Ah, there it was, Heloise thought with a bittersweet pang. That big, modifying If. She pushed ineffectively against his chest. “I don’t want you to lay a finger on me.”
He didn’t move. “Don’t lie. You’ve been watching me for years. I feel your gaze on the side of my face. It makes the hairs on my arms prickle.”
She shook her head.
“Deny it all you want, but deep down you know it. You want me.”
“No!”
He crowded her back against the sarcophagus, stealing the air from her lungs. “Yes.”
Heloise stiffened in shock as he bent and pressed his lips to her throat, just below her ear.
“This is the real you,” he whispered against her skin. “This wildness. Let it out. Embrace it.”
Oh, he was a devil. Taunting her with possibilities she hadn’t dared voice, only dream. She’d spent years suppressing her hoydenish ways, avoiding moats and fires. She no longer shinned up trees, rode bareback, stole pistols. Letting go would be the height of folly. But dear God, it was tempting.
She drew in a shuddering breath and stared blindly at the ceiling as he kissed a trail of fire down the side of her neck. He didn’t want her. He was only doing this to prove a point. Although it was becoming difficult to imagine what his point was, exactly. He pushed aside the beaded choker at her collarbone and pressed his mouth there, too. Butterflies somersaulted in her stomach.
She was unmoved. As stony as that marbled athlete. She was absolutely not going to grab hold of his head to hold him in place. This wasn’t why she’d come out here. She needed to tell him about the message. But as soon as she did that he’d leave, and the selfish part of her wanted to steal just a little more time with him.
Raven kissed the top swell of her breast and Heloise nearly passed out. She clutched the edge of the sarcophagus, a solid anchor when the rest of the world was rapidly spinning out of control. That’s quite enough. And yet her treacherous chin tilted upward to give him more room to maneuver.
She almost jumped out of her skin when the first firework screamed through the sky, illuminating the interior of the orangery like midday. She caught a brief, clear glimpse of Raven’s face as he straightened, all sharp angles and harsh planes, before the room was plunged into darkness again. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but his lips found hers. And stayed.
Heloise closed her eyes in stunned disbelief. She’d kissed William Ravenwood a thousand times in her mind, caressed every last inch of his body in her dreams. Reality—the lush, wicked feel of his lips on hers—was infinitely better. His tongue stroked the corner of her mouth and when she gave a startled gasp he slid inside, taking full advantage. Heat bloomed in her veins as everything inside her went on a slow boil.
He didn’t give her chance to pull away. His hands cupped her face and he kissed her with thrilling urgency, as if she was as vital to him as oxygen.
Heloise had no intention of pulling back. She let go of the stone, grabbed hold of his lapels, and returned the kiss with equal fervor, instinctively mimicking his movements.
Properly. He was finally kissing her properly!
This wasn’t the chaste, knightly kiss she’d always imagined. It was something hotter, darker, forbidden. The culmination of six long years of yearning.
She wanted more.
Heloise groaned as his hand slid down and covered her breast, but before she could assimilate the incredible sensation, his fingers slipped inside her bodice and cupped her, bare skin to bare skin. All the breath left her lungs in a rush. She arched up into his touch with an incoherent gasp as she felt her nipple pebble against his palm.
“Jesus,” Raven murmured against her lips. “Hellcat—”
Another firework screamed up into the sky and burned away in a blaze of glittering sparks. With a supreme effort Heloise dragged her mouth away from his. Her lips were wet, tingling.
“We can’t!” she protested.
He shut her off with another demanding kiss that made her blood sing and her head whirl.
“This is—” She panted.
“—long overdue,” he finished roughly.
In one swift movement he caught her hips and lifted her up, onto the edge of the sarcophagus. Heloise gasped in mixed arousal and alarm as he pushed himself between her open thighs. She could feel him, his stomach, his hips, and oh God, him, hard and thick and demanding, through the fabric of her dress and layers of petticoat. She wanted this, wanted him, with a sudden desperation that was terrifying.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he ordered, and she complied without thought. And then his hand was at the hem of her skirts, dragging them up, past stocking and garter and knee. His fingers slid over the heated skin of her outer thigh and he caught her whimper of protest with his mouth.
She should not be doing this. Absolutely not. But it felt so good.
With another muffled curse, Raven pushed her backward so she was half lying on the stone. Another firework burst overhead, fizzing and crackling downward like sparks from a celestial anvil. Heloise threw her arms around his neck. God alone knew why he’d suddenly decided to touch her now, after all this time. He probably had some fiendish, ulterior motive, but right now she didn’t care what it was. She kissed him again, deeply, desperately, drowning in the wicked red blackness, raking her fingers through his thick hair, reveling in the silky texture of it. God, the taste of him, like—
The shatter of glass broke her concentration. Raven swore, and her first confused thought was that someone had dropped a wineglass. And then he shoved her roughly onto the floor. One second she was in his arms, the next she was sprawled inelegantly on her stomach behind an orange tree.
Heloise yelped as her elbows made painful contact with the flagstones. She started to get up, to berate him, but Raven covered her with his body, squashing all the breath from her lungs. His arms curved protectively around her head.
A second explosion came, like someone clapping their hands right next to her ear, and chips of terra-cotta exploded from the planter next to her. She tried to lift her head but Raven pushed her back down.
“Shut up and stay down,” he hissed.
Her heart was racing. Raven’s dizzying shift from passionate lover to ice-cold professional was disorienting. Her hands were trapped beneath her body and the stone was cold against her cheek. She felt him tense; his weight increased then suddenly eased as he sprang to his feet and bolted into the garden.
“Don’t move!”
And then he was gone.
Heloise became aware of her own panting breath, choppy and panicked. She pulled herself onto her hands and knees and stared dazedly at the glass shards littering the floor around her. They glittered like ice crystals in the moonlight, tinkling like dropped hairpins as they fell from her clothing. She glanced up at the two broken panes in the tall window opposite. Each had an intricate spiderweb of fractures surrounding an ominous central hole. Cold air was blowing in, and she shivered as her brain struggled to accept the evidence in front of her eyes. Every thought seemed slow, like treacle.
Someone had shot at them.
Raven had left her.
She had to move, get back to the house. Warn people.
Where the hell had he gone?
Her legs were shaking but she staggered to the door just as a shadow loomed out of the darkness. Her squeal of terror was stifled by a hand across her mouth and a strong forearm that snaked around her ribs and robbed her of breath.
“Keep still,” Raven ordered gruffly, and Heloise sagged against him in relief, stilling her struggles. He bent to her ear but didn’t release her. “Are you hurt?”
She managed to shake her head.
He released her mouth and she took a deep breath in. “What on earth is going on?”
“No talking until we’re inside.” He grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward the house, his pace so brisk she had to run to keep up with him, two strides for every one of his.
“Someone tried to shoot you!” Heloise panted, frantically scanning the undergrowth. “What if they come back? What if they try to shoot someone else?”
Raven frowned at her over his shoulder. “They’re gone. And I said no talking.”
A crowd had gathered on the terrace to watch the fireworks; a collective murmur of “ooh” and “aah” accompanied each pyrotechnic burst. No one appeared to have heard the shots. Even if they had, Heloise thought wildly, the sound of a pistol discharging probably wasn’t unusual enough to warrant comment at one of Raven’s unholy gatherings.
“This way.” Raven located a door beneath the curving terrace stairs and bundled her into the dark interior. Without letting go of her hand he marched along a corridor in what was clearly the servants’ domain. Heloise ducked her head as they encountered two liveried footmen bearing trays of champagne, but they merely nodded and continued as if there was nothing unusual about their master dragging a terrified woman behind him.
A narrow set of stairs and another dim corridor. Heloise could hear the muffled noise of the party from behind the wooden panels as they passed a series of closed doors. More stairs, then Raven pulled her into a richly decorated hallway.
The change from undecorated service area to opulent main house was disorienting. All was luxury, as befitted the residence of his grandfather, a duke. Heloise caught a brief glimpse of her own startled reflection, all huge eyes and disordered hair, in a gilt-framed mirror as they strode along.
Raven finally halted. Without relinquishing his hold on her wrist he thrust open a door and pulled her into the room beyond. Heloise took one glance at the giant four-poster bed and distinctly masculine furnishings and spun on him with renewed alarm.
“Good God, is this your bedroom?”