Chapter Thirteen

At Almack’s

Reverend Carlson stepped to the podium and announced the auction would begin. Raven collected his thoughts. Each lady sat behind her picnic basket. The single ladies were first. The Reverend read the individual menus and managed to make each sound like a gastronomical feast. Exclamations pierced the air. One hundred pounds would not be an uncommon sum to be offered and accepted.

When it came to Lady Samantha’s turn, she seemed confident, but she twirled a curl around her finger perhaps to calm her uneasiness. The basket’s menu revealed an exquisite fare of roasted duck l’orange, a salad of endives, roasted root vegetables of the season, brandied bread pudding, champagne, and red wine.

The Reverend pounded his gavel again and asked for the first bid. Sir Roger Dudley, a well-known libertine, offered one hundred pounds. A silence thundered through the crowd. To Raven, a moment of uncertainty crossed Samantha’s sweet face. Their conversation about rakes and disreputable men came to his mind. Her worst fears were now at her doorstep. He gazed upon hands that clutched the handle of her basket with whitened knuckles.

Lady Minerva placed her gloved hand on Lord Winston’s arm.

Raven took note of this and perceived Samantha as vulnerable. An impossible urge to protect her came over him. She’d placed herself in this position. Damnation.

Anyone who looked as she did in that dress should expect men to offer for her and the picnic lunch. Beautiful and seductive, mere words would be insufficient to compliment her. Her empire-waist chiffon dress shimmered blue-green with a band below her breast line, which accentuated the décolletage and called attention to her soft curves. It occurred to Raven that with this woman everything emphasized some other part of her body. Her magnificent emerald became a lone sentinel who guarded her generous breasts. For his irreverent thoughts, imprisonment came to mind.

The gentlemen who participated in the auction sat on the lawn chairs provided while Raven sat with Winston and her aunt. Lady Minerva continued to hold on to her nephew’s arm in a steadfast manner.

Samantha’s wide eyes seemingly implored Raven to help. How could he not come to her rescue reminiscent of Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere? He raised his walking stick and caught the attention of the minister. He spoke out with deep clarity, “And five pounds, Reverend.”

Lord Dudley peered at the bidder, nodded, and raised his sum to two hundred pounds.

Raven lifted his walking stick. “And five pounds, Reverend.”

Lord Dudley appeared amused and raised the bid to three hundred pounds.

Raven raised his walking stick. “And five pounds, Reverend.” The guests stopped the conversations to watch how the challenge would end.

Lord Dudley raised the bid to five hundred pounds. The audience gasped at the extravagant sum.

Raven nodded. He stole a glance at Samantha, enjoying the experience. He raised his hand, and silence befell the group.

The Reverend asked, “And five pounds, Your Grace?” with a chuckle.

“No, good Reverend,” answered Raven. He engaged Samantha’s eyes. Her expression was one of blatant terror as her hand lay at her throat. He bestowed a knowing smile to calm her.

The auction appeared over and dreaded silence followed. The Reverend set about to announce the winner until Raven spoke in a resonant tone, “I bid one thousand pounds,” with the utmost alacrity.

The hushed assembly looked almost in unison to Lord Dudley, who laughed. “Enough of this amusement. No damn lunch is worth that kind of money,” he grumbled and walked toward the duke. “I capitulate, Your Grace. Good sport, don’t you think?” He bowed and strode away. Meanwhile, Lord Dudley gave the duke a sharp glance, which made Raven surmise Dudley noted the apparent attachment to the Winston family. It could be of interest to certain people who wanted such information about him.

Raven didn’t acknowledge Dudley in any way. Lady Minerva gave a sigh of relief.

Raven rose from the chair, handed the appropriate bank voucher to the Reverend, and stepped lively to Samantha and her picnic basket. “Shall we?” He extended his arm. Samantha clung to his left arm, and he became cognizant of her quaking. He took her expensive picnic basket in his right hand. “Stay calm. I’m here and you are under my protection. No harm will befall you.” Raven escorted her to a secluded table, which he had prearranged, and his name appeared on a place marker. It adhered to propriety while offering privacy.

“You did want me to offer, didn’t you?” Raven shook his head and grinned since he now admitted he had every intention of offering for her costly basket. He much wanted to be with the enchantress, especially after the Lady Buxton fiasco. Samantha enriched his life in ways he dared not imagine. He couldn’t remember a day he enjoyed more and looked forward to the evening.

Samantha flushed and said in a cool utterance, “Thank you, Your Grace. You’ve saved me from a horrible fate and I am grateful. Tell me my brother didn’t put you up to this. I would reimburse you if he did.”

“Is that a statement or a question, dear lady?” He held the chair for her to sit; the scent of her hair so close intoxicated his senses. Raven inhaled for all it was worth and momentarily closed his eyes to enjoy her presence.

“Both.” Samantha took a deep breath to soothe her frazzled nerves. If her brother didn’t put him up to this, why did Raven spend such an extravagant sum for a few hours with her? She needed to pause and take hold of her emotions, or the rest of the afternoon would be a disaster. Raven, of course, looked resplendent. He wore light doeskin gloves and his walking stick sported the ducal crest, but always his sharp angular face attracted her attention.

Her conversation became quick paced, and words flurried out faster than she could think and weigh them. Control finally returned to her busy head. Visions of his mistress flooded her head. She closed her eyes a moment to shoo them away. Not now, her thoughts cautioned. “Thank you, Raven. It’s such a worthy cause.” She lifted the lid of the basket, but he grasped her gloved hand with superb gentleness.

“Allow me. Let us remove our gloves. Do you need assistance? Perhaps a glass of champagne in celebration would help us relax? I can’t remember when I have enjoyed the outlay of so much money before. Of a certain, there are no dull moments when you’re around. I do believe you are a sorceress.”

Those steel eyes tinged with blue-gray in the sunlight held her sight. His face appeared somewhat darker complexioned than she remembered and displayed a strongly pronounced countenance. She could not forget such a man for a thousand years.

Since no words emanated from her, Raven said, “I believe you’ve noticed I’m a determined man. Your brother and I didn’t discuss my bid. I did so because it pleased me. I couldn’t allow Lord Dudley to attempt to compromise you in any way. He would’ve tried. His reputation embarrasses our nobility.” To protect her at all costs became a necessity to him.

Raven popped the cork, something he didn’t have a flair for, since usually his servants performed the task, yet he succeeded and poured champagne into her glass. “The sum will not bankrupt me. I had it reserved to purchase a new horse.” In effort to sound nonchalant and gallant, he realized she might think he compared her to good horseflesh. He attempted to recover from the faux pas by adding, “As you have stated, it’s for a cherished cause, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Congratulations. You found a way to acquit yourself from an awkward situation with your usual finesse and charm. However, I would remind you, I cannot be purchased with such ease.”

“Perish the thought. I’m well aware of the fact. I bid for a few hours of your time. Don’t read anything into my actions and let it discomfit you. If lunch with me is so distasteful, I am prepared to leave you alone.”

He realized he was a bit curt, but it appeared with her, the conversation always held a challenge. Raven rose from the chair.