Chapter Fourteen
Raven arrived home as the afternoon sun painted long shadows across the marble entrance hall of his London townhouse, lunch forgotten.
The conversation with Wolf and Rockwell had taken longer than planned and left him frustrated, energized by fury and purpose, but without the concrete answers he craved.
Lady Featherington. The name sat in his mind like a bitter taste.
She was the only person he could think of who might have witnessed something that day three years ago.
But approaching that viper was out of the question. Not after what she’d done to him.
He handed his coat and hat to Henderson, barely registering the butler’s greeting. “Is Her Grace at home?”
“I believe so, Your Grace. She was in the drawing room earlier, but I’m not certain of her current location.”
Raven nodded curtly and headed toward the drawing room.
Empty. He checked the morning room next, then the library.
No sign of Ashley. A strange restlessness drove him forward—he needed to see her, to look into her eyes and remind himself why he was doing this.
Why he was digging into a past that she clearly wanted left buried.
Because she deserved justice. Even if she didn’t believe it was possible.
He took the stairs two at a time, heading toward her bedchamber. Perhaps she was resting—though it seemed early for that. He knocked softly on her door.
No answer.
Raven hesitated, then turned the handle and peered inside. The room was empty, the bed neatly made, no sign of recent occupation. Where could she be at this hour? The house wasn’t that large; surely he would have found her by now.
Frowning, he retreated into the corridor and headed toward his own chambers. Perhaps he should change for dinner anyway. They could talk over the meal, and he could attempt to convince her that his investigation wasn’t the threat she feared it was.
He pushed open his bedchamber door and immediately paused. The room was as he’d left it this morning—organized, impersonal, everything in its place. But there was something… He tilted his head, listening.
Water. The faint sound of water moving.
The bathing chamber.
His heart kicked against his ribs as understanding dawned. The small room between their two bedchambers, designed for a duchess to bathe in privacy, connected by doors on either side. He’d never used it—had his own bathing facilities in his dressing room. But Ashley…
Raven moved toward the connecting door without conscious thought. His hand hovered over the handle as propriety warred with something far more primal. He should give her privacy. Should knock at the very least. She deserved that courtesy.
But God help him, the temptation was too strong.
His fingers closed around the brass handle, and he turned it slowly, carefully, pushing the door open just enough to see inside.
Steam filled the small chamber, thick and warm, carrying the scent of lavender and something else—roses, perhaps. Candles flickered on the marble surfaces, casting dancing shadows across tile walls. And there, in the center of it all, was Ashley.
She reclined in the copper tub, her fair hair pinned up in a loose knot that left tendrils curling against her damp neck. Her eyes were closed, her head resting back against the curved edge of the tub, and her expression was one of such peaceful contentment that Raven felt his breath catch.
Water lapped at her shoulders. Through the rippling surface, he could see the pale curves of her body—the slope of her breasts, the indent of her waist, the long line of her legs. Steam rose around her like a veil, obscuring and revealing in equal measure.
He should leave. Should close the door and pretend he’d never seen this. But his feet refused to move, his hand frozen on the handle.
As if sensing his presence, Ashley’s eyes opened. For a moment, they simply stared at each other through the steam-filled air. He waited for her to scream, to cover herself, to demand he leave immediately.
Instead, she smiled. A small, knowing curve of her lips that made heat pool low in his belly.
“Are you just going to stand there,” she asked, her voice low and slightly amused, “or are you going to join me?”
The invitation was clear. Unmistakable. And yet Raven found himself hesitating on the threshold, torn between desire and propriety in equal measure.
“I don’t want to intrude on your privacy,” he managed, his voice rougher than he’d intended.
Ashley’s smile widened. “Raven. We’re married. I spent last night in your bed, bound by silk scarves while you showed me pleasures I’d never imagined. I think we’re rather past the point of standing on ceremony, don’t you?”
She had a point. Several excellent points, in fact.
Still, he hesitated. “I came home from White’s wanting to talk with you about—”
“About your investigation into my scandal?” She sat up slightly, water sluicing down her shoulders. “Yes, I assumed that’s where you’d gone. To interrogate my brothers and begin digging into my past despite my very clear request that you leave it alone.”
There was no anger in her tone. Just a kind of weary resignation that cut deeper than any recrimination might have.
“Ashley—”
“Come here,” she interrupted, holding out one wet hand toward him. “Please. Whatever we need to discuss can wait a few hours. Right now, I just want my husband to join me in this ridiculously large bathtub.”
The raw honesty in her voice undid him completely. Raven stepped fully into the bathing chamber and closed the door behind him. The steam enveloped him immediately, warm and wet, making his clothes feel too tight, too heavy.
“The water will get cold if you take too long removing all that clothing,” Ashley observed, settling back against the tub with a look of supreme satisfaction.
He couldn’t help but smile at her boldness. This was the woman who’d asked him to tie her up last night, who’d surrendered completely to his control without hesitation. Why had he thought she’d be scandalized by his presence in her bath?
Raven made quick work of his cravat, his fingers fumbling slightly in his haste.
His coat followed, then his waistcoat, each item abandoned in a careless heap that Simpson would doubtless frown at later.
His shirt pulled free of his breeches, and he saw Ashley’s eyes darken as he drew it over his head and tossed it aside.
Her gaze traveled down his chest, lingering on the muscles he’d developed through fencing and riding, then lower to where his hands worked at the fall of his breeches. When he pushed them down along with his smalls, her breath caught audibly.
“You’re staring,” he said, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.
“Yes,” she agreed without a trace of embarrassment. “I am. You’re rather magnificent, you know. It seems a waste not to appreciate the view.”
Blood rushed south at her frank admiration.
Raven stepped out of his discarded clothing and moved toward the tub.
It was indeed ridiculously large, designed to accommodate a lady and her husband comfortably, with room to spare.
The water was still steaming, scented with those oils Ashley favored, and he slid into it with a sigh of pure pleasure.
The heat immediately began unknotting muscles he hadn’t realized were tense. Or perhaps that was Ashley’s doing—the way she watched him with those blue eyes, the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips as he settled across from her.
“Come here,” he said, his voice dropping to the low command he’d used last night. “I want you closer.”
Ashley moved through the water with the grace of a dancer, her body creating ripples that lapped against his skin.
But instead of settling beside him as he’d expected, she positioned herself between his legs, her back to his chest, fitting against him as if she’d been designed specifically for this purpose.
Raven wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against him. Her wet skin was slippery beneath his hands, and he couldn’t resist the urge to explore—running his palms up her sides, across her ribs, higher to cup the weight of her breasts.
“Raven,” she breathed, arching into his touch.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he admitted against her ear. “During my meeting with your brothers, even as we discussed serious matters, part of my mind kept drifting back to last night. To the sounds you made when I touched you. The way you looked, bound and breathless beneath me.”
Her answer was a soft whimper that sent satisfaction coursing through him.
He continued his exploration, mapping every curve and hollow, learning what made her gasp and what made her melt against him.
When his hands drifted lower, beneath the water, she didn’t protest. Instead, she let her legs fall open, giving him access to stroke and tease until her breathing turned ragged.
“You’re going to make me forget we’re in a bathtub,” Ashley managed, her head falling back against his shoulder.
“That’s the idea.” He nipped at her earlobe, then soothed it with his tongue. “Though if you’d prefer, we could move this to the bedroom. My bed is large enough for what I have in mind.”
She turned in his arms with surprising agility, water sloshing over the sides of the tub as she straddled his lap. The position brought her breasts level with his mouth, and Raven took immediate advantage, closing his lips around one tight peak and biting down, while Ashley moaned above him.
“Bedroom,” she agreed breathlessly. “Definitely bedroom. But first—”
She moved against him deliberately, the heat of her core sliding along his length in a way that made coherent thought nearly impossible. Raven’s hands found her hips, guiding her movements, increasing the friction until they were both panting with need.
“Ashley,” he groaned. “If you keep doing that—”