and left the ball. He’d instructed his coachman to collect him at the Townsend’s home before he left the Regent’s townhouse. Ever faithful, the driver awaited his entrance into the curricle. “Where to, Your Grace? Home?”

“No. Take me to Lady Buxton’s.”

The coachman nodded, drove the carriage over the wet, slick cobblestones taking great care as the matched well-pedigreed black Arabians whisked away.

The rhythmic sounds of the horses’ hooves became sonorous. Had Raven lost his senses? For years, he hadn’t talked about Liana, his duchess, although he continued to grieve and mourn her. In fact, he still spoke to her picture, which hung in the grand drawing room at his Ravensmere estate. He admitted his fear of the demons it aroused. Of course, he wanted an heir, but not at the cost of Liana’s life. Fate conspired to rob him of both his love and his son.

He buried his sorrow in his work and two years later took as his mistress the Lady Louise Buxton, a widow who lost her husband in the Napoleonic wars. She had a title, but no inheritance and nowhere to go. Raven met the lady while with friends and came to like her gentle laughter, quiet demeanor, and calm presence. He didn’t have to pretend passionate love with her. He could be himself, and she accepted him as he was. Legal arrangements protected her, and she fulfilled his physical needs. He never, ever, took her to balls or soirees because discretion was observed appropriate to his station. Most of all it became too personal to do so. To tell the world he moved on would be a sacrilegious betrayal to his late wife. She was the light of his life and always would be.

Louise didn’t have a problem with this, preferring to busy herself with her many activities and travels that he accommodated. In rare moments, they shopped Bond or Oxford Street, but she never became a part of his family’s intimate circle for he wanted no ties to bind him.

Tonight raw emotions assailed him. There was the intrigue with another woman, a broken vow to his late wife, and the possible dismissal of a long-time loyal mistress. The resurrection of the past conjured memories he’d kept hidden within his soul. Now everything reappeared, and he’d have to deal with the immense sorrow all over again. The difference was he now realized he no longer had the strength to relive the event.

Caged with dormant yearnings, he wished he could go for a long ride on his beloved horse at Ravensmere, his sanctuary over the years. He would give Ruffian his head. It wouldn’t matter that the gallop would be fierce, with twigs from overhead branches fracturing his skin like a scab ready to peel.

The coach stopped. Raven cleared his head for a moment and then departed the carriage. “Wait for me.” He ascended the steps. Before he could use the doorknocker, the majordomo gave him entry, acknowledged his return, and accepted Raven’s accessories.

Lady Louise hurried down the steps to greet him. Her hand glided with ease over the curved oak banister. She held his note where he advised her he would be in attendance this evening and would arrive at a late hour. It fell from her hand, and she ignored it.

“Raven, I’m happy to see you’ve returned. I received your letter and awaited your presence.” She threw herself into his arms. He tried—truly he did—to return her affection, but couldn’t seem to summon up more than a perfunctory kiss on her cheek. Hardly the response a three-month absence should have evoked. She withdrew from the duke, and motioned to the private room. “Will you join me?”

He followed her to the settee.

She addressed her majordomo. “Bring refreshments for His Grace. Wine, Raven?” she asked in her sweet, gentle manner. “You may then retire for the evening, Rollo.”

“Yes, Milady.” He withdrew, but returned a moment later with Raven’s favorite cabernet sauvignon.

Uncomfortable at the gesture of her finger flicking a long blonde curl with one hand, there were no words that left his mouth. Raven noted her beautiful silent presence, soft temperament, classic grace, and gentleness. He caught her hand and kissed it. There was no thrill. No excitement. There was nothing at all. He then came to the realization he didn’t want Louise. He wanted Samantha.

“Have you missed me?”

Raven sensed the uncertainty in her eyes. “Yes, Louise.” He told the lie in order not to hurt her, but he didn’t give her even one moment of thought while away. Neither could he upset her with the cruel facts.

He stood erect.

She pointed to the settee and motioned for him to sit.

Was a lie mitigated when it was spoken not to hurt? He gazed at Lady Louise without anticipation. Her blonde hair, held in loose ringlets curled around her crown, featured large blue eyes, animated in the faint glow of candlelight. Her long azure blue peignoir opened in invitation. The color always favored her, he remembered.

Raven read her mind and actions. Damnation, she expected him in her boudoir at some point in the evening, to bed her and stay the night. He agonized. Her flawless skin added to her attractiveness. He couldn’t remember her age since it never entered into the equation—only the relationship mattered—until tonight. He guessed she might be thirty-three and soon realized he forgot her birthday while away. He chastised himself and did mention in passing he had a present for her. The blatant truth was that he didn’t make a purchase. The event was unimportant in the universal scheme of things. When touched by Samantha’s fiery countenance, he found it difficult to settle for anything less.

“Raven, I do like presents.” She smiled. “Bring it in person so that I can show you my appreciation.” He noted the salacious intonation in her voice.

She knew him well. Louise went to him, placed both her hands on his shoulders and massaged them from behind. Raven tensed. Louise promised much and delivered whatever he needed. He kissed her with impassive lips, perhaps with a grudge. She accepted them in gratefulness at first, and then with hunger—just for him. She removed her hands and went to face him. With expertise, she fondled his broad chest against his prim shirt. Her head angled, shining eyes seemed to beg the question. “Will you stay?”

He couldn’t answer because he didn’t know. He wanted—something—but alas, tonight another woman consumed his thoughts and needs.

“You’re troubled, Raven?”

“Yes,” he answered, not knowing what else to say.

“How can I help?” Her hand lay on his thigh. This used to relax him, and it also lent itself to other desires, but not this time. The obvious expression on her face told him she had doubts about him.

“I just need time to get my thoughts in order. I can’t explain it, Louise. Tonight I view my life as a dismal failure. These matters disturb my peace, and I need to resolve them. If I don’t, I shall be an abysmal disappointment as a man, a member of Parliament, and the leader of my family.” And as a lover?

“Raven, you could never fail at anything. Don’t you know that by now? You are a master of men. I know no other who is so kind, considerate and powerful. Won’t you tell me what has happened?” Her peignoir parted to expose ample breasts. However, his gaze and mind remained elsewhere, and the abundant display went unappreciated.

“This master of men is out of sorts, my dear. I feel like a pauper. Forgive me. I need to leave.” He removed himself from her arms and the sofa in an abrupt manner.

“As you wish, my love.” Louise leaned back into the cushions and didn’t get up to see him out as she used to do. “Until we meet again,” she whispered and threw him a kiss. Then she asked, “We will meet again, won’t we, Your Grace?”

Annoyed, he assured her of the momentary lapse on his part. Even that became an admission. He remembered that phrase echoed by a woman in a carriage. Samantha had said Until we meet again. Damnation.

Guilt overcame him. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the jewelers. I’ll purchase something that could complement your birthday present. Let me surprise you, Louise. I’ll pick you up and take you there.” He remembered the appointment with Winston. “My servant will send word when I’ll come to collect you.” Raven gave her a perfunctory kiss on the forehead and retrieved his things from the hall table.

Why hadn’t he ever considered marriage to Louise? True, she made no formal demands and appeared to be content with the situation, but why did she not want more from him? Why did he not want more from her? Crystal clear now, she fulfilled his physical needs, but not his intellectual ones. All this talk about mistresses, age, truth, honor, and the like with Samantha, while an annoyance, caused him to become introspective. What did he want out of his life? He still had many good years ahead of him and no longer wanted to just survive. The thing he now knew is that he didn’t want what he now had. The realization became an apocalyptic revelation!