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LATER THAT SAME EVENING RAVEN dressed in the bittersweet gown for her very first evening on the town. Eben had promised to take her to dinner once he’d concluded his business with his lawyer, but it was nearing seven and he still hadn’t arrived. She sat down on the bed, then just as quickly shot back up again, afraid that she would wrinkle her skirt.
Pacing only increased her anxiety, and so she went to the standing mirror in the corner of the bedchamber to check her appearance for the five-hundredth time since donning the beautiful bittersweet satin dress.
The young woman who met her gaze might have been a stranger, so different did she look. Cassie had helped her to arrange her hair, and her normally wild curls had been subdued into a sleek knot at her nape. A few tendrils escaped at her temples and ears to soften the effect and prettily frame her face. The barest touch of Spanish paper—something Raven hadn’t known existed until today—had been artfully applied to her cheeks and lips to accentuate her natural coloring. The subtle hint of rose brought a sparkle to her velvety brown eyes that Raven liked very much. She wondered if Eben would notice her transformation?
She hoped so. In her girlhood fantasies she had always imagined looking as beautiful as she did now, with a handsome man as her escort. But she’d never dreamt it would be someone like Eben.
The thought of him gave her palpitations, and that made her breathless. Someone rapped firmly on the door, and the knob rattled threateningly. “Raven, are you ready?”
Raven bit her lip, gave her reflection a last glance, and forced herself to walk sedately to the door. She lifted the latch and the panel swung open, but nothing could have prepared her for the handsome stranger waiting outside her door. He’d undergone his own startling transformation, and she could only stand and stare. Gone was the rough leather garb he usually wore, and in its place was a fine white shirt tucked into soft doeskin trousers that fit his lean hips and long thighs like
a second skin. Gleaming Hessian boots rose just above his knees, and a cutaway coat of a deep forest green accentuated the breadth of his shoulders and depth of his chest. He even wore a neck cloth, immaculately wrapped and tied in a small knot in front. With his hair brushed back and just caressing the collar of his coat, he was more handsome than any man Raven had ever seen.
“Eben? Is that really you?”
“I think I should be the one asking that question. Where is my wood nymph? My hoyden? My wildcat?” He looked hard at her, feigning puzzlement.
She felt a small sharp stab of disappointment. “You don’t like it?”
He abandoned his teasing, and broke into his old wolfish grin. “Like it? Oh, yes, my lovely. I like it very much. In fact, the moment I saw it, I knew it would be perfect for you.” He stepped back and sketched a deep and graceful bow, amazingly good at playing the gentleman. “My dear Mademoiselle Delacour, you take my breath away. Shall we go? It’s been a long day, and I’m famished.”
He offered his arm, and Raven took it, laying her hand at the crook of his elbow. His flesh was warm and hard beneath the layers of broadcloth and linen, reminding her that the man beneath had not been altered. “You are in a fine good humor this evening,” she said as they strolled from the house and down the walkway to the front gate.
“And why not? That wharf rat Semple gave me the first solid lead I’ve had about Jase in fifteen years. Besides, I’ve got you for the entire evening.” He shot her a sidelong glance. “Is there a reason you keep looking at me as if I’ll disappear at any moment?”
“I’m just not accustomed to seeing you look so—refined.” “As opposed to my looking—unrefined?”
Raven stopped on the rough plank sidewalk, turning to face him, placing her free hand upon his chest. “Eben?”
“Aye, my sweet?”
“I do not wish to argue with you, tonight of all nights.”
His grin reappeared and deep dimples cut twin furrows in his cheeks. “Now, there’s a change I like.” What Eben neglected to admit was that his current hunger had little to do with food and everything to do with the dark beauty walking close by his side.
Evening was quieter than daytime in the city, though not by much. Even the air seemed softer, and a gentle breeze had kicked up over the rivers, bringing a freshness with it that was normally absent. The Black Bear Tavern was adjacent to the courthouse square, a single block from Sally’s, and when Eben softly questioned if she minded the stroll, Raven shook her head.
Anything to prolong this dream.
Strolling down the avenue with Eben tall and strong by her side felt right somehow, and despite all of the conflict they’d weathered so far, she didn’t want it to end. She couldn’t help but notice the way heads turned when they swept past. Not only did several gentlemen in swallow-tail coats sweep off their tall beaver hats as she passed, but their female companions dimpled and blushed at her escort. Through it all, Eben pretended not to notice, and his eyes never once left Raven.
The tapers were just being lit when they arrived at the tavern. Eben spoke privately to one of the serving girls, and Raven watched as the girl swayed on her feet and for the briefest instant, fell against him. He reached out to steady her, his hand resting momentarily on her back, just between her shoulder blades. Eben inclined his head as she said something in answer to his question. He didn’t seem at all upset, but Raven quietly seethed. “If you will?” he reminded the girl when she would have lingered. She winked at him and hurried off, her broad ass swaying dangerously, leaving them to follow in her wake.
“I can see that you’ve been here before,” Raven said a little more sharply than she intended. The sight of the blowsy maid rubbing against his lean, muscular frame had upset her, though
she could not imagine why it would. He seemed to prompt that reaction from women.
“I’m fairly well-known in town, if that’s what you mean— though I haven’t been here in a number of years.”
“Well-known and apparently well-liked.”
“Not every wench I meet shares your aversion to my company.”
Raven felt her face grow hot under his scrutiny, and put her nose in the air. “I enjoy your company well enough,” she insisted. “But you can bet that she wants more than that.”
They went down a short passageway to a private dining room, where a table set with cream-colored linens awaited them. In the center, a branched candlestick sat beside a bowl full of late summer roses. A setting of china and silver had been placed at either end. Eben held Raven’s chair for her, then crossed to take his own seat. “Bring us some wine, will you, lass? Something light and sweet to please the lady’s palate.” Only when the servant had departed, and the door was firmly closed did he reply to Raven’s last remark. His pale gaze was strangely warm in the candlelight as it roamed slowly over her. When his leisurely perusal was complete, he allowed a smile to touch his lips. “And why does the thought that I might enjoy that young lady’s charms rankle so much?”
“I never said it did.” Raven glanced demurely down at her hands, a vain attempt to conceal her upset. She was as transparent as glass, and always had been. “Though you may not realize it, a tavern wench is hardly deserving of the term ‘lady.’ You might wish to choose your doxies a bit more carefully, m’sieur, or you’ll end up with the pox.”
Eben shrugged easily, more at home in his environment than she was, and making the most of it as he always did. “It seems that I have chosen, but the one I want is far from being a doxy. Unfortunately, she refuses to admit her attraction to me.
Perhaps you can advice me as to how I can best deal with this situation?”
“How can you be sure that she is attracted to you?” Raven said lightly. “Perhaps it’s your boundless conceit that colors your judgment. Or, perhaps this woman is only being kind in not rebuffing you more forcefully?”
“I know women—maybe a little too well. I’ve felt the fluttering of her heart when I hold her, and her lips are soft and yielding when we kiss. When she melts against me, fitting her body against mine, it drives me out of my mind with the thought of taking her, possessing her, keeping her. Yet, she resists her more natural urges, and is too tender for me to press my suit in the face of her reluctance.”
“It sounds to me as if you frighten her,” Raven said. She refused to look at him and watched the door behind him instead. The serving girl came in to pour the wine. Raven was strangely grateful for the distraction. Hearing him talk so openly about the intimacies they had shared set her to trembling.
“Frighten you?” His jaw dropped in astonishment. “Lass, why would I frighten you?”
The serving girl giggled and Eben frowned at her. “See to our meal, damn it! If I’d wanted this evening to be a public spectacle, I’d have invited the whole damned town!”
“Eben!”
“Would you rather she stayed to listen?” He raked his fingers through his hair, then jerked at the knot in his neck cloth. Why did everything always go so horribly awry where Raven was concerned? He’d only wanted a special evening with her. Was that too much to ask? An evening that could bring them closer. “And here I am thinking you did not wish to argue.”
“I wasn’t my intention, and neither is it all my fault.”
A muscle in his cheek worked violently as he tried to check his impatience and find his way back to his early good humor.
She was afraid of him!
How? When? Why had that happened?
Yes, he’d carried out his threat and paddled her, but only once, and not sufficiently to cause permanent damage—and for that, he’d apologized! Was he really that bad? Yes, he was a driven, no-nonsense man, but when had he become an ogre? A dreadful monster who terrified women and gave children nightmares?
Confusion warred with horror, which battled his frustration and his deep-seated and ever-thwarted wish to please her. He lowered his voice with a will, though his tone was suddenly tense and irritable. “Since we can’t seem to have a civil conversation, then I suggest we not talk at all.”
Disappointment filled Raven. Her beautiful dream was running headlong to ruin. Reality, by contrast, paled in comparison to her long-held fancies. The satin gown was just a gown, after all, her handsome escort a man she could not understand, or agree with on any subject. Her eyes bright with unshed tears, she shot from her chair and ran from the room, Eben right behind her.
He caught up with her outside. “Raven! Damn it, Raven, where are you going?”
“To my room!”
“We haven’t even eaten!”
He grabbed for her arm, and she pushed him hard, uncaring who stopped to stare at them. “I don’t want your food!” she cried. “I don’t want anything from you! If you want to eat so badly, maybe you can convince that blowsy bitch to dine with you! I’m sure she would jump at the chance.” She stormed ahead, but with his long-legged strides Eben easily kept pace, and he stubbornly refused to let her go.
They were almost to Sally’s gate when Cassie spied them from the porch. “Back so soon?” Her smiling glance slid over Eben before she looked at Raven. “Aw, honey! Are you crying? Yes, you are! What’s wrong?”
Raven didn’t reply, just swept past Cassie and ran up the stairs.
Cassie plucked at Eben’s coat sleeve. “Eben St. Claire, what in hell did you do to her?”
“I haven’t done anything—yet.” He pulled away, stalking Raven, up the stairs, past a laughing Sally.
“Now, you be nice to her, Eben!” Sally called after him. “That’s my intention.” What he really intended to do was
to get to the root of the problem between them. The evening had started out on a sweet note, and ended on an ear-splitting screech. If he couldn’t mend this rift between them, then he’d for damn sure know what caused it in the first place. But when he reached the bedchamber door, he found it firmly locked.
Inside the room, Raven flounced onto the bed. She no longer cared about the beautiful gown. Her dream was spoiled and she was strangely heartbroken. The doorknob rattled and Eben called out for her to let him in. “Go away!” she said.
“Raven,” he said. “Open the damned door. We need to discuss this.”
“I am not discussing anything with you!” Not now. Maybe not ever. After tonight, how could she face him? Her jealousy had gotten the best of her, and she’d made a fool of herself in front of him, in front of the whole town. She didn’t even know why. Her emotions were impossibly snarled where he was concerned, and she badly needed to sort them out—something she couldn’t do when he was near. “Go down to the Whale and Monkey!” she cried. “I am sure they will be happy to see you there! Maybe you can find a corner to sprawl in after you drink yourself sick, or better yet some breast you can use for a pillow!”
Her caustic remarks had stung him into silence. Not a sound came from the hallway. Sniffing, Raven climbed off the bed and pressed her ear to the door. Something bumped against the outside of Sally’s house, and calls of encouragement and raucous laughter came from the yard below. Raven turned toward the noise, just in time to see Eben climbing over the sill.
“How dare you! Get out this instant!”
“Didn’t I ask you to open the door?” Eben advanced on her slowly. He’d worked hard to get here, and torn the tail of his new broadcloth coat in the process of scaling the small portico beneath the window. Jumping to catch the sill, he’d hauled himself up and into the room. He was not about to leave without understanding the reason for her erratic behavior. “Fie, lass, did you really think a mere lock could keep me out?”
She sat down on the bed, but she wouldn’t look at him. “Please, just go away!”
All of her attempts to keep him at a distance had failed, and this one did too. He crossed the room and stood before her, concern on his face and his heart in his hands. “You said you were afraid of me. That’s the last thing that I want. Don’t you know by now that I will never hurt you? Don’t you know that my every thought is always what is best for you?”
His voice had lost its stridency, replaced by a deep ache that she could strangely feel as well as hear. He was not demanding, or ordering her to do something, or criticizing.
Her tears had slowed, but now and again a hot trickle overflowed her lower lashes to trace a scalding path down her cheek. She raised her gaze to his, and perhaps for the very first time, all the defensiveness was gone from her, leaving her open and vulnerable. “Has it ever occurred to you that you have no right to decide what is best for me, Eben?”
He stunned her to silence by dropping to his knees before her. Naked emotion replaced the arrogance. He was truly distraught. “Raven, please. Answer me. What makes you fearful of me?”
She looked into that beloved face, and his sudden vulnerability wrung her heart. “It is not you that frightens me,” she said hesitantly, “but what you can do. You have the power to make me feel things I don’t want to feel. To do things that aren’t wise. To want things I cannot have.”
Reaching out, he cupped her face with his hands. “I just want to please you,” he said quietly. “That’s all.”
“You do,” she admitted. “Please me. This dress—” She stopped and caught her breath. “It’s more beautiful than
anything I have ever imagined.”
“And your under things?” he asked, ever-so-gently. “They pleased you as well?”
She smiled at that. “Yes, Eben. Very much so. I have seen real lace, but never touched it. It’s like wearing garments with snowflakes sown to them, only warm, not cold.”
“I thought of you when I purchased them—and how you would look, and feel, wearing them.” He was closer now, almost touching—his breath mingling with hers as he so quietly spoke. “And they do not scratch, or abrade your soft skin? I’ve never felt skin as soft as yours, and I did not wish to cause you any discomfort, aside from what is necessary.”
“No, they do not scratch. It’s baby-fine. Thank you, Eben— for thinking of me.”
He sighed. “It’s all I seem to do these days—think of you.” His lids had lowered, his lashes partly masking the desire in his eyes, but it threaded through his words like a stream of golden honey, thick and unbearably sweet—irresistible. “Dream of you.”
She tipped her head slightly, barely brushing her full lower lip across his. “I dream of you, too. Wicked dreams that make me blush when morning comes.”
He kissed her, very gently, very briefly, very lightly. “Tell me, love. What is it we do in your dreams?”
She shivered. “Oh, no, m’sieur. I cannot.”
Another kiss. This one less brief, more lingering. “You can tell me anything, sweet. Anything at all.”
Warmth flooded through her, straight down through her core to pool between her legs. She leaned in, very close to his ear and whispered her fantasies while he listened. When she’d finished, she could not bear to look at him. But he didn’t laugh. He just groaned deep in his throat and touched her, his face close to hers, his fingertips tracing the curve of her face. “Would you like that, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know. No one has ever—but in the dream, I liked it very much.”
He closed the distance between them, gently but insistently pressing her back on the bed as he kissed her deeply, then kissed her again. And again. He kissed her so thoroughly that there was no part of her he did not touch, caress, or tease. He kissed her until she had no will to resist—only this dreadful hunger she could not quite comprehend. It frightened and excited her at the same time. She was wary of where it might lead. She didn’t want it to end. Holding tight to her fantasy, she watched as he stripped off his coat, and slipped the bone buttons of his shirt through their holes. Then, with his trousers and boots still very much in place, he lay back on the bed and held out his hand. “Come to me, sweetness.”
Raven turned her back to him, coyly watching over her shoulder as he loosened her gown and edged it down. Soon, her creamy shoulders were bare to his touch, her breasts unveiled to the coral peaks of her nipples. He sighed and once again lay back against the pillows. “Come to me, lover.”
She tugged the gown up and over her head and placed it on the foot of the bed, next to his shining black boots. With only a thin chemise to veil her nakedness, Raven turned to him. His blue eyes were hooded, his hard mouth awaiting her kiss, a vein throbbed in his throat, evidence that his pulse had accelerated. She ran her palms over his broad shoulders, abrading them over his paps, which hardened to tight little buds. She traced a light path over his ribs and felt his muscles jerk in response. His maleness strained hard against the soft fabric of his trousers, and Raven trembled. “I don’t think I can
—I—”
“Just come to me,” he said again, softly, seductively. He took her hand and drew her down until she lay full length upon him. Kisses, soft as a stroking feather, and by turns, insistent and demanding. He cradled her in his arms and kissed her until she was quite drunk upon his wine-sweet breath. Then, he rolled her gently onto her back and took the lead.
“Mon seul amour, come to me,” Raven said. She whispered to him in French, spilling out her hopes and dreams, and
confessing how he made her feel. She told him her deepest darkest secrets, confessed her fears, all without a trace of wariness because she knew that he did not understand a word. Then, Eben claimed her breast, and against the blazing heat of his mouth, her words of love were stilled.
Never before had Raven felt such warmth. His tongue flicked the sensitive peak like a tongue of flame, and when she felt him roll the aroused little bud between his teeth, she feared she would go mad with wanting. A strange sensation had begun to blossom inside her woman’s core, a tense and anguished yearning that seemingly would never be filled. But as his hand swept downward, over her belly to her Venus mound she felt the nagging ache sweeten and become even more delicious.
Catlike, she stretched beneath him, parting her knees and welcoming him between her thighs, and Eben smiled. Gently, he stroked her to awakening, feeling her virgin’s flesh come alive under his careful tutelage. His own blood was surging in his temples, a raging, battering tide that demanded quick release.
But Raven was unschooled in sexual matters, and he wanted nothing less for her than total bliss. He kissed her breast a final time and trailed his tongue down the very center of her belly, laughing when she sucked in a startled breath.
And then, he found it, that secret spot that like a rare and valuable jewel until now remained undiscovered by man. Parting the folds of her woman’s flesh, he took it into his mouth and gently suckled.
Raven cried out, gripped his hair with loving fingers and prayed he would not stop. His kiss was incredibly hot, and wet, and she wanted this molten torture to go on forever. She felt him press a finger into her opening, and then two, gently stretching her untried passage to accommodate him. “Venez à moi, mon seul amour.”
Eben barely had a word of French, but the invitation in her eyes was unmistakable. Her body ached for him as he ached for her. She wanted him inside her, and she did not wish to prolong the agony another second.
He found the place where he belonged, unerringly. Still slippery from his kiss, the fleshy folds parted, and inch by patient inch, he filled her. “A second of discomfort, my love, for a lifetime of pleasure.” Pulling back just a bit, he filled her again, more quickly this time, and ruptured her maidenhead.
He paused to stare down into her face. Her eyes smiled up at him. “Are you all right?”
“Oui.” Raven’s body adjusted to him quickly, and when he began to move within her she met each thrust with an ecstatic sigh. The strange erotic thrills she’d experienced under the stroking of his tongue reemerged, unfolding now like ghostly fingers, to strum a blissful tune along her taut nerves. With each meeting of their bodies, hard to soft, and soft to hard, her rapture intensified. Steadily, her desire mounted, rippling waves of ecstasy washing over her until it finally burst upon her in an all-consuming flood of unbearable physical delight.
As she went limp beneath him, Eben thrust deep and spent his lust in a spill of hot seed. Then, and only then, did he allow the implications of his actions to intrude. This changed everything, and though he wasn’t sure what course of action he would take, he couldn’t summon a single ounce of regret for what they’d shared.
Raven’s breathing returned to normal, and she fell into a dream-filled sleep, in which a pair of toddlers played on the dirt floor of a sparsely furnished cabin. In her dream, the door was open and sunlight streamed in to dance upon the children’s flaxen hair. The rectangle of the doorway darkened and she glanced up to see Eben’s familiar figure. He took her in his arms and covered her waiting mouth with kisses. And it was only natural to respond.
When she came fully awake, her lover lay quietly beside her, his deep chest rising and falling with the natural rhythm of sleep. She watched him, remembered all that they had done, remembering the vivid images from the dream and knew in that moment that her future was more uncertain than ever.
