Chasing Raven (24 page)

Chapter
Twenty-Four

He opened his eyes and saw Miss Mary Ashford's bonnet. What was
she
doing in the rabbit hole with him?

Then there was Wilson, the gamekeeper, staring down at him with his sun-browned, wrinkled, anxious face.

Whiskey. Yes, whiskey would help.

Where was Raven? He must find her—climb back up the hole to fresh air. He scrambled, dirt under his fingers, but his feet just kept slipping.

With the need to get to Raven pushing him hard, he made a fierce thrust for the surface, but a searing flame tore through him, seized his body in a ruthless grip and he closed his eyes. He heard a scream. A deep, wrenching, gut-ripping scream. And he knew it was his own.

* * * *

The sun shone softly into the room and a good breeze made the curtains shiver, the gold tassels that tied them back, twisting and dancing.

It was quiet, peaceful, the air filled with the fragrance of roses, carried up from the garden below.

That patch of sun would fade the pattern on the carpet, he thought drowsily.

Aunt Evelyn's face moved into view, smiling through a wisp of steam from her teacup. The lace cap that framed her face was very delicate, like the petals of a flower. He'd never noticed before how pretty it was, how intricate the work that went into it.

"Ah! You are awake. You look much better today, dear boy. I am so glad. The worst is over."

He tried to smile but could not be sure if it worked. His face was numb.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked. "A little sweet tea?"

Slowly he shook his head. Ah, that movement hurt. But the worst pain was in his side, his ribs.

"The doctor is very impressed, but he says we must make sure you don't rush to get up. You must let us look after you."

He heard the gentle chink of china as she set her cup back in its saucer.

"Where is she?" he managed, breathing hard.

"Hmm?" She blinked. "Lady Jane Newcombe is cutting flowers for your room. Such a lovely girl and so helpful at this difficult time."

"But...where is—"

"Lady Charlotte remains in her bed." Her cap twitched irritably. "Serena says she is a malingerer, making the most of her brief illness to remain here long after she should have gone back to London. But as long as she stays in the bed she is no trouble to us. And that little Miss Ashford sits with her most evenings. I believe they play cards or she reads to Lady Charlotte."

He tried to swallow but it felt sore, as if a bramble scratched at his throat.

"You will be pleased to know the sergeant apprehended that dreadful Frenchman and he is being held in custody until the Assizes. He will hang for shooting at you, that much is for sure. Despicable fellow. They found the swine at the inn in the village. The landlord kept him there until the sergeant arrived."

"Reynaux," he groaned.

"Yes. He claims you were behind some railway scheme in which he once lost a small fortune. So he says he shot at you to revenge his honor, or some such nonsense."

Hale pressed his head back into the pillow as another spasm of pain seized his ribs. When it finally passed, he breathed deeply. "Where is Raven?"

"Miss Deverell? Why, she ran off back to London with that young Matthew Bourne, of course. Serena says it was inevitable and you should have known better."

* * * *

The days passed slowly. He was able to sit up and eat, which helped regain strength. The doctor came to check on his wound and explained how the bullet had hit him in the side, but narrowly missed any important organs.

"There was a great deal of blood," he told Hale, "so your assailant thought you were dead. He was shocked to hear that you still lived. Fortunately you're physically in very good form, your lordship, and you have a very strong spirit which kept your heart pumping despite the shock, and your body healing despite the wound. I must say, I've never seen a man's body fight off infection with such determination."

And he knew he fought because he wanted to see Raven again. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her.

The only news of anything beyond his room came from his aunts, who nursed him when the doctor was not there. None of the other ladies, of course, could be admitted while he was in this state. It would not be proper. So he could not receive a visit from Miss Mary Ashford, or hear her opinion on anything that had happened, even though he knew she was the most sensible of all the women currently left in his house.

While confined to his bed, he had a great suspicion that things were being kept from him. Not for a moment did he believe that Raven had gone off to London with Bourne. Certainly not willingly.

"See what happens, Sebastian, when you consort with the wrong people," his Aunt Serena had remarked briskly, when she sat with him one evening and looked up from her knitting to catch him wincing and sweating from the pain of his gunshot wound.

There would be no help from that quarter if he wanted to find Raven.

But the aunts had no choice when it came to letting the doctor see him. That was his key to the outside world.

Through the doctor he managed to get a message to Miss Ashford and received her reply very soon after, confirming that Raven had not been seen since the day Hale was shot and the landlord at the inn would only say that she had gone with a fellow to London. Mary was sure her friend had not gone willingly, but she did not know what to do. Lady Charlotte still considered herself too sick to be moved from Greyledge and continued enjoying the luxury of her rooms in the south wing. In that lady's opinion, her ungrateful, rebellious daughter must simply have decided to return to London with her old "friend".

Apparently, his aunts refused to believe Mary's version of events, but much to his relief, he learned that she had taken the wise step of writing to Ransom Deverell, letting him know his sister was in trouble.

Hale thought of what he could do from his bed. The frustration was keen and sharp, making him ever more eager to get up and return to full health again.

* * * *

Raven found herself back in London. A prisoner at Redvers House.

Matthew, clearly losing some of his last shreds of sanity, seemed to think they could forget what had happened and he acted as if she now belonged to him. For a while she wondered if that bang to her head had completely muddled her brain, but it did not take long to learn what had happened.

While she lay unconscious on the floor of the Greyledge Inn, the Marquess of Redvers had arrived there to find his son. Seeing Matthew with a bloodied young woman and fearing an even greater scandal, the nobleman had sought to cover up the incident, paying the innkeeper to hold his tongue and then spiriting both his son and Raven back to London.

By then, the Marquess and his wife were vastly relieved to have their only surviving son back again in one piece. With a broken engagement behind them, they hoped to smooth over the cracks and put on an unblemished face, no matter what they must do to achieve that. If it meant accepting Raven Deverell at the risk of otherwise losing Matthew, they were prepared to stifle their doubts and fears— at least for the time being. They would do anything to make him content, as long as he stayed and did not run off again.

Matthew made the most of this power he now had over them. He told his parents that he and Raven
must
be married, because they had been alone together at the inn.

Meanwhile, she was not allowed outside the house. The scar on her brow was all that remained of the incident at the inn and she felt healthy, but Matthew insisted she was not well and needed constant watching.

He assured her that Hale was dead, but she had no other proof of that. She saw no newspapers and the household staff must have been warned not to speak to the unexpected guest.

The walls of the house closed in upon her. There was always a footman at the door, waiting to halt her progress, a maid to fuss if she left her room. No letter she wrote would find its way outside those walls.

Matthew would not talk of Reynaux and his connection to the murderous Frenchman. In his mind he could pretend it never happened, as if he had no part in it.

Raven, lost in grief and yet uncertain until she had proof, did not know how many days had passed until she finally saw a newspaper and, horrified, realized it was a week since she and Mary left Greyledge to ride into the village.

"Matthew, you must know that this can't go on." She swept into his dressing room, the newspaper in one hand. "People will come to find me, and the truth will out. Someone will surely realize I am here. I am not going to marry you."

"Yes, you will. My father will procure a special license, so we do not need to wait the three weeks. He will do anything I want to keep me here now."

Tossing the paper to a nearby chaise, she stared at him. "A marriage to me will never happen, Matthew. You are living in a dream world. As we speak, your parents are trying to think of some way to make this— and me— go away. Your father probably only agreed to me being here because he was afraid I might be badly injured and that would get you into an even greater bind. I'm sure that when he saw me on the floor, bleeding from the head, he was horrified. He knows what my father would do to you if I was mortally wounded in your company."

"What is amiss?" He laughed easily, arms out, shoulders shrugging. "You were not hurt. It is only a scratch and soon it will be invisible."

She took a deep breath. "You never did care about my safety. You only ever think about yourself and what you need. You used me as bait."

"Don't be so dramatic. I always thought you should have been on the stage."

"But is that not what you did, Matthew? You knew Hale was following me in London and so you advised Reynaux of where he might find his target. Then he found my mother and renewed their long-past friendship."

"Hale deserved everything he got."

With supreme effort she held her temper and her tears. "I suspect you began to regret what you had done when you saw that I was falling in love with Hale."

"Love? How could you love him? A man like that? Not with your ice cold heart."

She bit her lip, a great overwhelming sadness welling up inside her.

"That, my dear Raven, is what makes us perfect for each other. You're the same as me. We neither of us feel too much, too deeply. We laugh together and nothing ever matters."

"Perhaps I used to think that way. But it does matter, Matthew. Sooner or later you have to grow up and face your consequences, amend your mistakes. Pretending the bad things did not happen will not erase the past."

He looked puzzled, but only at his reflection in the mirror. "Do you think this neck cloth is too bright? The print too bold?"

"I think it needs to be considerably tighter," she said. "You should thank God that we are
not
married, because if we were, I might feel the need to adjust it. While you slept."

He went white. "What?"

Raven turned and walked out of the room.

* * * *

Her brother arrived the next day, after receiving a letter from Mary Ashford.

There were raised voices in the Marquess of Revders' library, but Ransom was not one to spend long on an argument. He walked out of there loudly shouting for Raven, much as their father would have done.

"Come, my one and only sister! Don't make me punch anybody in the face or rip out their throats slowly with a soup spoon. We must be going about our devious Deverell business. You have had fun long enough tormenting these people."

Two footmen and a butler might have stopped their way, but Ransom had a very special expression for anyone who got in his way. Lady Charlotte used to say that it came from the devil— meaning her husband. Perhaps.

So no one apprehended Ransom Deverell when he took his sister's hand and pulled her into the fresh air, out of that dismal house.

Raven decided she might actually adore her elder brother. But to tell him that, would only cause his head to swell.

* * * *

"Papa insists that you go home to Roscarrock," said Ransom.

"What?"

"I had a letter from him soon after the note from your friend Miss Ashford arrived. He insists. He wants you there immediately."

Raven sank to a chair in her brother's office.

"This...Miss Ashford of yours, is apparently taking care of our mother. One can only assume she has the patience of a saint." He smirked. "But she says she will escort Lady Charlotte back to London as soon as she is well enough. Must be a glutton for punishment."

"What...what happened to Hale? I have seen no word... heard nothing."

"Oh," he waved their father's letter through the air, "he survived. No great harm done."

Thank God.
Never ever had she thought those words with so much meaning. Hale was alive. No one had thought to tell her, because they did not know how much she loved him. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she could not stop their wretched progress this time.

"What's the matter with you?" her brother asked. "I did not think you even liked the man. Why are your eyes watering and making that wretched mess?"

Raven sobbed into her sleeve into her brother finally passed her a handkerchief, muttering under his breath at the weakness and changeability of a woman's heart.

"Apparently the lust-addled fool has written to ask our father for your hand in marriage. He says he has your written agreement. Something about the two of you and a business partnership."

And then she began to laugh, even through her tears.