Chasing Raven (22 page)

* * * *

"As you see," he grinned slowly, "I have it in writing. So you must marry me, or I'll sue for breach of promise."

She knelt on the bed, looking agitated. "You would not do that. I wrote this when I was nine. It doesn't count."

"Oh, yes it does." Hale snatched the note back from her before she could rip it up. "If you want a business partner— and a wolf— you can have one, but only if you marry me."

The expression of bewilderment on her pretty face was extremely amusing. "Why would you want to marry me? I'm hardly countess material. I'm a wicked Deverell."

He leaned forward to kiss her. "And I wouldn't want you otherwise."

"But we might become bored with one another. The adventure— the race— ends at the victory line. You won't want me beyond that."

Since she clearly needed persuading, he recaptured her in his arms, turned her over, and spent the next hour devoting himself to the task. In every way imaginable.

* * * *

They would both be tired tomorrow, but what did it matter? Caught up in the adventure of discovery, Raven did not want to sleep. There was so much of him to explore and her own capabilities to uncover.

He relit the candle and the oil lamp to aid in their study, and even tended to her very gently with water and a soft cloth from the washstand.

"You are a very obliging lover," she whispered. "When I saw you at Bourne Lodge I would never have imagined this side of you."

Hale lay down with her again, scooping her into his powerful arms. "Looks can deceive."

"But I knew you were sad." She nuzzled his shoulder, inhaling that unique scent of his. The same scent with which he had once marked her emerald silk ball gown. "You tugged on my heart strings before I knew I had any."

He laughed at that, but she put a finger to his lips.

"Somebody might hear us, Wolf. We have not been very quiet."

"What does it matter," he replied with that familiar calm arrogance. "I'll marry you at the first opportunity. And I doubt your mother will give any resistance."

She lifted her head. "You have to ask my father. He will not be easy. Besides, I have not agreed yet to this arrangement."

"Miss Deverell,
you
proposed to me, remember?"

Before she could remind him again that she was only nine when she wrote that note, a sudden, anxious tap at the door, broke into their idyllic night.

"Raven?" Mary Ashford's voice called out. "Come quickly, it's your mama. She is very ill."

Chapter
Twenty-Two

Lady Charlotte could not be roused. She lay murmuring and groaning, but would not open her eyes. A thin layer of perspiration shimmered over her white skin, making her lace petticoat and chemise stick to the flesh as Mary and Raven struggled to roll her over and get her under the bed covers.

"I heard her groaning a little while ago," Mary explained hastily. "Then the sound of her retching."

But a quick examination of her chamber pot and the washstand revealed that this retching had not produced anything. Raven wiped her mother's face with a cool, damp cloth and opened the window for some air.

"She looks so grey," Mary muttered. "I cannot think this is merely the result of too much wine."

A few moments later Hale came to her mother's chamber. Fully dressed, he stood just inside the door and inquired into the lady's state. When he heard Raven's report he suggested sending for the village doctor at once, not wanting to waste any time. She gratefully accepted the idea and returned to her mother's bed, while he raced off to summon a groom.

Guilt ripped cruel talons through her. For the past few hours she had been enjoying herself while her mother lay so ill. She could not have known— when she put her mother to bed it had seemed no different to many other occasions when the lady overindulged— but she still reproached herself for being careless and not checking on her mother.

Mary gave her a sympathetic look as they straightened the bed cover. "I'm sorry I had to disturb you," she whispered. "I did not know what else to do, but knock at your door."

"It is good that you did. Thank you."

"But I spoiled your evening."

She felt her cheeks warm. "Of course you could do nothing else, Mary. It is not your fault. I'm so glad you were here."

They plumped her mother's pillows and plaited her hair so that she was respectable for the doctor, then Mary suggested that Raven go back to her own room and dress before he arrived.

"I'll stay and watch your mother," she said, "but the future Countess of Southerton cannot greet the local doctor in a nightgown."

Raven shot her a look, but Mary's lips remained prim, her face somber.

"Mary, you are always so calm and thoughtful." She squeezed her friend's hand. "I am fortunate to have you. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. One problem at a time is sufficient."

* * * *

Little did she know her problems were about to increase.

When she returned to her chamber, she found a sealed letter waiting for her by the bed, propped up against the base of the oil lamp. In alarm, she recognized Matthew Bourne's handwriting at once. With a heavy heart she ripped open the seal and read the hastily penned missive, begging her to meet him at the local inn. Apparently he waited there and would not leave until he had seen her.

She sank to the bed, clutching the note, her mind sorting through the possibilities of how it came to be there in her room. The last time she received a message from Matthew it was put into her hands by Reynaux. On that occasion the Frenchman had made it seem as if he merely encountered Matthew Bourne in the street and knew nothing about him, but perhaps they were better acquainted than he had revealed to her. This second time could not be a coincidence.

What could the two of them possibly have in common? It was an alliance that made her uneasy, and she worried for Matty. They were, after all, friends— as she kept telling everybody— and she did not turn her back on a friend in need. His acquaintance with Reynaux did not bode well for anybody.

And as she thought of her mother's French gentleman, Raven realized he had not shown his face despite all the noise of coming and going. Even Hale's aunts and Lady Newcombe had peeped out to see what was amiss, although once they heard it was only her mother, they immediately returned to their beds with no further concern. But Reynaux had not appeared. She'd assumed him to be a heavy sleeper, but apparently he had been wandering the halls after all, if he was responsible for leaving the message in her room.

She certainly could not let Hale see it. There had already been a physical confrontation outside Deverells that resulted in a blackened eye— not suitable attire at all for an Earl. She knew that when Matthew Bourne was drinking, his mood could become very dark and despondent. At such times he felt the entire world working against him and he required comforting until he saw a brighter horizon. Now, with the matter of his broken engagement, she could only imagine the state he was in.

Once dressed with Rose's help, she returned to her mother's room and showed Mary the note.

"It is not your responsibility to worry about Matthew Bourne," her friend whispered crossly. "That boy should manage his own troubles and stop blaming everybody else for them."

"But who else can help him now, Mary? He has defied his family to make this impulsive run for freedom. Who else can he turn to, but an old friend?"

Mary considered for a moment and then said, "You must tell Hale about this letter."

"Good lord, no! He would insist upon seeing Matthew himself and that will help nobody. If I tell Hale about this there could be another violent encounter. He has already warned me that if he sees Matthew again it will not be pleasant. I am capable of handling this without running for help from any man."

"Hale is not just any man, Raven. He cares about you. Deeply."

"Yes." She slid the folded letter away in her sleeve, for heavy footsteps now approached her mother's room. "I believe he does." Her pulse was uneven as she heard his voice in the corridor, giving orders to one of the footmen. "And I care about him. I...I love him."

Mary's eyes grew round and watery.

"Do not look at me that way," Raven protested. "It just happened. I don't know why."

"Then you absolutely must tell him about Bourne."

"And have him ride to the inn with a blunderbuss? You know how men are, Mary. Reasoned discussion is beyond them when their blood is up. Even Hale." She lowered her voice. "Matthew and I have known each other too long, and he would never harm me. No, I must go and speak to him and tell him face to face. I should not have relied upon a letter. I alone can curb him of any ideas he might have to come here and cause trouble."

"Then let me go with you."

She could see that Mary was going to be stubborn about it, so she agreed. They would both go in the morning, after breakfast, once the doctor had been to see Lady Charlotte and declared her merely "under the weather" due to an excess of Bordeaux.

"I still say you should tell Hale."

"Do not make me wish I never told you," Raven replied sharply, just as the man himself entered.

"Told her what?" he said, looking from one to the other, stopping with his feet apart, hands at his sides.

"Nothing."

He glared, giving her that stern jaw again. But somehow she could not take it seriously anymore. "Is the doctor coming?" she asked brightly, trying not to think of how he had groaned into her hair and shuddered with wild passion each time they—

"Peter has gone to fetch him. Shouldn't be too long."

"Thank you." She breathed hard, sincerely relieved to be brought back from her naughty day dream. Her mother was ill, for pity's sake! Must she think of all that every time she looked at the man?

They stood around her mother's bed, and Hale became very grim. "I don't like this," he muttered. "Her breathing is very slow."

And Raven had begun to notice an odor coming from her mother's skin, as well as the reappearance of a thin sliver of drool in the corner of her mouth, which she had already wiped away twice. When she gently lifted her mother's eyelids, the pupils were dilated, making her eyes too dark, velvety black, instead of their usual vibrant green.

Her fear multiplied, but Hale's composure, along with Mary's steadiness, helped keep her calm.

* * * *

The doctor arrived shortly after and, following a thorough examination, confirmed privately to Hale something he had already suspected.

Lady Charlotte had been poisoned.

"It could be any one of a number of causes, your lordship," the young doctor explained. "But at a guess I would say hemlock. I've seen the symptoms before when the plant was accidentally ingested. And the odor is distinctive."

He gave the lady an emetic to induce vomiting, but he was grim about the likelihood of her recovery.

"Had we caught it within an hour of her swallowing the poison, we would have a better chance," he told Hale. "Now we can only hope the amount was not too great, and that the lady has a strong constitution."

Hale insisted that no one but he must be told about the poison. He did not want to scare the ladies in the house, and his aunts were already convinced someone was out to kill him. This incident would make them worry even more.

Raven would not leave the sick bed. She sent Mary off to get some sleep, while she remained by her mother's side, cooling the lady's face with a wet cloth and holding the washbasin in readiness.

"I wish you would get some rest yourself," Hale told her gently. "The doctor has offered to stay and watch your mother."

"No. I will stay with her." She looked up at him, her eyes large and shadowed with sadness. "I always look after her when she's like this. When she wakes I want her to know I am here."

His heart ached. Raven seemed very young suddenly and afraid as he'd never seen her. This event had knocked the wind out of her sails.

No, he could not tell her it was poison. Better she think it simply the effects of too much wine and rich food.

While the doctor looked away, packing his bag, Hale pecked a soft kiss to her brow and left her to those nursing duties.

He went to his library intent on pouring a brandy, but the glass Alphonse Reynaux had poured for him earlier was still on the tray where he had left it, untouched. There too was Reynaux's cigar stub and his empty brandy snifter. How eager that man had been to share a toast with Hale. And he'd grown sullen when his host would not share a brandy.

Cautious he sniffed the glass he had earlier rejected. Was there a slight mouse-like odor he detected? Something similar to that which he had just smelled on Lady Charlotte's breath?

Raven's mother had not drunk brandy that night, but she had accidently drunk from
his
wine glass at dinner.

The pieces began to form a picture in his mind, uncertain but possible.

There was something odd about that Frenchman. He was sly, oily. But was he also a poisoner? Why would he put hemlock in Hale's wine and, when that failed, his brandy?

And how was it done?

He had thought it strange that his guest took it upon himself to pour the brandy when they retired to his library, but then supposed it was some sort of French tradition. Too distracted by thoughts of Raven and how quickly he could return to her, he had not paid that much attention to anything the man did or said.

But now, as he thought back over the evening, he remembered the dented silver snuff box constantly visible in Reynaux's hand, always being opened and closed. Nobody would have thought twice about it, if they saw him hovering near the table before dinner with his tarnished snuff box.

Turning swiftly he found a footman waiting to let him know that Lady Charlotte had just vomited and opened her eyes. A good sign.

Vastly relieved, he nodded. "Please wake my guest Alphonse Reynaux and ask him to come to the library."

"Yes, my lord."

Twenty minutes later the young man returned alone however, unable to rouse the Frenchman from his bed. Hale went up himself, rapped on the door sternly and then used a skeleton key to enter the room.

It was empty.

A later search would reveal that several candlesticks, a silver hairbrush and a small Limoges porcelain dish had vanished from the bedroom with him. Again Hale decided to keep this information to himself rather than give his aunts more material to use against Raven and her mother.

It seemed likely the man fled during the night, once he realized that Lady Charlotte had accidently drunk the hemlock-laced wine. In which case, they were well rid of him in the house.

But until he knew for sure what had happened here and who was responsible, he would be wary. He sent a quiet word out to the grooms and ground staff, asking that they discretely keep their eyes open for the stray Frenchman. Meanwhile he sent a message via the doctor to the local police sergeant.

* * * *

Her mother's condition steadily improved as daylight crept across the sky. The doctor said she must not have ingested too much rich food and perhaps irritated an old stomach complaint. Fortunately Lady Charlotte was far stronger than she liked to imagine and much too robust to fade away like a dainty, pedigree blue-blood— even if she would have preferred that. As birdsong trickled in through the open window, she was able to sit up and sip milk.

"I will never drink wine again," she assured her daughter, shuddering at the memory of those burning stomach cramps with which she'd been seized the night before. "I thought I was dead, Raven. I thought it was the end. Not surprisingly all the demons of hell were at my door."

"I'm sure you have many years left, but you must take better care of yourself, mama."

"I believe it was poison," she exclaimed, clutching her throat.

"Mama!" Raven rolled her eyes as she retied the silk ribbon on the end of her mother's braid to make it neater and more jaunty. "Who on earth would want to poison you?"

"Your father, no doubt."

"Now why would my father do that?"

"To avoid paying my allowance every month."

This was nonsense, of course. True Deverell did not have to pay his former wife anything and only did so because he was generous— some might even say that he was careless with his fortune. But Raven merely smiled and shook her head, not wishing to argue with her mother today, thankful to have her conscious and moving again.

"That young doctor was rather handsome," Lady Charlotte exclaimed thoughtfully, snatching a hand mirror from her bedside table to examine that ribbon and her daughter's handiwork.

"A little young for you though, mama."

"Not for me, foolish girl. I was thinking of your plain, but helpful friend Miss Ashford. He would do for her very nicely."

Now she knew her mother was on the mend if she was matchmaking again. And thankfully, this time it was for someone other than Raven.

Indeed, it was good to know her mother was finally looking out for someone else and, perhaps— dare she think it— recognizing Mary's worth at last.