Chapter Twelve
Raven stared at the shadowed ceiling of his bedchamber, Ashley’s warm body curled against his side, her breathing deep and even in exhausted sleep.
He should be sleeping too—God knew his body was sated in a way it hadn’t been in months.
But his mind refused to quiet, churning instead with a fury that built with each passing minute.
She’d been innocent.
All this time—three years of whispers and cut directs, three years of being treated as a cautionary tale, three years of society’s gleeful condemnation—and she’d been innocent. Not just technically innocent in the way society measured such things, but truly, completely blameless.
I was merely trying to save…someone.
The words echoed in his mind, stoking the rage burning in his chest. Some bastard had attempted to elope with another young woman, and Ashley—foolish, brave, impossibly noble Ashley—had intervened.
And somehow in the chaos that followed, she’d been the one left ruined while the actual guilty parties escaped unscathed.
His arm tightened involuntarily around her sleeping form, and she made a soft sound, burrowing closer against him. Even in sleep, she sought comfort. Sought safety. And he’d spent three months keeping her at arm’s length, judging her for a scandal she’d taken upon herself to protect someone else.
The shame of that cut deep, but deeper still was the white-hot anger at whoever had put her in that position. The man would pay.
Raven carefully extracted himself from Ashley’s embrace, tucking the coverlet around her bare shoulders before pulling on his discarded breeches and shirt.
Sleep was impossible. He moved to the window, looking out at the pre-dawn darkness of London, his hands clenched into fists against the windowsill.
Who had she protected?
Ashley had several close female companions—the so-called Sisterhood she’d mentioned occasionally.
Lady Courtney, now married to Lucien. Lady Farah, his own sister, married to Rockwell.
Lady Tiffany, married to Wolf. There were others too—Claire, Valora, Lauren and Ivy, Ashley’s sister.
Any of them could have been the woman Ashley had tried to save.
But why would Ashley have been the one caught instead of the actual parties involved?
It made no sense unless…unless the elopement had been discovered in some public way, and Ashley had deliberately drawn attention to herself.
Taken the blame. Let society believe she was the fallen woman rather than whoever had actually attempted to run away with this unnamed man.
Christ. The more he thought about it, the more his fury grew. What kind of woman allowed Ashley to sacrifice herself like that? To spend three years as a social pariah while they went on with their lives.
Unless they didn’t know. Unless Ashley had been so convincing in her deception that even the person she’d saved believed the lies society said about her.
But there was a man who’d instigated all of it and he’d suffered no repercussions.
Raven pressed his forehead against the cool glass, trying to order his chaotic thoughts. He needed information. Facts. A clear picture of what had actually happened three years ago before he could determine how to exact his revenge on whoever had caused it all.
The question was, who would tell him the truth?
Ashley herself was the obvious source, but something held him back from waking her to demand answers.
She’d carried this burden alone for three years, protected whoever she’d been protecting with unwavering loyalty.
Would she betray that confidence now, even to her husband?
And more importantly—did he have the right to ask her to?
They’d only just found this new…relationship of sorts. He knew that after tonight, the loss of Kitty hurt less. It was still there but not so all consuming.
Her brothers, then. Wolf and Rockwell had both been involved in the aftermath of the scandal, both had helped manage the social fallout. Surely, they knew something. But Ashley had specifically said they didn’t know the full story.
So, the brothers knew some version of events, but not the complete truth. Which meant Ashley had lied to them too, or at least allowed them to believe a version of events that wasn’t accurate. To protect whoever she’d been protecting. Always protecting others, never herself.
Raven’s jaw clenched. He’d developed a grudging respect for both Wolf and Rockwell over the past few months.
They were good men who clearly loved their respective wives.
But they’d also stood by while their sister took the blame for something she didn’t do.
Had they truly not suspected? Or had they simply accepted society’s judgment because it was easier than fighting it?
The rage burning in his chest expanded, encompassing not just the unknown man who’d started this whole mess, but everyone who’d failed Ashley. Including himself.
He turned from the window, pacing the length of his bedchamber with barely controlled agitation.
The eastern sky was just beginning to lighten—dawn couldn’t be far off.
In a few hours, the household would wake.
Henderson would bring morning correspondence.
Simpson would arrive to help him dress. Life would continue as if everything hadn’t fundamentally shifted in the space of one night.
But everything had shifted. He’d finally claimed his wife, finally been honest about his desires. And in return, she’d revealed a truth that made him want to burn down half of London’s drawing rooms.
The story is not mine to tell.
That was what she’d said. Meaning someone else’s reputation, someone else’s future, was still at stake. Even now, even after everything she’d endured, Ashley was still protecting whoever had put her in this position.
The nobility of it made him want to shake her and hold her close in equal measure.
Raven stopped his pacing in front of his desk, staring down at the neat stacks of correspondence and ledgers.
He’d built a fortune through careful investigation, through gathering information and using it strategically.
Surely, he could apply those same skills to unraveling what had happened three years ago.
But where to start? The scandal had occurred before he’d paid any attention to Ashley beyond basic awareness of her existence.
He remembered the whispers, of course—everyone remembered when a young lady of good family attempted to elope and was caught.
But the details? Those he’d never bothered to learn, too focused on his own concerns to care about another society scandal.
He regretted that now. Bitterly.
Who would have information? The gossips who’d spread the story in the first place?
But they’d only know the false version, the scandalous tale society had latched onto.
The servants who’d been present? But three years was a long time, and households changed.
Staff moved on, memories faded or were conveniently altered to match the accepted narrative.
If he wanted the truth, he would need to go to the primary sources. And that meant either Ashley herself or her brothers.
Raven moved back to the bed, looking down at his sleeping wife.
In the growing dawn light, she looked impossibly young, vulnerable in a way she never allowed herself to appear while awake.
Her fair hair was spread across his pillows, her face peaceful in sleep.
There was no trace of the burden she’d been carrying, the secret she’d kept for three years.
He could wake her now, demand to know everything. She’d probably tell him—she’d already revealed so much tonight, trusted him with her body and her truth about her innocence. Why not trust him with the rest?
But something stopped him. Some instinct that said pushing too hard, too fast, would shatter the fragile new intimacy they’d built. Ashley had spent three years learning to protect herself, to keep her secrets close. She wouldn’t easily surrender the full truth just because they’d shared a bed.
And he’d promised her honesty, but he’d also promised her partnership. Demanding information she wasn’t ready to give would be a violation of that.
Which left her brothers.
Raven returned to his desk, pulling out a sheet of paper and his pen.
He’d invite Wolf and Rockwell to meet him at White’s—separately, so they couldn’t coordinate their stories or protect each other’s ignorance.
He’d question them carefully, gather what information they had, piece together what he could.
And then…then he would decide what to do with that knowledge.
He couldn’t clear Ashley’s name. Society had made its judgment three years ago, and the ton was notoriously resistant to revising its opinions once formed.
Even if he announced to all of London that his wife had been innocent, they’d dismiss it as a besotted husband’s delusion.
Or worse—they’d speculate that she’d manipulated him into believing her lies.
No, public vindication was impossible. But that didn’t mean there couldn’t be consequences for the man who had put Ashley in this position.
Raven’s pen moved across the paper with decisive strokes. He would start with Wolf—the elder brother, the one most likely to have been directly involved in managing the scandal’s aftermath. Then Rockwell, who might have a different perspective, given his later marriage to Farah.
Between the two of them, surely, he could piece together enough of the truth to identify the guilty man. The man who’d attempted the elopement. The woman Ashley had been protecting. Anyone else who’d known the truth and allowed Ashley to take the blame.