Chapter Ten #2
“Ashley?” Farah’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she realized her friend was studying her with concern. “Can I steal you away for a moment? I want to show you something.”
Ashley allowed herself to be drawn away from the group, following Farah through the crowd to a quieter alcove near the fortune teller’s tent.
“All right,” Farah said without preamble, “what’s wrong? You look like you’re a thousand miles away.”
“I’m fine,” Ashley said automatically, then caught herself. These were her closest friends. If she couldn’t be honest with them, who could she trust? “Actually, I’m not fine. I’m frustrated and confused and desperately hoping Raven actually shows up tonight.”
“Because of your plan?” Farah’s eyes widened with understanding. “You’re still planning to seduce him?”
“I was,” Ashley admitted. “But now he’s been delayed, and I’m here alone, and I don’t know if—” She stopped, taking a breath. “Something happened last night. After the opera.”
“Tell me everything,” Farah demanded, pulling Ashley deeper into the alcove for privacy.
So, Ashley did. She described the confrontation in the entrance hall, the way Raven had finally admitted to wanting her.
The kiss that had set her entire body ablaze with need.
And then the abrupt way he’d pushed her away, sending her to bed alone while he’d clearly wrestled with some internal demons she didn’t understand.
“He wants me,” she finished quietly. “I know he does. But he’s terrified of something. Some part of himself he thinks I can’t accept.”
“He has particular preferences?” Farah asked.
“It would appear, like Lucien, he likes blindfolds, and other things. He likes restraints, the control.”
“Is that a bad thing. It could be fun?” her friend said with a saucy smile.
“I know. And I’m not afraid of it—or at least, not in the way he thinks I should be. I’m curious. Intrigued, even.” Ashley felt heat rise in her cheeks. “But he won’t give me the chance to show him that. He keeps pushing me away before things can progress.”
“Then tonight, don’t give him that option,” Farah said firmly. “When he arrives, you corner him. Use the masquerade to your advantage—everyone is pretending to be someone else, boundaries are looser, propriety is suspended. Take him somewhere private and make him listen.”
“And say what exactly? ‘Raven, I know you like to tie women up and I’m perfectly fine with that’?” Ashley’s laugh was slightly hysterical. “He’ll want to know how I found out, and I can’t exactly admit to visiting a brothel and snooping through his private cabinet.”
“Then don’t be that explicit,” Farah advised. “Be suggestive. Drop hints. Tell him you trust him, that you want to explore new things together, that you’re not as innocent or easily shocked as he assumes.”
“I’m terrified,” Ashley admitted. “What if I do all that and he still pushes me away? What if I don’t like it?
Or his shame about his desires runs too deep?
I really want children.” She was too scared to admit she also found her husband exceedingly attractive and a part of her was falling for him.
How could she risk her heart when he couldn’t even share himself with her?
“You don’t need blindfolds to have perfunctory sex, Ashley.
It might not be good, but you’ll get your child,” Farah said gently.
“And you can decide whether to keep fighting or to accept a marriage without passion. But Ashley—you deserve better than that. You deserve a husband who actually wants you, who could come to love you. How can love develop if there is no passion?”
“I know.” Ashley straightened her shoulders, adjusting the colorful scarves of her costume. “You’re right. Tonight, I’ll corner him. Make him talk to me properly. No more running away, no more careful distance.”
“That’s my girl,” Farah said with approval. “Now come on, let’s rejoin the others. And keep watching for your villainous highwayman. When he arrives, you pounce.”
They returned to the main ballroom, where the Sisterhood had claimed a small grouping of chairs near the dancing.
Ashley tried to focus on the conversation—about Tiffany’s pregnancy, about Courtney’s plans to host a house party, about Claire’s frustration with her brother’s continued rakish behavior.
But her attention kept drifting to the door, watching for a tall figure in dark clothes and a tricorn hat.
An hour passed. Then another. The masquerade was in full swing, couples dancing with abandon, champagne flowing freely, inhibitions loosening as masks provided the illusion of anonymity.
Ashley danced with Wolf, with Vale, even with Fane who was surprisingly graceful despite his reputation for debauchery.
But still no Raven.
“He’ll come,” Courtney assured her during a brief respite between dances. “Prinny’s audiences never last this long. He’s probably on his way now with the Regent.”
Ashley wanted to believe her. But as the clock struck midnight and there was still no sign of her husband, doubt began creeping in. What if this was his way of avoiding her after last night’s kiss? What if he was using Prinny as an excuse to stay away, to maintain the distance between them?
What if she’d pushed too hard, revealed too much, and now he was pulling back completely?
“Stop spiraling,” Tiffany said, appearing at her elbow with a fresh glass of champagne. “I can see it all over your face. He’ll be here, Ashley. Have faith.”
Ashley accepted the champagne and took a long sip, trying to calm her racing thoughts. She was at one of London’s most spectacular events, surrounded by friends who cared about her, dressed in a costume that made her feel bold and powerful.
She refused to spend the entire evening pining for a husband who might not come.
“You’re right,” she said, forcing brightness into her voice. “No more waiting around. Let’s dance.”
But even as she allowed Wolf to pull her back toward the dancing, even as she laughed and spun and pretended to be having the time of her life, Ashley’s eyes kept returning to the door.
Watching. Waiting. Hoping.
For a dark and dangerous highwayman who just might hold more than her way to a child. Perhaps he held her heart in his hands, whether he knew it or not.
*
The masquerade ball swirled around Ashley in a kaleidoscope of color and sound, but she barely noticed. Where was he?
“He’s here.” Farah’s whisper cut through Ashley’s distraction, and she turned so quickly, her bells jingled. “Don’t look now, but your highwayman just entered with the Regent’s party.”
Ashley’s heart lurched. She forced herself to wait, to count to ten before allowing her gaze to sweep casually toward the entrance. And there he was.
Why was she suddenly finding her husband so attractive?
That wasn’t the plan. She just needed him to come to her bed.
Her heart stuttered in her chest as he glanced around the room, seeming to look for someone.
Her? No. No. She could not fall for her husband.
A man who was still grieving for the love of his life.
He already held all the cards; she certainly wasn’t about to hand him her heart too.
She steadied her racing heart and turned to face him.
Raven cut an imposing figure in his costume—black coat with silver buttons, dark breeches tucked into tall boots, a tricorn hat shadowing his masked face.
A cape hung from his broad shoulders, and he’d even acquired a convincing-looking pistol that he had tucked into his belt.
He looked exactly what he was supposed to be: dangerous, mysterious, and utterly commanding.
And every woman in the room was staring.
Their eyes met across the crowded ballroom, and even with half his face concealed by the mask, she saw his sharp intake of breath. Saw him go still, his attention riveted on her in her wild gypsy costume with her loose hair and bold scarves.
Then Prinny was at his elbow, jovial and demanding attention, and the moment broke. Raven turned to engage with the Prince Regent and his entourage, but Ashley noticed how his gaze kept returning to her, tracking her movements even as he maintained polite conversation.
“Now what?” she whispered to Farah.
“Now you wait for the right moment,” Farah murmured back. “Let him come to you. He will—he can’t help himself. Look at how he’s watching you.”
Indeed, Raven’s attention seemed magnetically drawn to her despite his obligations to the Regent. Even from across the room, Ashley could feel the weight of his stare, could sense his barely controlled tension.
The tension built as the evening progressed.
Raven made his required rounds—greeting Lady Summerton, exchanging pleasantries with other guests, fulfilling his social duties.
But always, always, his eyes found her in the crowd.
When she danced with Vale, she felt Raven’s gaze burning into her back.
When she laughed at something Fane said, she caught Raven’s jaw clenching from across the room.
He wanted her. The evidence was in every rigid line of his body, every possessive glance, every moment of barely restrained control.
Finally, as one o’clock approached and the dancing grew more abandoned, Raven broke away from the group he’d been conversing with and began making his way toward her with deliberate purpose. Ashley’s pulse quickened. This was it.
“Dance with me.” His voice was low, rough, as he appeared at her elbow. Not a request—a command wrapped in barely civilized courtesy.
“I thought you’d never ask.” She placed her hand in his, feeling the tremor that ran through him at the contact.
He led her onto the dance floor as the musicians struck up a waltz.
His hand at her waist was hot even through the layers of her costume, his fingers gripping perhaps tighter than strictly proper.
They moved together in silence for several moments, the space between them charged with everything unspoken.
“You’re beautiful tonight,” he said finally, his green eyes intense behind the mask. “Too beautiful. Too wild. Every man here can’t stop staring at you.”
“I only care about one man’s attention.” Ashley held his gaze, refusing to look away. “And he seems determined to avoid me.”
“Not avoid. Never avoid.” His hand tightened at her waist. “I’m trying to protect you, Ashley. From myself.”
“What if I don’t want protection?” She moved closer, near enough that the bells on her costume brushed against him. “What if I want the truth instead? All of it.”
She felt him tense, saw conflict war in his expression. The music swelled around them, other couples spinning past in their own elaborate costumes, but Ashley’s world had narrowed to just this—her husband’s tortured eyes, his trembling hands, the barely controlled desire radiating from him.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, his voice strained.
“Then tell me. Make me understand.” She lifted her free hand to his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat beneath her palm. “I’m not fragile, Raven. I’m not going to break.”
“Ashley—”
“I want a child.” The words tumbled out, desperate and honest as tears welled. “I want to be a real wife to you. I want…” She swallowed hard, gathering her courage. “I want you to give me the one thing that will make this marriage bearable.”
His breath hitched audibly. For a moment, he simply stared at her, and she saw something crack in his carefully maintained composure. Raw hunger, then pity flashed in his eyes, followed immediately by fear.
“You don’t understand what you’re offering,” he said roughly. “What I want from you isn’t…it’s not what a gentleman should want from his wife.”
“Show me.” The boldness of her own words shocked her, but she pressed on. “The masquerade is the perfect cover. Everyone here is pretending to be someone else tonight. We could pretend too. You could show me what you want without fear of judgment.”
The music was ending. Around them, couples were separating, moving off the floor. But Raven held her for a moment longer, his eyes searching hers with desperate intensity.
“If I show you,” he said, his voice barely audible over the applause for the musicians, “if I let you see the truth of what I am…you may not like what you discover. You may be afraid of me.”
“I want a child,” Ashley said softly, “I just want a child.”
She saw the moment his resolve crumbled. Saw desire—or was it guilt?—win over fear, need triumph over shame. His hand moved from her waist to capture hers, his grip almost painfully tight.
“We’re going home,” he said. “Now. Before I lose my nerve.”
He led her off the dance floor and headed to call for their carriage. Ashley’s heart pounded as she followed, her bells jingling softly with each step. She had no idea what was about to happen, what truth Raven was about to reveal.
But she’d meant what she said. She wasn’t afraid of him. She was afraid only of spending the rest of her life in this limbo of wanting and waiting—childless. She wanted someone to love.
Whatever came next, at least it would be honest. At least it would be real.
Raven glanced at her once as he helped her into his carriage, his eyes dark with desire and determination behind his highwayman’s mask.
And Ashley, dressed as a fortune teller who could supposedly see the future, had no idea what fate awaited her. But she was ready to find out.