Chapter Seventeen
The Featherington townhouse on Berkeley Square was exactly as Raven remembered—imposing, elegant, expensive.
Baron Featherington had died a few years ago, leaving his considerably younger widow with a fortune and no oversight.
Gossip said she’d wasted no time filling her bed with a string of lovers, though she was careful enough to maintain plausible deniability.
Looking at the house now, knowing what had happened within those walls, Raven felt thirteen years of accumulated rage settle in his gut like a stone.
A butler he didn’t recognize answered the door and showed him to a drawing room decorated in shades of crimson and gold. Sensual colors, chosen deliberately. Nothing about Georgiana Featherington was accidental.
“Your Grace.” Her voice came from behind him, low and pleased. “How wonderful to see you after all these years.”
Raven turned slowly, bracing himself for the impact of seeing her again.
She was still beautiful—he had to give her that.
At thirty-five, Lady Featherington retained the striking features that had dazzled him as a boy.
Dark hair piled artfully atop her head, green eyes that seemed to see through clothing, a figure that defied the passage of time.
She wore a gown of deep emerald that was cut scandalously low for an afternoon call, and she knew it.
“Lady Featherington.” He kept his voice neutral, professional. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”
“Oh, Raven.” She glided toward him, her movements calculated seduction. “Surely, we’re past such formality? After everything we once shared?”
Every instinct screamed at him to retreat. But he held his ground, forcing himself to remain impassive as she stopped far too close, one hand reaching out to touch his lapel.
“We shared nothing,” he said quietly. “You seduced a boy and taught him to satisfy your desires. That’s not sharing. That’s manipulation.”
Her eyes widened in false innocence. “Is that what you’ve told yourself all these years? That I manipulated you?” She laughed, the sound practiced and hollow. “Darling, you were a very willing participant. Eager, even.”
“I was fifteen.” The words came out harder than he’d intended. “A child. You were a grown woman, married, who should have known better.”
“Fifteen is hardly a child.” Her fingers walked up his chest toward his cravat. “You were nearly a man. And such an apt pupil. I simply awakened desires that were already present. You can’t blame me for that.”
Raven caught her wrist, removing her hand with deliberate care.
“I don’t blame you for my desires. I blame you for using them to manipulate a boy who didn’t understand what was happening.
For teaching me that what I wanted made me an abomination.
For saying nothing when my father discovered us and nearly disowned me. ”
Something flickered in her expression—annoyance, perhaps, that he wasn’t responding as she’d expected.
“Your father overreacted,” she said dismissively. “What we had was beautiful. Natural. Two people who understood each other’s needs.” She moved closer again, her voice dropping to a purr. “And I think you’ve missed it, haven’t you? Missed having someone who truly understands what you need.”
“I have exactly what I need.” Raven stepped back, putting distance between them. “A wife who accepts me completely. Who doesn’t use my desires as leverage, or shame me for what I want. Who gives herself to me freely, without manipulation or games.”
Lady Featherington’s expression hardened. “Ah yes. The notorious Lady Ashley. Tell me, does your new duchess know about us? About what you really are?”
“She knows everything.” The admission felt good, liberating. “Every detail of what happened between us. How you groomed me, used me, then discarded me when we were caught. And she still chose me. Still trusts me.”
“How…touching.” Sarcasm dripped from every word. “And does this paragon of virtue also know why you’re really here? That you’re investigating her own sordid past?”
He tried to ignore the stab in his chest at her remark.
Ashley would be horrified he was here. “That’s what I came to discuss.
” Raven moved to the opposite side of the room, needing space.
“You witnessed the beginning of Ashley’s scandal three years ago.
I need to know what you saw that night. Who was the man? ”
Lady Featherington settled onto a chaise with practiced grace, her gown arranging itself to maximum effect. “And what makes you think I’ll help you?”
“Because you owe me.” Raven met her eyes directly. “You destroyed my relationship with my father. He died thinking I was a pervert who’d corrupted a married woman. The least you can do is tell me the truth about what you saw.”
She studied him for a long moment, calculation clear in her expression. “And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll make certain everyone in London knows exactly what you did to me. How you seduced a fifteen-year-old boy and taught him to satisfy your twisted desires. How you manipulated an innocent child for your own pleasure.”
“You won’t do that. It would disgrace you too. The mighty pious Duke of Blackstone likes bondage play.” But there was uncertainty in her voice now. “I’m a respected widow. You’re the Duke of Blackstone. Why would you destroy your own reputation by admitting to such a liaison?”
“Because I don’t care anymore.” And it was true.
The shame his father had instilled, the fear of exposure—Ashley’s acceptance had burned it all away.
“I have nothing to hide. But you do. Your entire position in society depends on maintaining an air of respectability. I’m sure I could find other young men you’ve done this to.
One word from me about what really happened, and you’ll be finished. ”
Lady Featherington’s fingers tightened on the arm of the chaise. “You’re bluffing.”
“Try me.” Raven’s voice was ice. “Tell me what you saw that night, or I start talking. Your choice.”
The silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Finally, she laughed—a brittle sound devoid of humor.
“Very well. Though I don’t know what you hope to accomplish.” She rose, moving to pour herself a glass of sherry without offering him one. “I was returning from a dinner party when I saw Lady Ashley near the corner. A carriage was waiting, and a man grabbed her and shoved her in.”
“What did he look like?”
“I couldn’t see his face. It was dark, and he had his back to me.” She took a delicate sip. “I saw her get pulled into the carriage, and they drove off heading north.”
“That’s all?” Raven’s frustration mounted. “You started one of the biggest scandals of the Season based on seeing a man drag her into the carriage?”
“I saw enough.” Her smile was sharp. “She’d been waiting for him. What other conclusion was I supposed to draw?”
“That she was being abducted?”
“Why was she on the street at that time of night if she was not willing?”
“Perhaps helping someone else. He dragged her into the carriage, your words.”
Lady Featherington’s tone made it clear what she thought of that theory. “But even if that were true—and I’m not saying it is—she didn’t say she’d been abducted. She went off into the night with a man. Her reputation was ruined the moment she made that choice.”
Raven studied her carefully. Something in her delivery felt off, rehearsed. “You’re lying.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You saw more than a man’s back. You know something you’re not telling me.” He moved toward her, using his height to advantage. “What are you hiding, Georgiana?”
She flinched at the use of her given name—the first genuine reaction he’d seen from her. “I’m not hiding anything. I told you what I saw.”
“Then why did you spread the scandal so quickly? Why were you so eager to destroy Ashley’s reputation based on such limited information?”
“Because that’s what society does.” She set down her glass with deliberate force. “Young ladies who sneak around with men at night deserve exactly what they get. Just as young men who seduce married women—” She caught herself, but too late.
“Ah. You were caught in a scandal and forced to marry Lord Featherington, so why shouldn’t Ashley.” Understanding dawned cold and clear. “You couldn’t let someone else be happy. You wanted to hurt someone just because you could. Did it make you feel important?”
Lady Featherington’s expression shuttered. “My life has turned out fine, thank you very much.” He could see the lie in her eyes. “Better than yours by the sound of it. I’ve heard you don’t go to your wife’s bed… I wonder why?”
Her bitter words threw him. Who’d been talking? One of his staff. He’d have to look into that. “You’re still angry that I didn’t come calling when your husband died.”
“It was a long time ago now. Why would I care?” But her voice lacked conviction.
“You knew that our paths would cross, someday. But I gave you the cut direct.” Raven shook his head in disgust. “Why are you so petty? Why ruin an innocent young lady just because you could? That says everything about your character.”
“She wasn’t innocent.” The words came out too quickly, too defensive. “She got in that carriage. She made that choice.”
“She was pulled into the carriage. To save someone else.” Raven moved closer, watching her face carefully. “Who was the man, Georgiana? You saw more than you’re admitting. Who was in that carriage with Ashley?”
For just a moment, something flickered in her eyes—knowledge, certainty. She knew exactly who it had been. But then her expression went smooth and cold.
“I saw a man’s back. That’s all. And frankly, Your Grace, I grow tired of this inquisition.” She moved toward the bell pull. “I think it’s time you left.”
“Not until you tell me the truth.”
“I’ve told you everything I know.” Her hand hovered over the bell. “Unless you’d care to stay for…other reasons? We could relive old times. I could show you that you don’t have to hide your darker desires. Be true to your nature.”