The Gambler (19 page)

They both said the word at the same time then laughed nervously.

"Go ahead," Raven suggested, watching her carefully and noticing with appreciation that she was positioned directly in that single, kindly shaft of moonlight.

"I was just wondering how you came by the name of Raven."

He remained silent for a moment, then, "Why?"

Apparently the redundancy of their conversation wasn't lost on her, for she answered exactly as he had. "Because I'm interested."

Raven remained silent. He'd meant to appeal to her emotions, of course, had meant to soften her with gentle words, but he'd never intended to dredge up his entire past. He didn't like dredging. Never had. Despite the discipline with which he surrounded himself, the past still gnawed at the dangling ends of his memories.

"We were very poor." He wasn't sure where the words came from. He hadn't intended to say them, but she was very close, within inches, and watching him with those forest-green eyes. Talking seemed like the wisest and safest option open to him. "Without a man to support us, Mother had to work very hard just to keep us alive. Only..." He glanced toward the window, reminding himself not to grind his teeth. "Only just staying alive wasn't enough. She said my father was an educated man. She was always so proud of his schooling. His intelligence. “‘He'll come back to us,' she'd say." He paused now, feeling his gut wrench and hating himself for this childish weakness. Good God, he was a full-grown man, not some sniveling whelp. "'And when he comes back I ain't gonna have him find you ignorant like your mama,'" she used to tell me. He paused, taking a deep, slow breath. "'You got to take the bad with the good,'" he murmured, momentarily forgetting his audience to visualize his mother's weary smile. "'We'll just have to do the best we can until he returns. He'll be so proud of you, Joseph.'" Raven's throat burned, as did his chest. "She must have said it a thousand times."

"You were so lucky."

"Lucky!" Raven canted his head in disbelief. "Lucky?" he breathed.

"She loved you," Charm whispered, as if there was nothing in the world more important than that.

Raven stared at her, seeing the stark pain of her expression and feeling the sight burn into his soul. He filled his lungs with air, trying to shake the raw emotions. But it was no use. He took another deep breath. "I'm very tired." It was a lie, of course. He was wide-awake. He was just a coward. "I'd best sleep," he said, and waited for her to move away. But perhaps she knew he was lying. Perhaps she could read it in his expression.

"You haven't explained your name."

No, goddamn it. He hadn't, he wanted to snap, but something stopped him. He could only hope it was his need to groom her sympathy and trust. He settled his head back. "It cost Mother everything she could scrape together to keep me in school." He smiled, feeling the grimness of it curl his lips. "I was a big kid. Could have worked. Never was sure how she convinced the schoolmaster to keep me around. I was a troublemaker." He looked out the window again, thinking. "She always seemed so mild-mannered and gentle, but when she set her cap on something..." He shook his head. "She'd set her cap on my education."

She still watched him closely, but said nothing.

"School was easy enough, but I didn't fit in. They all had rich daddies," he explained simply. "For a while they called me Bastard. Raven was a big improvement. They commented on the darkness of my skin and hair, and speculated about my heritage. Thought maybe my father had been a darkie. An unforgivable sin, of course," he mused then straightened slightly, drawing himself from his reverie. “They called me Raven just to remind me of my place in the world."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Please don't be sorry, he wanted to plead, for her pity made his chest ache and his resolution crumble.

"So very sorry."

The ache in his chest was too low to be associated with his wound. He swallowed once. Hadn't he planned for her to talk about herself? "Get some sleep," he said gruffly.

"I don't sleep," she reminded him.

Then come here and let me hold you. Let me wrap you in my arms and cuddle you against my heart. Let me kiss your funny little turned-up mouth and stroke your hair until you relax in my embrace. Let me...

Good God! What was wrong with him? He was losing his edge. Hell, he was losing his
mind!
Raven tightened the muscles in his jaws until his teeth ached. He had to get himself under control. This was a job. A very lucrative job. And she was a murderous little...

"The dreams always find me, sooner or later," she went on.

She certainly didn't
look
murderous, and she didn't sound murderous. In fact, her tone was so soft and earnest that he almost reached for her. But he wouldn't. He ground his teeth again. He would play his scheme and play it well. And that scheme did
not
include frightening her away with his own painful desires.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "You need rest. I shouldn't have—"

“The bed's big enough for two." He didn't know what possessed him to say it, except that he was a half-witted idiot who thought with his crotch. He refused to let himself believe he also thought with his heart. He couldn't afford feelings.

Her mouth opened a small bit, and she stared at him, her eyes very wide. "I—"

"You're safe with me." No! She wasn't! She wasn't safe! Good God, it had been half an eternity since he'd had a woman,
any
woman, in his bed. He'd be a simpleton to think he could resist
this
one. "I won't touch you. I promise."

"All right," she breathed, and Raven ground his teeth.

They lay side by side, like two oaken planks, not looking at each other, not speaking, barely daring to breathe.

"Aren't you cold?" Raven asked finally.

"No!" She'd answered too quickly, Charm thought, berating herself. There was nothing to fear. The man was wounded—by her. She winced. It made practical good sense that she share the bed. After all, she was exhausted. She tried to relax, but it was impossible.

"Are you sure?"

She jerked at the sound of his voice, almost as if she'd forgotten he was there, though she most definitely had not. "What?"

"Are you sure you're not cold?"

"No. I mean... yes!" She nodded stiffly at the ceiling. "I'm sure."

Though she didn't look at him, she could hear the grin in his voice. "You know, I'm completely dressed."

"What?" she managed to ask again, but the word sounded ridiculously breathy. What was wrong with her? She was a grown woman, and though it was true that such behavior would ruin a lady's reputation, her unorthodox life had already done that. It was a fact she'd easily learned to live with. Hence, there was no reason for her to be so terrified. After all, he'd promised not to touch her, and for whatever reason, she believed him to be a man who kept his vows.

"I'm clothed," he repeated. "You could come under the covers."

"Not cold!"

He was staring at her. She could feel his gaze but refused to turn to meet it.

"Have you ever..." He paused as if searching for the correct phrase. "Have you ever been wooed, Miss Fergusson?"

"Wooed?" Her voice sounded pathetically squeaky. She swallowed and lowered the tone. "I've been busy. Taking care of my father, you know. And traveling about. And..."

"Little wonder you're afraid of men. They must come crawling out of the woods, clambering for your attention."

There was a slight groaning of bed ropes as he shifted his weight. Charm took a deep breath and woodenly turned her head toward him. His proximity made her start back in surprise, for he was not two feet away. And he wasn't
fully
dressed. There were whole inches of his chest exposed above the stark whiteness of his petticoat bandages.

"Jude is probably wise after all." His voice was very soft.

For a moment she said nothing, but finally curiosity won her over. "Why?"

"To keep them all at arm's length. Being near you—it could drive most any man past the point of restraint." He said the words very sincerely, as if he, too, might feel some temptation to do more than just talk, and yet, surprisingly, his admittance didn't increase her fear. In fact, it did the opposite. She drew a deep breath.

"Perhaps my father's impression of men is colored by his own failings. He never forgave himself for my mother's death. Said if he hadn't... hadn't touched her, she would have been far better off."

"Maybe he's right."

"But then I would never have been born," she reasoned softly. It was an argument she had often waged in her own head, wondering if Jude regretted her birth, regretted the responsibility of caring for her for all those years. The thought had stung her in the past and did so now. She turned her body slightly toward Raven, feeling the old pain and worry assault her. "Do you think he wished I'd never been born?"

Raven lifted a hand from atop the coverlet, reaching toward her before slowly pulling it back. "No man could wish that," he murmured.

Charm remained very still, feeling his words warm her like hot buttered rum. "If you had a wife," she whispered, "would you want a daughter like me?"

He stared at her, his gaze steady and unmoving.

"With or without a wife," he murmured, "I'd give my life for a daughter like you."

Raven awoke first. She was still atop the coverlet, her emerald eyes hidden by dark-fringed lids. Was she sound asleep or just snatching? He moved the slightest bit, and his question was immediately answered.

Her eyes were instantly wide. In a fractured second, she was on her feet beside the bed, but in a moment her surprise turned to silent wariness. Raven remained as he was, careful not to move.

"Good morning." Even his tone didn't waver. It was flat and smooth. He deserved some credit for that, he thought, not to mention his astounding self-control during the night. For though one could argue that it was his weakness and fatigue that allowed her to remain untouched, the hard-edged readiness of his body would vociferously disagree with that argument.

She blinked at him and tightened her narrow hands into fists. Her long hair was tousled and shone in gleaming hues of chestnuts and browns as it caught the slanted rays of the morning sun through the window. Raven studied her in silence. He was naturally skeptical and conservative in his estimations of others. He decided quite pragmatically that she was, nevertheless, the most exquisite creature ever to grace the earth.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked softly.

She swallowed, as if afraid to speak, but finally managed a single word. "Snatches."

He grinned a little, because seeing her thus, it was impossible to do otherwise. "Did you snatch well?"

Good God, she smiled back! Raven held his breath, watching as her curved, strawberry lips lifted momentarily into a whimsical, heartrending expression of humor.

Her fists unclenched to push her long slim fingers through her rumpled curls. "Are you feeling better?"

For a moment he couldn't speak. It was foolish, he knew. But when she looked at him like that, with her eyes morning bright and her manner soft as a lover's sigh, all words disappeared from his mind. "Much better," he managed finally, his voice a bit too husky. For a man who had spent most of his life carefully regulating how the world perceived him, she certainly had the ability to cut him to base honesty. It was, once again, a disconcerting thought and one that caused him to say more, perhaps in an attempt to fluster her. "I think sleeping with you has healed me."

To his surprise she didn't back away, but stood her ground, though she blushed to a rosy hue. As if seeing her tousled and soft wasn't enough. Tousled and soft and blushing was almost more than he could bear. Raven clenched his teeth, fighting for self-control.

"Are you..." She drew a deep breath. "You must be hungry."

He could eat her whole, right down to her tight-laced shoes if that was what she meant. "You still have them on," he said, nodding toward her feet. "I think I could have controlled myself, even had you made so bold as to expose your toes."

Her blush deepened, spreading down the smooth expanse of her throat toward her breasts. "Or... perhaps not," he admitted reluctantly.

There was a long moment of silence before she made any response. "Are you teasing me?"

What would happen if he moved very slowly from the bed? If he took her ever so gently into his arms and kissed her? How dangerous could it be? "No." He remained exactly where he was. "I'm flirting with you."

"Oh." She said the word very seriously. "Why?"

"Haven't you ever flirted, Miss Fergusson?"

She bit the inside of her lip, looking philosophical. "My conversations with men have rarely lasted very long in the past." She paused, blinking. "And usually involve weapons."

Raven laughed, knowing he was foolish to allow himself to be charmed by her. "If I sat up, would you run screaming from the room?"

"Probably."

"But how would you explain your actions to Widow Worth?"

Charm scowled. "She thinks we're wed."

Raven didn't resist the smile that tugged at his lips. "I realize that. But I have a cramp in my leg. Sooner or later I'm going to have to move."

The smallest hint of a grin appeared at the corner of her lovely mouth again. "All right. I won't scream."

"How about the running part?"

"I'll try not to."

Raven sighed. "A man can't ask more than that." He turned slowly over. Feeling pain rip through his chest, he winced and levered himself up against the headboard. "I think it would have been less painful if I'd allowed you to keep your gun."

She scowled a question.

"Of course, I'd be dead," he explained quietly.

She stared at her shoes again, looking guilty. "I've never actually shot anyone."

Raven was surprised to discover that he didn't especially like her to look ashamed.

For a moment he almost laughed, but she looked too mournful for him to allow a guffaw. "Really?" Even without the laughter his question sounded humorous, he thought, but she took his words at face value.