Chapter Twelve #2
And once he knew their identities… Well, he was the Duke of Blackstone.
He had wealth, influence, connections that reached into every corner of society.
He couldn’t publicly restore Ashley’s reputation, but he could make damn sure that everyone involved in destroying it faced appropriate consequences.
Subtle consequences, perhaps. The kind that wouldn’t trace back to him or Ashley. But consequences, nonetheless.
A man’s business ventures could mysteriously fail.
A woman’s social standing could suffer inexplicable setbacks.
Reputations could be damaged through carefully placed rumors, just as Ashley’s had been.
He’d learned from the master of manipulation himself—Prinny and his court excelled at destroying people without leaving fingerprints.
Prinny, in return, used him for financial advice.
Raven could do the same.
The thought brought a grim satisfaction. He’d spent his adult life trying to be honorable, controlled, proper. But perhaps there were times when propriety needed to step aside for justice.
Behind him, Ashley stirred, making a small sound of confusion. He turned to find her blinking awake, her hand reaching across the bed to the spot where he’d been lying.
“Raven?” Her voice was sleep-rough, uncertain.
“I’m here.” He abandoned his letter-writing, moving back to the bed and sliding in beside her. She immediately curled into him, her head finding that spot against his chest where it seemed to fit perfectly.
“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked, her breath warm against his skin.
“Too many thoughts,” he admitted, which wasn’t exactly a lie.
She was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “Thoughts about what I told you?”
So, she’d been more awake during his internal spiral than he’d realized. Or perhaps she simply knew him well enough already to guess what would be consuming his mind.
“Yes,” he said, because honesty was what they’d promised each other. “I’m angry, Ashley. Furious at whoever put you in that position.”
“It’s ancient history,” she said softly. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters to me.” He caught her hand, stilling its movement. “You sacrificed yourself to protect someone. That matters.”
“I made a choice.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “It was my decision, and I don’t regret it. Well, not much anyway.”
“They took your choices away. It cost you three years of misery. It nearly destroyed your prospects entirely.”
She was silent for long enough that he thought she might not answer. “The alternative would have cost someone else far more. I could survive the scandal. She couldn’t have.”
She. So, it had been a woman Ashley was protecting. One of her friends from the Sisterhood, almost certainly.
“And the man?” Raven asked carefully. “The one who actually attempted the elopement?”
Ashley’s body tensed against his. “That’s not a story I can tell. I’m sorry.”
He heard the finality in her voice, the wall going up. She’d shared what she felt comfortable sharing—her own innocence, her motivation—but the identities of everyone else involved remained protected.
For now.
“I won’t push,” Raven said, meaning it. “But Ashley, I need you to understand something. I’m your husband now. Your protection is my responsibility. And if anyone—anyone—threatens you or tries to use this old scandal against you, I will destroy them.”
She pulled back to look at him, her eyes wide in the growing dawn light. “Raven—”
“I mean it.” His voice was hard, carrying all the fury he’d been suppressing. “I don’t give a damn who they are or what their justification might be. You’re mine now. Under my protection. And I protect what’s mine.”
Something flickered in her expression—surprise, perhaps, or the beginning of something deeper. Then she laid her head back against his chest, her hand finding his and threading their fingers together.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “But please—don’t start a war on my behalf. I’ve made my peace with what happened.”
“Have you?” He couldn’t keep the skepticism from his voice. “Or have you simply learned to accept injustice because fighting it seemed impossible?”
She didn’t answer, which was answer enough. She rolled on her side away from his too knowing eyes.
Raven watched her breathing gradually slow as she drifted back toward sleep. But his own mind remained sharp, alert, planning.
He would speak with Wolf and Rockwell, gathering whatever information they had, however incomplete. And then he would begin investigating on his own, using every resource at his disposal to uncover the full truth.
It might take months. It might take years. But he was a patient man when it came to protecting and avenging what was his.
And Ashley was his now. His wife. His responsibility.
His…something more than he was ready to name, but something that made the thought of her suffering intolerable.
And scum like the man who’d destroyed her socially had a bad habit of popping up, especially if he thought he held something over a duchess.
As the sun finally crested the horizon, painting his bedchamber in shades of gold and amber, Raven made himself a promise. Whatever it took, however long it required, he would uncover the truth about Ashley’s scandal.
And when he did, there would be hell to pay for everyone involved.
Starting with the man who’d put his wife in an impossible position three years ago. The coward who’d let an innocent woman take the blame for his attempted elopement. The bastard who’d walked away unscathed while Ashley suffered society’s condemnation.
Raven didn’t yet know his name. But he would. Soon.
And when he did, that man would learn what it meant to earn the enmity of the Duke of Blackstone.
*
Ashley woke slowly, awareness returning in stages.
First came the sensation of unfamiliar sheets against her bare skin.
Then the pleasant ache between her thighs and the tender soreness in muscles she’d never known existed.
Finally, the realization that she was alone in Raven’s massive bed, morning sunlight streaming through windows she’d never seen from this angle before.
She stretched carefully, wincing at the pull of newly discovered soreness, and couldn’t suppress the small smile that curved her lips.
Last night had been…extraordinary. Overwhelming.
Nothing like what she’d imagined her first time would be when she’d been a naive girl dreaming of romance and love matches.
But it had been real. Honest. And despite the restraints and the intensity and her husband’s dark desires that should probably have shocked her—it had been wonderful.
Her hand drifted unconsciously to her flat stomach, fingers splaying across the smooth skin beneath the sheet. Could it have happened already? Could one night be enough to create the child she so desperately wanted?
Probably not. She wasn’t fool enough to believe conception worked that way—it often took months, even years, for married couples to achieve.
But the possibility made something warm bloom in her chest. The hope that she might finally have someone to love without reservation.
A baby who would need her, depend on her, give her purpose beyond managing a household and attending social functions.
A soft giggle escaped her lips before she could stop it. Though if last night was any indication of how they would continue to…attempt to create that child… Well, she wouldn’t mind the repeated efforts. Not at all.
Her body heated at the memory of Raven’s hands on her skin, his mouth trailing fire across places she’d never imagined being kissed. The silk scarves binding her wrists while he took complete control, his voice low and commanding as he coaxed pleasure from her body she hadn’t known was possible.
Yes. She would definitely want to do that again.
The thought should probably scandalize her. A proper lady shouldn’t enjoy being tied up by her husband, shouldn’t crave the sensation of surrendering control so completely. But Ashley had stopped caring about being a proper lady three years ago when society had decided she was ruined goods anyway.
If she was going to be notorious, she might as well enjoy the benefits.
Her smile faded as reality intruded on her pleasant morning reverie.
Where was Raven? She ran her hand across the sheets beside her—cool to the touch, meaning he’d been gone for some time.
Dawn was just breaking when she’d woken briefly to find him at his desk, writing something with grim determination.
I’m angry, Ashley. Furious at whoever put you in that position.
His words from last night echoed in her mind, and the warm contentment in her chest turned cold with apprehension.
She’d seen the rage burning in his eyes when she’d admitted the truth about her scandal.
Had felt the tension in his body, the barely controlled fury at learning she’d been innocent all along.
She’d been so focused on finally sharing the truth, on letting him know she wasn’t the fallen woman society believed her to be, that she hadn’t fully considered what Raven might do with that information.
But now, in the cold light of morning, worry began gnawing at her stomach.
Raven was a duke. A man of considerable power and influence.
A man who’d spent the past three months keeping careful distance precisely because he feared his own nature—his need for control, for dominance.
And she’d just handed him a wrong that needed righting, an injustice that had been done to his wife.
To something he’d claimed as his to protect.
I protect what’s mine.
Ashley sat up slowly, clutching the sheet to her chest as unease prickled along her spine.
She knew that tone. She’d heard it in her brothers’ voices often enough when they’d appointed themselves her guardians after the scandal broke.
The protective fury of men who believed themselves responsible for defending their women’s honor.