“Your grandfather, sir,” a footman intoned.
Raven didn’t bother to bite back a curse. Instead he took the opportunity to study the figure that entered the room. There was no doubt that they were related. It was like looking at an older image of himself: the same green eyes, same straight nose. The duke’s hair was gray now, but still, the similarities were undeniable.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your esteemed company, sir?”
The Duke of Avondale’s mouth curved into a cynical smile that Raven had seen reflected in his own mirror a thousand times. “My doctor recently suggested that bracing coastal weather might be beneficial to my health.”
“Ah. The condition of your health is always a subject that interests me greatly.”
His grandfather acknowledged the acidic double-edged politeness with an inclination of the head. “Indeed. I heard you were indisposed from my good friend Castlereagh.”
He seemed supremely indifferent to the animosity rolling off Raven.
“I’ve no need of a nursemaid. It’s too late to act concerned about my welfare now.”
The old man crossed the room, leaning heavily on his gold-topped cane. He sat next to the bed, in the chair Richard had vacated. His eyes met Raven’s. “I am sorry for what happened, William. More than you will ever know.”
Raven turned his head away and stared blankly out the window. “I don’t care. I don’t want your apology, I want you to leave.”
“Have you never done something in the heat of the moment that you bitterly regretted afterward?” the duke asked softly. “Something you’d do anything in your power to take back, if you could.”
Raven squeezed his eyes shut. He wished he could close his ears, too, to block out the patient, reasonable words. Damn him. He thought of Heloise, of the way he’d treated her. Shame rolled through him, so acute he winced. He’d acted in anger and jealousy and fear, and hurt the one person he’d sworn to protect. Even worse, unlike his grandfather, he’d done it with full knowledge of the pain he was inflicting.
“Go away.”
His grandfather ignored the command. “I’ve had six years to regret what happened when you were kidnapped, William. I was proud and stubborn and I didn’t want some criminal bastard to have the upper hand over me. So instead of agreeing to his demands I hired my own men to find you. But they took too long. I should have just paid the ransom and had you back again, and to hell with the money and my pride. I’m sorry.”
Raven couldn’t bring himself to speak. He stared at the clouds scudding across the sky beyond the wavy panes of glass.
The duke sighed. “I have something for you.”
From the corner of his eye Raven saw him rest his cane against the bed and remove a gold signet ring from his left hand. He placed it on the coverlet by Raven’s hip, careful not to touch him.
“That was your father’s. He gave it to your mother as an engagement ring. Every Marquis of Ormonde has worn it, for over three hundred years. It’s yours. Even if you still refuse to accept the title.” A hint of humor warmed his voice. “Perhaps you’ll have need of it, too.”
That startled Raven enough to turn his head. “How so, sir?”
The duke regarded him shrewdly. “Lord Hampden once told me that he’d accept nothing less than a royal duke for his brilliant daughter. But royal dukes are so thin on the ground these days. I do believe he’d settle for a mere marquis. However disreputable.” The green eyes twinkled. “Provided the marquis loved his daughter, of course.”
Raven met the old man’s gaze squarely. “I have no plans to marry, Your Grace.”
The old man rose stiffly to his feet and made his way to the door. “Don’t be as great a fool as I was, William.”
Raven closed his eyes as the door clicked shut. He and his grandfather were so alike, much as it galled him to admit it. He’d sworn never to feel sympathy, compassion, or understanding for the old man. But Heloise’s damned altruism must have been rubbing off on him. His grandfather was only human. He’d made a mistake, just as Raven had.
A knock at the door interrupted such dangerously merciful thoughts. Manvers, Raven’s inscrutable valet, entered with his customary lack of fuss.
“I have located that poem you requested, my lord. It took a little time, but I have it here.” He handed Raven a slim leather-bound volume.
“Thank you, Manvers. That will be all.”
Raven settled himself more comfortably against the pillows and inspected the cover. It was a collection of poems by the Civil War poet and soldier Richard Lovelace. He flicked to the page marked with a ribbon. Ah, there it was. He’d recalled snatches of this damn poem the entire time he’d been imprisoned. It was entitled, aptly enough, “To Althea, from Prison.” He read the last stanza. The poem had been written nearly two hundred years ago, but the poet’s thoughts had mirrored his own exactly.
Stone Walls do not a Prison make,
Nor Iron bars a Cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an Hermitage.
If I have freedom in my Love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such Liberty.
Raven gazed at the printed lines until they blurred before his eyes and the truth hit him with the force of a blow. Loving Heloise wasn’t bondage. Loving her was freedom.
The blood rushed in his ears. He’d always left women before they had the chance to leave him, before he became attached to them. It avoided the risk of being hurt, or disappointed, as he’d been with his grandfather. The idea of permanence, of being tied down to one place and one person was utterly terrifying. But if that person was Heloise, and the place was by her side? That was another matter entirely.
He’d been such a coward, afraid to reach for her. Afraid to willingly accept the ties of love and give his heart over to her keeping. He shook his head. She was his. No other man would put his hands on her. He’d been her first, dammit. He was going to be her last. Her only.
The rightness of that sank deep into his bones and Raven let out a choked laugh. He wasn’t good enough for her, but God, people in life never got what they deserved, did they? Sinners won the lottery, and good, kind men like Tony died young.
Heloise was stubborn, infuriating, and altogether too provocative for his peace of mind. Damned if he was going to let her make someone else’s life miserable.
His grandfather was right. She deserved to be a wife of a marquis, not a disreputable smuggler spy. He’d accused her of cowardice for shutting herself away with her translations and codes, but wasn’t that exactly what he’d been doing, too? He’d used his drive for justice as an excuse for never staying in one place too long, a way of avoiding roots and responsibilities. To reject his father’s titles and position was an insult to the memory of his parents, an insult to everything he could be.
He felt the weight of it all then, the responsibilities of his position, and realized with a start of surprise that he wanted those claims upon his heart. Heloise was his anchor, the kite string that kept him tethered. He shook his head again. Perhaps that bullet really had disordered his brain. Who’d have thought he’d ever choose bonds? But for her? Anything. He’d dedicate the rest of his life to trying to be worthy of her.
He sat up straighter, ignoring the pain in his thigh, and rang the bell. Manvers appeared almost immediately.
“Yes, my lord?”
“I need paper, pen, and ink. And tell my grandfather to stay. He’s going to help me host a ball. In two weeks’ time.”
Manvers’s inscrutable expression showed no hint of what was undoubtedly his inner turmoil at hearing such news. “Another ball, my lord? So soon after the last?”
Raven smiled at the subtle reprimand. “Not a masked ball this time, Manvers. This will be an entirely more sedate affair.”
Manvers bowed, his patrician features softening ever so slightly. “I am relieved to hear it, my lord. It shall be done.”