Gayle Wilson - Raven's Vow

She swallowed against the fear that constricted her throat. He had brought her here to avenge himself on her for what her father had done. She turned to the door behind her and began struggling to open it, her fingers trembling uncontrollably.

Before she could manage the intricacies of the unfamiliar lock, his beautifully shaped hand, which she had admired caressing Storm that day, gently closed over hers and removed them from the door. He turned the key that was in the lock and, removing it, placed it in his waistcoat pocket.

Catherine’s fear was reflected in the strained face she raised to his, so he smiled at her before he spoke. “I’m not going to hurt you,” Raven promised softly. He hated making her afraid, especially afraid of him.

“What do you want?” she whispered past the unfamiliar tightness that threatened to block her throat.

His mouth moved slightly, the corners deepening. “I thought I had made that perfectly clear. Even your father finally managed to understand what I want,” he answered, and she was allowed to read his amusement.

Catherine was beginning to calm down, Raven’s quiet humor making her believe that he really didn’t intend her harm. There was no anger in his tone or posture. Apparently he didn’t intend to seek revenge for the father’s insult by ravaging the daughter, but she could still see the mark the crop had made that day faintly lined on his cheek.

Raven let her study his face a moment, and then he said, “There’s nothing to be frightened of here.”

Somehow, she found herself believing him. But he must know—surely he must know, even stranger that he was— what being found in such a situation would do to her reputation.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked, and then wondered for the first time how that had been accomplished. “And how? That was my father’s coachman. I saw him quite clearly before, at Lady Barrington’s. He would never—”

“He has an invalid wife and a multitude of children.”

“You bribed him?” she asked, unable to believe that Tom would betray her for money.

“He was very concerned about you. But I gave him my word that you would come to no harm at my hands.”

“And he believed you?”

“Of course. He seems to be an excellent judge of character. He likes you very much, but he thinks your father’s a bastard.”

“You and the coachman discussed my father?” she asked. This must be some sort of nightmare. Soon she’d wake up, and she would still be on the dance floor, safely waltzing through another evening of deadly sameness. Safe, she thought longingly.

“Not at length. But we found ourselves in perfect agreement, I assure you.”

“Why did you bring me here?” She was beginning to be able to control her fear. To be able to think.

“I wanted to show you something. Two things, really. Both of which I thought you should see.”

“You abducted me to show me something?” she repeated carefully. “And when I’ve seen whatever it is?”

“Then I’ll arrange to have you taken home. If you decide that’s what you want.”

“If I decide…?” Her voice rose. “What else do you imagine I would want?” She paused and took a breath, again seeking control. “Of course I shall want to be taken home.”

“Perhaps not. We won’t know until we’ve completed our business.”

Business, she echoed mentally, wondering with irritation if that was all John Raven ever thought about. Apparently he had kidnapped her to discuss business. She felt a spurt of fury. She’d been abducted by a man whom, she admitted, she was fascinated by, and all he wanted to do was to talk business. As if she were some solicitor or shopkeeper instead of what she was—the acknowledged toast of the last two London seasons. The final thought was reassuring in light of his disinterest.

She glanced up and realized he knew exactly what she was thinking. His amusement was obvious in that dark face. His eyes, which were warmer than she had ever seen them, displayed a clear understanding of her disappointment.

“Then why don’t you show me whatever you’ve brought me here to see and let me go home? The sooner the better, I assure you,” she said decisively.

Raven inclined his head in agreement and gestured with his hand, urging her ahead of him down the wide hall. She hesitated a moment and then swept up her damply clinging skirt and proceeded in the direction he’d indicated.

On her left was a vast salon, perfectly proportioned from the sweep of its tall Palladian windows that lined the wall to the graceful Adam fireplace and the finely executed plaster medallions overhead. And perfectly empty. Catherine wandered in, wondering what she was supposed to do. She turned, allowing a small sarcastic lift of one beautifully shaped auburn brow.

“And?” she said.

“This way,” he commanded and, shrugging, she followed.

It was exactly the same over the entire lower level of the mansion: elegant rooms of stately design and size, completely unfurnished. Raven didn’t comment as he led her through the vast dimness, their footsteps echoing over the bare floors. He took her finally into a small study, sparsely furnished with a huge desk and chair, another chair facing the desk, and a tall cabinet. The surface of the desk was cluttered with ledgers and papers. “I had thought, if you didn’t mind, that I would leave this as it is. To serve as my office. And there’s a small bedroom that I’ve left as I found it, simply for convenience. However, if you have any objections, I assure you I won’t stand in your way in redecorating those. I myself have little interest in such things. A chair and a bed and I’m perfectly happy.”

“This is your house?” Catherine asked, beginning to make some sense of this mysterious tour. “You’re living here.”

“A rather Spartan existence at present. But soon, I hope-”

“In my redecorating?” she interrupted, having just registered the gist of his explanation. “You expect me to redecorate?”

“I promised a house you might furnish as you pleased.”

“This… You intend that I… That you and I…” Despite several attempts, she couldn’t seem to complete the suggestion he once again appeared to be making. Apparently her father had not convinced him that he couldn’t have what he had decided he wanted. “Mr. Raven, you must realize—”

“They tell me it’s rare that such a property becomes available in Mayfair. That such houses as this seldom change hands. It was the first one they showed me, and I must confess, I felt it to be perfect. However, you know far more about such matters than I. If you think—”

“Mr. Raven…” She broke in again and then found herself at a loss. Nothing she said seemed to make an impression. Nothing her father had said or done seemed to matter at all. John Raven was without a doubt the most obstinate man she’d ever met.

“Then it won’t do?” he asked in the sudden silence.

“It’s not the house. It’s wonderful. You must know that.”

“The original furnishings are in storage, until you’ve had the opportunity to choose any of them you wish to keep. Or you may discard them all and begin anew. My solicitor assured me there are some very fine pieces among them, however. I’ll make arrangements for you to see everything as soon as—”

“Mr. Raven,” she interrupted, more strongly than before.

He stopped. The small depression at the corner of his lips deepened, but his expression was otherwise under perfect control, the blue eyes resting on her face with polite interest.

“I can’t marry you,” she said softly.

He glanced down briefly at the toe of his evening shoe, which gleamed softly at the bottom of his impeccably cut formal trousers, and she saw the breath he took before he spoke.