He steered her through the open French doors and out onto the terrace. The strains of a quadrille followed them as he drew her around the corner of the house. Heloise’s skin tingled as he pulled her down the steps from the terrace and into the shadowy garden beyond. Her heart skipped, even though he wasn’t escorting her anywhere for nefarious purposes. Sadly, the only time men tried to lure her into dark corners was to get her opinion on the latest translation of Ovid.
Glowing lanterns suspended on shepherd’s crooks, like those at Vauxhall, lit the intersecting pathways that snaked off into the gardens. At the far end of the lawn a shadowy team of groundsmen were making final preparations for the fireworks display that would signal the midnight unmasking.
Her stomach tightened in anticipation as she imagined how happy Raven would be when she told him what she’d discovered.
Raven drew her toward a long, low building set at right angles to the main house. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows made up almost the whole front facade. “The orangery,” he murmured grandly, “although previous dukes—my grandfather included—used the place as a statue gallery.”
A blast of dense, warm air engulfed them as he opened the door, like the exhalation of some giant beast. Heloise half expected to hear the thud of a dragon’s heartbeat, slow and steady in the darkness, the dragging scrape of scales sliding against the stone floor.
Alternate strips of shadow and illumination crossed the flagstones. Rows of orange trees, each one set in a terra-cotta planter, flanked the central path, and the pleasant scent of citrus mingled with the moist, rich aroma of dirt. Raven closed the door with a faint click, enclosing them in the tiger-striped darkness.
As Heloise’s eyes became accustomed to the gloom she saw that the trees were interspersed with huge lumps of stone. Statues plundered from Ancient empires of the past loomed up out of the shadows. A giant Roman foot in a sandal. A Hellenistic female in a pleated gown, lacking her arms and head. She stopped in front of a gorgeously defined Greek warrior. In the half-light it was easy to imagine him living flesh instead of cold stone. Each perfectly attenuated muscle and bulging sinew of his torso looked ready to spring to life. Her fingers itched to touch it.
“My father’s always been jealous of your grandfather’s collection,” she said wryly. “He’d give his right arm to buy some of these.”
Raven bowed his head. “I thought you’d appreciate them.”
“I do. Thank you for bringing me here.” Heloise sighed inwardly. It was hard to remember he was a heartless, amoral brute when he did sweet things like this.
Raven snapped a dead leaf from the tree next to him. “They don’t belong here. These should be back in their home countries, not moldering in an English hothouse. I much prefer seeing such things in situ.”
Heloise gave a wistful sigh. “Well, I for one am glad they’re here. At least here I can see them. You have no idea how lucky you are, being born a man, with money. You can travel to Italy or Greece or Egypt and see wonders like this anytime you want.”
He had a freedom she could only dream about. He’d been to the far-flung places she’d only ever read about in books and visited in her dreams. She was twenty-two years old and she’d never had an adventure.
Raven’s footfall crunched on the path behind her. “There are some Egyptian pieces over here. I know how mad you are about all that picture writing.” He pointed to a large stone sarcophagus case, about the same height as a kitchen table, and Heloise rushed forward to get a closer look. Carvings in low relief covered the entire surface; stylized figures, both animal and human, were surrounded by neat rows of mysterious hieroglyphic text. She stared at the symbols, lured as ever by their foreignness, their exotic beauty.
The stone was cool to the touch, despite the humid air. This was one code that still eluded her, despite her considerable skills. Her fingers traced the dips and grooves scratched into the hard surface. The tantalizing little devils taunted her with their silence. They were a challenge, calling to her, as elusive and frustrating as the man behind her.
Raven’s presence produced that same feeling of heightened anticipation she experienced when faced with a new linguistic challenge. Except with Raven, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know his hidden depths. She cleared her throat. What had they been talking about? Oh, yes. Egypt. Hieroglyphics. Right. She glanced at him over her shoulder.
“Father took me to see the Rosetta Stone at the British Museum when it first arrived. I was eight. That’s when I fell in love with Egypt. I’ve dreamed of cracking the hieroglyphic code ever since.”
“But you’ve had no luck?”
She shook her head. “Despite my best efforts, it remains a total mystery.”
“That’s a long time to be denied something you desire.” Raven’s voice was smooth, almost mocking. “It must be very frustrating.”
Heloise hesitated, suddenly unsure whether he was talking about hieroglyphics or something else entirely. She had the oddest feeling he was laughing at her. Or at himself.
“Well, yes. It’s like understanding’s just out of reach.” She traced the pleated skirt of a figure holding a sheaf of wheat. “Still, I’m certain it can be done. It was written by humans, after all, so it must be translatable. It’s extremely vexing.”
Raven frowned as Heloise turned back to the sarcophagus, effectively dismissing him from her mind. A shiver passed through him as he watched her trace her fingers over the surface of the stone. Delicate fingertips, pretty oval nails. He wished she’d touch him with the same amount of reverence, the same thirst for knowledge. Desire sent a rush of blood straight to his groin. God, he was jealous of a big lump of rock.
She bent to get a closer look at the carvings and his gaze went to the rounded lines of her pert derriere. He stepped up behind her with a flash of irritation. The foolish girl was so absorbed in what she was doing that she was oblivious to his approach. She’d make a useless spy. Guarding her was going to be a nightmare. She had no appreciation of danger. She saw the best in everything, everyone, whereas he always saw the worst.
He glared at the vulnerable curve of her nape. The tiny bumps of her spine disappeared into the back of her white dress like a delicate string of pearls, beckoning him to trace them all the way to the base of her spine. His stomach clenched as he inhaled the faint perfume of her skin. What was it about her that always had him looking for the nearest horizontal surface?
Losing his patience, he placed his hands on either side of her, trapping her within the cage of his body, and felt a surge of satisfaction when she gasped in surprise. She tried to twist around then stiffened, clearly realizing he’d left her no room to maneuver.
“What are you doing?” she hissed over her shoulder.
He eased back a fraction and allowed her to turn within the confines of his arms, but didn’t release her. Instead he raised one hand and toyed with the black ribbon that secured her mask.
“Time to dispense with this, don’t you think?”
Heloise jerked her head as Raven tugged on the ribbon.
“Stand still,” he ordered.
She tilted her head the opposite way, evading his fingers.
“Coward,” he said.
She pressed herself back against the cold stone.
“Come on, Hellcat. I already know what you look like.”
That was true. He’d seen her only a few weeks after her accident, when her face had been far worse than it was now. But her pulse beat erratically in her throat and she forced a light laugh to hide her sudden unease.
“You can’t hide all the time,” he whispered.
She cleared her throat as the ribbon loosened. “I know that. Wearing a mask on a daily basis is very impractical. The only people who can get away with it are highwaymen and executioners, and I don’t have the stomach for either.”
The bow came undone. As the mask dropped, she lowered her chin so her hair fell forward over her temple, hiding her scar.
Raven put his finger beneath her chin and forced her face upward. She squeezed her eyes shut. She knew what he would see: a thin, pale line that ran from her hairline down her forehead and into the edge of one eyebrow. It curved at the end like a sickle moon, ending just to the right of her eye.
Heloise forced herself to stand still for his verdict as the silence stretched taut. She felt utterly exposed. People rarely stared at her so intently. They usually averted their gaze out of politeness. Or disgust. But Raven had faced the worst devils in hell and lived to tell the tale. Surely if anyone could stomach her ravaged visage, it would be him?
His cool fingers skimmed her cheek as he brushed a curl back behind her ear.
“I know it shouldn’t bother me,” she breathed, giving in to the overwhelming need to fill the silence. “I never was going to be a great beauty. But honestly, when was the last time you read a fairy tale that started, ‘Once upon a time there lived an ugly princess…’? I mean, it’s perfectly acceptable for heroes to be scarred, at least until they’re transformed into a handsome prince at the end. Their ugliness is usually a punishment for being selfish…” She trailed off, uncomfortably aware she was babbling.
“You think your scar is a punishment?”
She snapped her eyes open, startled by the anger in his tone.
“Of course not. I got it saving Tony’s life. How could I regret it?”
His mask made it impossible to see his expression. Was it pity? Indifference? She exhaled a shaky breath. “Does it bother you?”
His fingers traced the line of her jaw. Heloise fought the treacherous warmth that slid through her, urging her to lean into his touch, to bury her head against his chest.
“No. It doesn’t bother me.”
The warmth of his breath slid across her temple and she suppressed a little shiver of awareness. The heat of his body seeped into her through the layers of clothes. Her heart pumped furiously against her breastbone.
“You were pretty before,” he whispered. “Pretty and perfect.” His thumb brushed her scar in the briefest of caresses. “That’s so boring. This makes you interesting.”
He stepped back and Heloise experienced a foolish wave of disappointment. She cleared her throat and gestured at his head. “Your turn.”
He lifted the snarling Anubis mask. Dark hair fell around his shoulders as he placed the mask on the stone slab beside her. She could barely see him in the shadows, but she knew the contours of his face as well as she knew her own, knew the startling effect of those green eyes against suntanned skin, the thick, black lashes that were wasted on a man. In her more fanciful moments she’d called the color of his hair “obsidian,” mainly because it was such a lovely word.
“So now we’re both naked,” he whispered wickedly. He stepped close again and her heart somersaulted as his eyes met hers. “Just admit it. Hellcat.”
“Admit what?” she stammered.
His lazy gaze dropped to her lips. “The reason you came here tonight. You don’t have anything to tell me. You just wanted an adventure. You want me to kiss you.”
She jerked back. “I do not!”
“Afraid you’ll like it?” he taunted softly.
“Hardly,” she scoffed.
“Afraid you’ll never want me to stop?”
God, yes. That was exactly what she was afraid of. She pursed her lips and adopted a faintly bored expression. “Those legions of women panting after you must have warped your brain, William Ravenwood. Contrary to popular belief, you are not irresistible.”
“That’s true. You’ve resisted me for years. Why is that?”
She fought the seductive pull of him. “Because unlike so many of your conquests, I possess a working brain?”
He chuckled.
“I don’t know why you’re bothering to flirt with me,” she said irritably. “You don’t want me. You just can’t resist a challenge.”
“Is that what you are?”
“Of course. It’s human nature to want what you can’t have.”
He raised a brow and pressed closer, full length against her, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Her heart stuttered. “You think I can’t have you?”
Her stomach knotted with a strange, curling tension and she laughed to cover her nerves, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that they were alone. In the dark. Far from the house. “Of course not. My brothers would kill you.”
“Do you honestly think that would deter me?”
Everything inside her stilled at the predatory intensity of his look.
“If I truly wanted you, Hellcat, nothing—not your brothers, not your father, not Napoleon himself—would stop me.”